#when has he ever said anything of note or value

[corigauff]

Rublev is a BITCH. No long ass essay necessary 🥰

[liveyun]

you’re an idiot (so am i) | j.jk

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem oc/reader

rating. M

genre. enemies to 👀, university AU, neighbours AU, comedy, drama, romance, angst, slight smut

warnings. coarse language, crACK like lOTS OF IT, theyre both idiots. excessive bickering,,, gym related stuff,,, Medical school itself is a warning,, unhealthy amounts of protein mentions,, i’m Sorry if you’re a gymbro 😭🙏🏾, awkwardness, oc gets slightly injured, it gets slightly smutty 👀, unspoken feelings bc they both suck at communicating, some Cute stuff, that should be it but lmk if i missed any, its 4am

wc. 4.5k +

if this writing style flops, i’ll probably quit writing too 💀

it’s 7:04 AM

or is it really. what is the time again

unfortunately you are awake.

and it’s not by choice.

it’s because your protein 💪 PROTEIN 💪 MORE PROTEIN 🏋️ gymrat neighbour is up, doing burpees in his living room

and the walls between your apartments are criminally thin

and you’re convinced he’s trying to invent a new form of torture through burpees because the sQUEAKING OF HIS DAMN SHOES ARE JUST AS LOUD AS AN ALARM CLOCK!!

why is he even awake at this ungodly hour, you wonder for the 8293838th time since moving in

you feel like crying

for rEAL.

it was around 5:30 am when u finally had let out a sigh of relief at having finally completed your assignment

you roll out of bed, hair resembling a bird’s nest

what else is bed hair supposed to look like

“O YEA!”

here we go

again

you feel like ripping your already damaged hair bc why does he have to be so damn loud

has no occupant not filed a complaint against him yet?

so now u consider knocking on his door to complain... but you remember what happened the last time you tried

jungkook had answered the door holding two dumbbells liKe they were extensions of his arms, shirtless, smiling so brightly it could cure vitamin D deficiency

you knew you were cooked the moment smirked at you gawkinG at his physique and you felt your cheeks warming up

“oh, hey, Y/N,” he’d said, casually flexing mid-sentence with that stupid grin on his face “need something? Or just admiring the view?”

you haven’t known peace ever since

by 8:15 AM, you’ve surrendered to fate and shuffled into the kitchen for coffee

you swEar you hear Jungkook’s blender whirring as he makes another one of his infamous protein shakes

does he even eat anything which does not have protein powder

like ok you understand the value of protein

but anything which has that stupid thing in it automatically tastes like the Biggest Piece of Dogshit

and somehow that’s what you neighbour has 24/7

last week he had accidentally left one in the communal fridge

it smelled like death and regret.

absolute L

anyway u think u need to get something in ur system too and thats when u open your fridge

and sigh

it’s empty.

except for a jar of pickles and a, uh, questionable carton of oat milk

yea. you’ll have to get brunch today. no futher questions asked

10:32 AM

ur first class of the day

and guess what

u have made the mistake of sitting near Jungkook in the lecture hall.

again! 😍

u swear that u are trying to focus on the lecture but is it really your fault that jungkook looks extra,,,...,,,

beefy

his notebook is open, but instead of notes, he’s drawing a disturbingly accurate diagram of biceps

and the shading looks pretty accurate too

he notices you staring, oof “anatomy is about more than just books, Y/N.”

you feel a muscle near your eye twitch

“i really don’t remember asking.”

ouch

that came out a bit too rude. . .

you feel like u should say sorry or something but he just flashes you that golden retriever grin

and somehow, you’re the one who feels stupid

12:10 PM

you’d think a med school lunch break would feel like a break

but no

the first thing you hear is the unmistakable pop of jungkook’s tupperware lid. it’s like pavlov’s bell, but instead of a dog, it triggers your impending irritation

of course it’s chicken, broccoli, and rice. gymrat starter pack™

does this man even know other foods exist?

atleast it doesn’t look unseasoned so maybe you can take it

you’re not the one having it anyway

“bon appétit,” he says with that smug grin, shoveling a forkful into his mouth like he’s filming a mukbang

you side-eye your sad excuse of a sandwich. “don’t you ever get bored of eating that?”

he gasps like a victorian man having seen the ankle of his wife for the first time

“bored? of gains? never.”

the chewing. oh god, the chewing. it’s so loud you’re convinced he’s doing it on purpose

crunch. chew. sip of water from the world’s largest bottle. repeat.

“do you have to eat like a vacuum?”

he pauses, fork mid-air, and looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. then he grins. “do you have to be this cute when you’re annoyed?”

wha— cough!!

did you just choke at your sandwich infront of him?

-100 aura points

your brain just blue-screens

what the hell are you supposed to do with that information

12:22 pm

you haven’t touched your chips yet. you’re saving them for after jungkook’s food massacre ends

his tupperware is licked clean but he’s already eyeing your bag of chips like a hawk

“you gonna eat those?”

“yes, jungkook, i’m gonna eat my chips”

“cool”

c r u n c h

he’s already eaten half the bag.

u are genuinely considering homicide now

the girl from the next table suddenly waves at him, all giggly and twirling her hair like she’s auditioning for a romcom

“hey, jungkook! you should totally sit with us!”

he glances at you, one brow raised. “should i?”

“why are you asking me?” you snap, already annoyed (but like, annoyed in a normal way, not jealous. definitely not jealous)

you miss the way his lips quirk in the corners

“nah, i think i’ll stay here,” he says, smirking. “you’re better company anyway”

...

why is your face heating up. why. stop it

1:00 PM

you’re walking to your next class when jungkook catches up, sipping his protein shake. the smell is somewhere between expired yogurt and pure evil

“so, lunch was fun,” he says casually, like he didn’t commit multiple crimes against your sanity earlier

“for who?” you mumble, giving him the nastiest bombastic side eye

“for both of us,” he replies, grinning. “don’t lie, y/n, you’d miss me if i wasn’t around”

“i’d miss the peace”

he laughs heartily and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to both strangle him and maybe... smile a little

1:12 PM

ur phone dings

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bring more chips tomorrow

or don’t. i’ll just steal them again

>:D

you stare at your screen for a second, debating whether to respond or block his number

you type back

you : (1:13PM) touch my chips again and i’ll report you to student conduct

his reply is instant.

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bet they’d let me off for good behavior 😛

2:47 pm.

group project time!

otherwise known as “watch y/n slowly lose her sanity” time

you're hunched over your notes, trying to come up with literally anything for this cursed assignment while everyone else is glued to their phones

“guys, any ideas?” you try, for the fifth time, because teamwork makes the dream work, right?

wrong. dead silence. you can practically hear your soul exiting your body

one guy mutters, "we could... idk, make a powerpoint?" and goes back to scrolling on instagram. helpful king

you’re about three seconds away from making a powerpoint on why you hate everyone here when the door swings open

in walks jungkook, twenty minutes late, balancing a protein shake in one hand and a clipboard in the other

like he’s about to announce his plan for world domination

he slides into the chair next to you, annoyingly fresh, as if he hasn’t just already benched three cows at the gym

“did i miss anything?” he asks, sipping his shake and eyeing you with those boba lookalike peepers like he’s the main character

why are his eyes so

cute

“yeah, we solved climate change and made contact with aliens. you're late.”

he smirks. smirks. “nice. guess i’ll tackle world hunger next.”

one of your lab mates looks up from her phone just to whisper, “he’s so hot..”

my ass.

“he’s useless”

you’re about to drop-kick the clipboard out of his hands when he lazily stretches and says, “so what’s the plan, y/n? you always have the best ideas”

and just like that, everyone turns to you like a pack of hyenas waiting for their next meal

you might actually murder him. right after you finish this stupid project.

>:-)

midnight.

you’re staring at your notes like they’re written in ancient alien hieroglyphics. focus? yup, that’s a myth

through the wall, you hear it. again.

jungkook’s obnoxious gym playlist thumping loud enough to summon the gods of protein.

how about you just summon the reaper to maybe reap your soul or his

you try to ignore it. you really do. but then the bass drops, and you swear the walls start vibrating

ARGH

that’s it. you’ve snapped. you slam your pen down and march out of your apartment like a woman on a mission

by the time you’re at his door, you’re already regretting this decision

but sleep-deprived y/n? she’s not known for her impulse control

you bang on the door like your life depends on it

>:-(

after a moment, jungkook opens up, looking like he just stepped out of a gym rat rom-com. damp hair, earbuds in, wearing a tank top that shows off way too much arm.

good lord, those tattoos..

“what’s up?” he asks casually, pulling out an earbud, as if you didn’t just nearly break his door down

whats up? what thE hELL DOES HE MEAN WHATS UP??

“it’s midnight!” you yell, waving a hand in the general direction of your apartment. “some of us need sleep to survive!”

he blinks at you, tilting his head like a confused golden retriever. “but you’re awake now. want to do a quick set of push-ups?

you stare at him. you need to go to the store from where he bought the audacity. “push-ups?!”

“yeah,” he says, dead serious. “it’s a good way to burn off frustration. i do them all the time when i’m annoyed.”

“maybe i should start,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes. “because i’m annoyed right now.”

jungkook grins like the demon he is. “great! i’ll grab my mat.”

before you can stop him, he’s already turned back into his apartment. you briefly consider running, but it’s too late.

this is your life now.

five minutes later, you’re on the floor of his apartment, struggling to do one (1) push-up while he effortlessly does twenty in the same time it takes you to collapse in defeat

you feel like someone has bathed you in sweat

“this is humiliating,” you groan, face smushed into the mat

maybe you should’ve just slept

“nah, you’re doing great,” he says, way too cheerfully for someone torturing you. “just three more and you’ll hit... like, five total.”

you debate throwing a dumbbell at him but decide against it

jail isn’t worth it.

yet.

five minutes later you’re on the floor of his apartment, now two (2) push-ups deep and already regretting every decision you’ve made up to this point

you try again, your arms shaking with the effort, your brain screaming for mercy, when—

crack

“ow, ow, ow!” you yelp as your shoulder protests in a way that’s probably not supposed to happen

“that’s it, i’m dOne” you wince, face red from the sheer humiliation and pain

jungkook is standing there with a weirdly sympathetic expression that’s 90% amusement and 10% concern

he’s crouching beside you now, and you can't help but notice his Bambi eyes, all big and concerned, looking at your shoulder like he's actually worried for you

fml

this is so unfair

“u good?” he asks, voice unusually soft, and you can’t help but notice that barely there scar on his left cheek pulling slightly as he frowns and looks down at you

you glare at him, wincing a little more than you’d like to admit

does it look like ur good lol

“i think i pulled something” you mutter, still holding your shoulder, and mentally kicking yourself for agreeing to do this in the first place

you knew you shouldn’t have agreed to him

“mm,” he hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to your face, and then down to your shoulder with that gentle focus you didn’t think he was capable of

oUuu

“you should’ve asked for help, rookie” he says with that familiar cocky grin, but you catch the slight crinkle of concern in his brow, the mole beneath his lips almost beckoning you to stare at it

why is he so dumb but also so stupidly handsome?

and then his fingers are brushing against your shoulder again, carefully massaging the area in a way that’s too intimate for someone who’s just your annoying gym-obsessed neighbor

your heart rate spikes, and suddenly the injury doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore

“i’m fine, really,” you lie, trying to brush it off, but the way his Bambi eyes are looking at you—all soft and worried—has your head spinning

oh god

“i don’t think you are” he mutters, voice low, as he places a hand gently on your waist, pulling you just a little closer

god, stop being so touchy

the fact that he smells like musk and with some citrus-y notes underneath doesn’t help either

you feel your cheeks warming and lips parting

you feel yourself leaning in despite all logic telling you to stop, and then his eyes flicker down to your lips and back to your eyes, slow and cautious, like he’s waiting for your permission

you really cannot help but feel your heart skip a beat at how beautiful he looks. no like for real, his hair is slightly overgrown, curled at the ends which fall gracefully over his face

and how soft his lips look

your brain is too far gone, and the next thing you know, you’re kissing him, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer

his hair feels so silky soft

but his lips are even softer, but there’s a desperate edge to the kiss, and you don’t know if it's because of your injury or the fact that you’ve both been playing this weird tension game for far too long

you feel like u can finally die kissing him like this

his hand slides down your back, pressing you into him as if you might disappear, and you pull away, gasping for air

jungkook’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown and heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling quickly as he looks at you with an unreadable expression

“shit, i… i didn’t think i was actually going to do that” he murmurs, his voice rough and nearly trembling if u hear closely

you stare at his lips again, the mole under them, the way he looks so dumb but also so dumb handsome

his mouth parts to say something stupid again but you shush him with your pointer on his lips

“shut up and kiss me again, you idiot” you mutter, pulling him back in without a second thought

oH WOW

Jungkook doesn’t need any more encouragement. this time, it’s all teeth and heat, a kiss that feels like it might burn the air around you both

and your shoulder? completely forgotten, left in the dust

the kiss doesn’t end in some grand, romantic crescendo like the movies promised

you both were shamelessly making out on his mat

you were perched on his lap and both of u were busy eating eachother’s mouths (it sounds gross but that’s what exactly u two were doing) when suddenly you give his hair a tug

and you hear a moan spilling from him

his hips buck up and you gasp, but it ends with him abruptly pulling away

he’s breathing like he just ran an hour on the treadmill. cheeks all flushed, lips shining with saliva and eyes wide

and your heart is hammering in your chest like it’s trying to escape

jungkook stares at you, lips slightly swollen, eyes wide and wild, and for once, the idiot looks just as lost as you feel

“i—uh—” you stammer, the words tangling in your throat because what the hell are you supposed to say after something like that

“y- yeah,” he cuts in, his voice rough and strained like he’s been punched in the gut, “same”

same? SAME?!

you glare at him, more out of panic than anger, because suddenly the room feels too small, and his scent—something annoyingly musky and Jungkook-ish—is now overwhelming you

“i, uh, should go” you blurt out, scrambling to your feet and clutching your sore shoulder like a lifeline

jungkook doesn’t stop you, just sits there on the floor, looking up at you with a furrowed brow and an expression you can’t quite place

“cool” he mutters, dragging a hand through his messy hair as his jaw clenches

you don’t say anything else, don’t even look back as you practically bolt out of his apartment and into the safety of your own, slamming the door shut behind you

breathe, you tell yourself, leaning against the door, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling from his kiss

you won’t lie, you really didn’t think it would take just a tug of hair to have Mr. Muscle moaning under you

and that kind of inflated ur ego too

>:-)

but now

as u stand behind your closed door

the warmth that had filled your chest moments ago is quickly replaced by a knot of confusion and panic

because this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with Jungkook of all people

he’s my annoying gym-rat neighbor. this is… this is stupid

or is this really?..

no matter how much you try to convince yourself, your fingers keep brushing your lips absentmindedly, and your brain replays the moment over and over again like some kind of cruel joke

the next morning, you half expect him to blast his gym playlist at full volume to piss you off like he always does

but it’s quiet

too quiet

jungkook doesn’t blast music. doesn’t clank weights around. doesn’t do anything to make his presence known, and it’s driving you insane

you don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does

when you leave for class, you catch a glimpse of him locking his door, but he doesn’t even glance your way

just slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks off like you don’t exist

asshole

yea that hurt. a Lot. like a good amount, because you are sure that you felt that pain in the centre of your chest

but it’s not like you’re any better

you bury yourself in your textbooks, pretending the kiss never happened, even though your stupid brain refuses to let it go

your chest feels tight every time you hear his door open or his voice filter through the thin walls

and you hate how you feel disappointed every time he doesn’t acknowledge you

like you really are a stranger to him

:-(

it’s pathetic, but you can’t help it

the silence between the two of you stretches on like an invisible barrier

days pass, and the two of you become masters of the fine art of avoidance

there’s a strange art to it, like walking on eggshells in your own apartment

even if u two live in separate apartments, it just feels

weird

you are so used to him being so noisy and what not

but the silence is heavy, uncomfortable, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air

and it’s clEar neither of you know how to handle whatever the hell this is

you can’t figure out whether it’s a relief or suffocating

and every time you pass him in the hallway or see him through your apartment window, it’s like a silent conversation you’re not having

and that, somehow, feels worse than everything else

you want him to say something. anything.

but he doesn’t

and neither do you

and it makes you sick how easy it is to fall back into the rhythm of pretending he doesn’t exist

even when he’s right there.

you go to class and he’s there

sitting three rows ahead of you like he’s deliberately trying to ignore you

and with that girl who cannot seem to have her hands off his bicep

and you’re… fine with it

totally fine

you are just hoping that your glare is enough to burn a hole in her skull

it’s just that you can’t stop staring at the back of his head

like maybe he’ll turn around and say something but nope

the entire lecture passes and he doesn’t even glance over

and you try not to overthink it but you’re pretty sure jungkook is doing the same thing to you

ignoring you

on purpose

you’re not imagining it, right?

lunch rolls around and you sit down at your usual spot

jungkook’s sitting at the table next to you with his back to you

he doesn’t even look up when you sit down

normally, he would’ve sent you a little half-smile or asked about your day or whatever. .

but now? nothing

it’s like you’re invisible

and that’s fine. you don’t care.

but deep down, you feel this weird lump in your chest

because you didn’t expect this coldness from him

even after everything that’s happened

and you’d even unconsciously brought his favourite flavour of chips he especially likes..

:(

then you see him texting on his phone

and you can’t help but peek over at his screen

jungkook is texting someone

and it’s not you

for some reason, that stings more than it should, but you swallow it down and pretend you didn’t notice

the silence between the two of you stretches out for days

it’s like the entire universe is pretending you never had that moment together

the night when everything took a wild ass turn

but jungkook’s acting like it never happened

and so are you.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s better

maybe he regrets kissing you.

maybe you even made him uncomfortable?..

and maybe this is easier

you can’t decide if it hurts or if you’re just overthinking it

either way, you stop checking his texts, stop wondering what he’s doing in his apartment

you try your best to pretend it’s okay

but deep down, you miss the stupid moments

the ones where he wasn’t so distant where it feels like something ended between you two before it could even start.

it feels like it’s been over a decade

:(

and you hate it.

but you push it aside

it’s just… the silence is way too loud now.

you’re sitting in your room, trying to convince yourself that letting go of jungkook is the right thing to do

and perhaps ur failing miserably lol

but it’s hard because every five minutes you catch yourself staring at something that reminds you of him

your notes? he doodled on them during lectures

your hoodie? yeah, it’s his. he lent it to you one day and never asked for it back

your heart? yeah. he kind of stole that too

you’re spiraling between sleep and insanity when there’s a knock on your door

no, wait—it’s not a knock

it’s banging — like someone’s fist is about to break through the wood

WHO CALLED THE COPS ON YOU ONG

you jump up, your heart pounding, and open the door

and there he is

jungkook—standing there, looking like he just ran a marathon and fought a bear at the same time

hair all messy, slight bags underneath his eyes and kinda disheveled outfit

for a split second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat

oh

it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and suddenly having him standing in front of you is making your heart race like crazy

“i can’t—” he stops, breathless, hands on his knees like he’s about to collapse

you’re standing there, eyes wide, totally taken aback by the sight of him, feeling a mix of relief and something else you can’t quite place

yet

“i can’t take it anymore,” he says, looking up at you with that ridiculous face of his

you grab that meaty bicep of him, ushering him to stand up

“what are you talking about?” you ask, completely confused

“you. i’m talking about you,” he says, taking a step closer

hUH

the air around you feels like it’s being sucked out of the room

your head is spinning because after all this time, here he is, right in front of you

“i like you. i’ve always liked you. and i didn’t know how to tell you, so i…”

“i got all this gym equipment just to bother you. i’d turn the music up way too loud, and i thought that’d make you notice me. i sat next to you at lunch, even in lectures, doing everything to annoy you because i didn’t know how else to approach you, i really thought—”

“jungkook.”

you blink, processing everything in a blur, your heart still hammering in your chest

but he doesn’t quite listen to you. “i knew you liked my sketches we had during cardio lectures, so i always made sure to draw—”

“juNGKOOK!”

you cut him off, smacking his idiotic shoulders “you’re an idiot.”

jungkook stops, eyes widening a little, but there’s this look of relief on his face

like a huge weight has just been lifted off him

almost like when u get to pee after holding it in for hours

“i know,” he says softly, and for the first time, you realize how vulnerable he looks standing there

he somehow looks

small.

“then why didn’t you just talk to me like a normal person?” you ask, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement

jungkook smiles sheepishly, his pearly whites flashing. “i guess i thought this would be easier.”

easier.

only if he knew that each moment without him felt like the earth opening up and swallowing you

AND!!! HIS FAVOURITE ONION VINEGAR FLAVORED CHIPS!! which used to be your absolutely hated flavour but somehow you’ve caught a liking to them recently

how ironic

the room feels heavy with tension as you both stand there, unsure of what to say next, but his gaze is so intense, it makes your heart skip

“say something,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “please.”

you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, still flustered, but there’s something about his earnestness that makes everything else fade into the background

and the way his caramel brown eyes nearly sparkle underneath your dimly lit apartment lights

you shake your head with a smile.

“you’re an idiot.”

but you're smiling like a total fool because what else are you supposed to do when the guy you’ve been in love with just confessed to you?

jungkook’s face softens, and then he smiles too

a smile which looks so adorable you feel your heart will burst

and it’s over for you

“so, uh…” he scratches the back of his neck, looking bashful. “does that mean you like me too?”

you roll your eyes, your heart racing all over again, and grab the front of his shirt to pull him inside

“kiss me already”

the door slams shut behind you.

and the rest

as they say, is history

:-)

a/n : i love them bad :’(

mlist | let me know what you think anonymously :))

[walpu]

I've got those requests almost at the same time jsrfwwxewe also I fucked up big time and accidentally deleted them but thanks god I've made the screenshots

I've been looking forward to writing something nsfw for him lmao

nsfw headcanons w/Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, nsfw, subby!Aven. Somehow turned into a character study. Somewhat angsty but with a turn for hurt/comfort. No beta.

Okay, first of all, he's no virgin. But he's NOT a manwhore either. Like for some reason when it comes to the cunning characters it's always either he's a dickrider-pussydestroyer-900 or he's actually a fragile innocent virgin baby. Not the case with Aventurine, not on my watch at least.

I mean it's pretty much canon that the only moment he feels truly alive is when he's gambling so he won't seek sex for the purpose of filling up the hole in his heart. And I don't see him as a lustful person in general.

He has one-night stands from time to time though. Not particularly often but once in a while he feels a certain level of frustration and stress budling up in him so in order to distress without losing his cool he seeks sexual relief. For him it's a safe way to relax a bit without actually taking off the mask of a frivolous and confident man.

Also. He's very touch starved. Not even in a lustful way, he just wants to feel someone's touch. Someone on twitter pointed out that he's practically hugging himself on his e6 and I haven't been the same ever since.

And now look at his body language in almost every cutscene. He has his arms crossed and is generally pretty reversed. I think he doesn't trust people around enough to be in his personal space but when it's a part of the sexual act, it's just natural. He doesn't have to feel exposed. So yeah. This is another reason why he seeks sex.

Now do you remember what Sparkle said to him? About stripping himself naked for Sunday and all that? Yeah I feel like he gets comments like that a lot due to people's prejudice against Avgins. People are usually not this straightforward butttt the idea behind their comments is the same.

He may act unaffected as long as he wants to but I do think it messed him up quite a bit.

Due to his fucked up views on his own value and his sexuality he doesn't have a healthy set of boundaries with his partners, allowing them to be as mean and rough as they want. And I don't mean just kinky stuff, I mean genuinely uncaring partners who really don't give a shit about Aven's comfort. I think subconsciously he seeks people like this. In his eyes, it's better this way, otherwise he may crumble from a gently and caring touch.

So yeah. His sexual encounters usually leave him sore and exhausted. The initial feeling of relief washes away in the morning, leaving him more empty than before.

Okay now to the happier part because we are 466 words in and I still didn't say anything good or sexy.

If the two of you started your relationship as a fling then initially he would be surprised because of how observant and attentive you are.

"My, my, how caring you are. But don't worry about me, you're free to use me as you wish" he says in the same flirty tone as usual. And you just. Stare.

He acts like he's bored while you literally pry the information out of him and, well, he doesn't give you anything specific anyway so you have to ask questions during the whole prosses to make sure he's doing fine. Orrr you just set for something very vanilla just in case.

In reality he's a bit confused. Has mixed feeling about this. Being treated with such care makes it harder for him to hide behind his mask but it feels so nice.

And when he realizes that he has actual feelings for you he just. Stops sleeping with you lmao. If you have questions about this he'll find 2134144 excuses but in reality he just tries to figure out his own feelings.

If you started off as friends then he would not try to sleep with you until you start dating. At first he just doesn't want to mix up this dynamics. And when he catches feelings, he just tries to make sense of it. Plus since sex is not something entirely positive for him, he's just kind of... unsure how it may affect your relationship even if it's obvious that the two of you want each other.

Okay now the real talk. When the two of you are officially lovers be prepared to face his messed up views on his own sexuality. Will probably need a lot of reassurance, attention and aftercare to realize the importance of his own safety and comfort. Learns to value himself through you.

A very good lover, knows how to please you and wants to please you. His previous sex partners weren't important to him so he didn't go out of his way to make them feel good but with you it's a different story. Literally worships your body, pressing kisses everywhere. Especially likes your thighs. Kisses them, bites them, leaves marks all over them. Loooooves teasing them while keeping eye contact with you right before giving you oral.

I feel like he's a switch but leans towards being a sub. May dom if you want him to or, rarely, if he feels like it.

May look like a brat but is not actually a brat. Well, most of the time. He's a tease but still does pretty much everything you want without making you work for it. However, if he's in a playful mood, may get all cheeky with you. Says stuff like: "Oh, that's all? I know you can do better" or "My dearest, don't disappoint me, okay? You know I don't make deals that don't pay off" just to rile you up. He loves being tamed okay. He knows you won't hurt him so him being all cheeky and disobedient is actually a huge sign that he's comfortable with you and trusts you fully.

Worship his body and he'll melt. Like. He'll genuinely crumble.

Goes all worked up and needy and soft and completely submissive in your arms.

Loves loves loves edging you. And fucking hate being edged. And by "hates" I mean he will whine and sulk and beg you to let him cum already. Secretly loves it but won't admit. You know it anyway since he never tries to stop you, obeying your every command, like a good boy he is. If you tell him that you'll stop doing that if he actually wants you to he'll huff and admit that he's not actually against you being a meanie.

Loves marking your body and loves when you mark his. HOWEVER would prefer to leave/have hickeys on the parts of your bodies that are usually covered. Doesn't want to create any rumors and doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. However, if you're into this, he'll gladly cover your entire neck with hickeys.

Is actually very sensitive pretty much everywhere so it's quite easy to overstimulate him. Once again, he'll whine but would never be against it.

Has the pretties moans and is very loud as well.

Doesn't have a lot of stamina so if he tops and you're still not satisfied after he cums, he'll use toys to entertain you up until he is ready for another round. If he bottoms then please give him some time to rest. Andddd kiss all over his body so he would get worked up again as soon as possible.

Has a praise kink. And a bit of a degradation kink too actually. Don't just insult him, mix it up with a praise and boom he's ready to cum.

Loves aftercare. Both giving and receiving it. He feels extremely vulnerable after a sensual lovemaking session so please just hold him and tell him he did great.

[ratioaven]

spoilers for 2.1 !!!!!!!

aventurine rant, please keep in my mind that these are my own thoughts and interpretations. im extremely sleep deprived lol so im sorry if i got anything wrong

something thats been on my mind since yesterday are these lines.

from the start to me, it was very clear aventurine had self esteem/worth issues because of how he treats his own life, but the line that says “the other hand is below the table, clutching your chips for dear life” stuck out to me.

i always assumed aventurine was so incredibly confident in his luck but in reality he is afraid. he’s terrified that he’ll lose. it’s an act. he convinces himself, he fools himself, he forces himself to act like he’s confident he’ll win, when in reality even if he does win, he’s still clutching his chips under the table for dear life because of how terrified he is of losing.

that really messed with me to be honest. i feel tricked and what’s ironic is that he tricks his opponents into thinking he’s confident, and he also tricked ME the player but really, this made my heart break in two because i had absolutely no clue up until now.

so why does he act this way

all throughout his life, aventurine has had his pride stripped away. just try to imagine being in his shoes. i myself do not think i could deal with the situations he was put in. i cannot stress this enough, aventurine has a mark on his neck that screams to him that he has once belonged to someone. he has had his pride stripped away from him countless times. but it’s ironic because aventurine is introduced as a very prideful and flashy man. you start to realize the front aventurine puts on is his own way of protecting himself. it’s how he’s able to live basically. i wanna go into more detail but i will later.

as it was said before, aventurine is an uptight person who worries. he is extremely afraid of losing and he has a massive inferiority complex. aventurine may seem like a go lucky person on the outside, but in actuality he is not. he is not happy. he has no self worth, he believes he has nothing to live for, and he has no problem with throwing his life away. aventurine believes the only good thing he brings to the table is his luck.

but this brings me to my next point.

aventurine may not realize it, but he is so much more than his luck. he has so many good qualities and he doesn’t seem to realize it. even if some of it may be an act, he’s still able to pull it off. he’s still an intelligent business man who is both charming and cunning EVEN if it may be an act, those are still amazing qualities to have in his line of work.

but more importantly, aventurine chose to live. despite witnessing his family die, being a slave, and tortured, he chose to live. he chooses to. i cannot stress this enough. this man has gone through hell and back. he truly has had an incredibly difficult life to the point where my heart hurts so so badly for him. he made the decision to stay alive.

that says more than enough about his character.

and last but not least, aventurine wants one thing, and that is to be with his family. he’s witnessed horrible things in his life that no one should ever go through. he lost everyone close to him, he lost his people. he has nothing to live for and he values his life so little to the point where he has no problem with dying. the only real thing that he wants is just to see his family.

and he will one day, but in the meantime, i genuinely hope this man can find a reason to live, and ratio already gave him one just by that note. i just truly wish aventurine happiness while he lives the rest of his life.

i guess this is a topic that really hits me hard because i know all too well that choosing to live life isn’t easy sometimes and i just love aventurine.

let’s all appreciate how truly amazing his character is.

[nvuy]

hey gorjous im just curious will you ever write for aventurine?by the way loveeee your works

rose-tinted glasses & the scent of you — aventurine

summary. you’re offered a chance to win close to a million credits. only issue is, you suck at poker. luckily, some blond man with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen comes to your aid.

notes. who is aventurine and no i will never write for him. it is 3:30am and i am now going to sleep goodnight!!!!

warnings. the dude your playing poker with is an asshole and says some strange things, i guess a bit of power imbalance, gn reader but referred to as ‘beautiful’ or ‘gorgeous,’ light cussing, i don’t know how to play poker and i fight the gods trying to write aventurine.

“So… tell me… what made you think you could win?” 

The older man stares you down with those awful brown eyes. They flicker even darker than black itself in the low lights of the VIP room he’s dragged you into. 

You glance up from your deck of cards. Your fingers are trembling. You swallow and tell the man, “I never even agreed to play this game with you.” 

The man leans back in his chair. He merely rolls his eyes. The woman over his shoulder—and she’s a gorgeous woman. She looks much too young for him—giggles at his antics. She looks more like a prize than anything. 

Your eyes snap to the man’s again. “And I don’t want to be your arm candy.” 

“Oh, but that’s what you were made for.” The man yawns as if he could be doing anything else with his time. And he could have; he was rich. Filthy rich. He paid for women, cars, and every high end restaurant in this district that was under his name one way or another. All his. He could have been off on his yacht somewhere in the ocean for all you cared, sipping a nice martini. 

But, no. 

He’s here. And he wants you. 

Some lowly office worker. You knew the gut feeling when you stepped into this casino, and you had ignored it. Now, you were kicking yourself repeatedly for it.

“Play.”

You almost consider throwing your cards down onto the table and storming out, but the room is closed off by two big burly men standing on either side of it.

And if you give up, he wins.

But he’s already winning, anyway. 

“Play the game,” he repeats, this time firmer. 

“I’m folding,” you said with just as much vitriol. You drop your cards onto the green velvet and swallow your pride. 

The man hums with triumph, drops his deck—of course, a royal flush glimmers back at you on his pristine customised playing cards—and collects the chips in the middle of the table. 

“That’s another round for me,” the man whispers across the table. “Another drink?” 

You shake your head. The thought of him making you down even more liquor with him made you feel sick. “Can I leave?” 

“‘Leave?’ It’s only round four.” The dealer takes the cards silently. Another woman. Her name badge reads ‘Jewel,’ though you’re sure that’s not her real name. “You said it was best of five.” 

You look down at your hands.

They’re still trembling. 

“This isn’t fair.” You try not to tear up, but your voice shakes, and it’s difficult to mask. Your hands continue to quake and your legs can’t remain still. You were sure he could feel the floor vibrating with how you bounced in your seat. “I can’t even play with these cards–” 

“I hope you’re not suggesting I’m taking advantage of you, beautiful.” 

Your face screws up at that. 

He’s not cheating. How can he possibly cheat? You had elected the dealer yourself, per his request, and had been watching him like a hawk for the better half of an hour. 

Your hands were awful every time. Not even a simple pair. Just random useless low valued cards thrown together, while the man opposite you seemed to have an endless amount of tricks up his sleeve. 

Poker was luck based. Mostly. There was skill and strategy, but it was like detective work. You’re no professional, but the dealer has no idea what they draw for each player, and the chances of you being drawn a horrible hand twice in a row now was creeping up on you.

It’s all guesswork and mind games. Being a sleaze is this dude’s lifestyle. You work in an office answering phone calls all day.

You glance at the dealer again. She’s still shuffling the cards by hand, and she’s not looking at them either. There’s no possible way she could know what she is handing out. 

You sigh shakily. “No.” 

The man leans back in his chair. 

Then, he glances up when the door opens behind you. The woman over his arm gets up and leaves. 

At first you presume the man has called in another woman by the way his eyes light up.

His grin is wicked. “Mister Aventurine, you son of a bitch.”

He gestures to you and says, “you’re in luck. Maybe this’ll be your turn around. You’re going to need it.” The man leans back in his chair, suddenly smug.

You feel a hand brush along the back of your shoulder.

There’s a strong scent of clove oil and chestnut as the newcomer, Mister Aventurine, glides past your chair and over to the man’s shoulder. 

You notice flicks of water on his coat.

“Evening, Keres.” His voice is just as smooth. “It’s raining hard out there.” 

“Is it? I ain’t been out since this mornin’.”

When you take a proper look at him, he’s wearing clothing more expensive than all of your bills combined. That was real fur around his collar; you could tell from the organic coarseness of it, and the way the pattern was inconsistent and natural. The watch around his wrist was most definitely real gold with an emerald green face. 

And hair is perfect, laid down flat, but with pieces fluffed out intentionally. Everything is done with purpose. He carries an air of confidence to him, and it only falters for a moment when he adjusts the black gloves on his hands. 

He’s wearing rose-coloured glasses.

“Harassing the locals again?” Mister Aventurine asks playfully. 

He’s talking about you.

You bristle in your seat.

“Hardly.” The man, whom you now know as Keres, leans over the table with an arm on the velvet. “This one’s gotten a little too excited at the prize money.” 

“And how much is that?” Mister Aventurine finishes fixing his gloves before he stands up straight. 

“A good seven-hundred and fifty thousand. Enough to pay the bills for the year and get yourself something nice, right sweetheart?” He raises a silver credit card he pulls from his pocket and waves it side to side. “All right here on this shiny, pretty card.”

You feel like a fish staring down a hook with worm bait stuck to the end.

He’s speaking to you again, but the question  remains unanswered. Keres raises an eyebrow—and you would have considered him handsome if didn’t make you feel nauseous every time he spoke to you—and waits.

You say nothing. 

Mister Aventurine is looking at you now.

You feel as though you’re being hypnotised. Though the colour of his eyes are left muffled by the rosy tint he wears over them, they’re so bright. There’s two colours you can barely decipher: some sort of light green and a deep purple.

And they’re beautiful. 

“I take it you’re winning?” 

Keres picks up his deck of cards for the dealer as she lays them out on the table.

You swallow as she deals out your hand next. You don’t even want to flip the cards. You already know it’s over.

By some miracle, you have to win this round.

Keres had gone easy on you the first round, calling your bluff and being wrong, since you told him you weren’t sure how to play, and he felt only the slightest bit bad he roped you into the game in the first place.

Now, he didn’t care. 

“‘Course I’m winnin’.” 

Your teeth grit behind your lips.

Dickhead.

You swallow and peek at your cards. 

Huh. They’re actually not so bad this time around. Your hands had been awful for the last hour. 

Mister Aventurine is still looking at you.

You try not to return his gaze. You keep your eyes glued to the table. 

Mister Aventurine hums curiously.

You can still smell his perfume, and the delicious bottom note of vanilla musk, even as he stands on the other side of the playing table. If you weren’t in the position you were in, you would have asked him what he was wearing. 

He clears his throat. 

You glance up at him.

Then, he nods subtly at you, seemingly pleased. “Great hand, Keres, don’t you think?” 

“The secret to winning is to remain humble, Mister Aventurine,” Keres reminds him. 

You almost scoff. 

Mister Aventurine’s lips tick up into a grin. “Is that so?” 

Then, he tilts his head slightly towards you. It’s not enough to look awkward or out of place, but it’s just enough for you to notice the very small, and nervous tick of one of his gloved fingers by his sides. 

He’s still staring at you. 

And there, slightly warped from his curved lenses, is a rosy and mirrored reflection of the man’s cards. 

For a moment, you look away, glancing at the security guards situated behind you standing in front of the door. Though you still could never make a run for it because both of them were triple your size, one of them was tapping away on his phone, and the other was leaning against the wall and staring off into space. 

You turn back around. 

Mister Aventurine merely raises a brow. 

Keres notices that. “Taking an interest in my opponent, Aventurine?”

Aventurine does not move to address the man, too afraid he won’t garner the correct angle on his glasses again, but his eyes do flit in his direction. “Maybe.”

“Don’t use that charm just yet, sir. I’ve got a game to win.” 

“Of course.” It’s a mere send off of his tone, as if he’s just carelessly thrown the words in to keep the man satisfied. 

He’s doing this on purpose. 

You glance down at your cards again. 

Keres’ hand is good. It’s not amazing, but it’s good. It’s almost an even match, though the game is tilted slightly in his favour. 

But, he doesn’t know your cards. 

Neither does Aventurine. You think. Unless those freaky eyes grant him a sixth sense, and he can see through the card backs like an x-ray. That wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest. 

You exhale as steadily as you can, trying to slow your racing heart. 

Then, you whisper, “if this is the final round, I’m going all in.” 

Aventurine’s face does not shift. His lenses flicker in the lights, and for a moment you panic, convinced that the reflection is lost.

It returns a moment later. 

Keres grins. “As you wish.” He slides all of his own chips into the centre of the table. 

ೃ༄

You’ve confused Keres, that’s for sure. The round has been lasting a lot longer than he liked, and as he grew more and more impatient, he grew sloppier. 

You’re not any good at this game. You’re not a genius strategist, that was for sure, but judging by the slight flinch in Aventurine’s face when Keres slammed his hands on the table, you could tell he was being run around the very table he sat at. 

He’d first accused you of cheating halfway through the round, so much so that the security guards were ordered to pat you down for extra cards, and the dealer was escorted out of the room. 

Then, Aventurine had rested a gloved hand to the man’s shoulder and reminded him, “calmness is the cradle of power, my friend.” 

That barely calmed him down, but it was enough to seat the man again. 

Now, Aventurine was not showing you his hand anymore, but you didn’t need it. 

“I’m raising,” Keres whispers. 

Aventurine’s eyes narrow suspiciously at his deck. 

You swallow. 

“Then I’m calling your bluff,” you mumble. You won’t fold. Not here. Not when you know you’ve won. 

Your heart is racing.

There’s a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you may have overstepped. You may have grown too big in your own head. 

Aventurine is staring at you, completely expressionless. He’s casually leaning against the back of Keres’ chair. 

Come on. Come on, come on–

You grip your cards for dear life.  

Keres drops his cards. “Fuck you.” 

You sigh in relief and drop your own cards.

You bury your face in your hands and lean against the table on your elbows. You could cry. Oh, you could get on the floor and weep to the Aeons. You could give Aventurine a giant kiss on the lips. 

Oh, thank the Aeons for blond men. 

You didn’t have to worry about waking up in this man’s bed tomorrow morning. 

Keres gets up, and as he does, Aventurine adjusts his posture and clears his throat. He says nothing when Keres passes him. 

There’s a nasty whisper of a, “some lucky charm you are,” before the credit card is thrown into his chest. 

Keres hits you in the shoulder on his way out. The security guards allow him through first before they both file out. They close the door to the VIP room behind them. 

You contemplate leaving as well. You just desperately want to go home. It’s getting late, you think. You had caught a glance of Aventurine’s watch before, and the large hand was ticking towards nine o’clock. 

“Congratulations.” It’s warm. It’s genuine. When you turn, Aventurine is holding out the credit card in front of him. “Don’t forget the ‘shiny, pretty card.’” 

Your chest warms, and you feel this is the first time you’ve smiled properly in a long time. 

You move closer to the man. “You…” You hesitate before the credit card, but Aventurine makes no move to pocket it for himself and leave. “I- I don’t know how I can thank you enough for this.” 

You take the card and stare at it for a moment. 

Then, you place it safely in your coat pocket. 

Aventurine tilts his head, confusion scrawled onto his face as saunters past you easily to hold open the door for you. “Thank me for what?”

As he waits, he pulls off those rosy glasses and folds them neatly. He holds onto them.

Oh. 

His eyes are beautiful. A light blue ring surrounds his slightly slitted pupils. A gorgeous rich royal purple wraps at the edges of his iris, bordered by a thick black ring. 

You stop for a moment before you step towards the door, looking equally as confused. “The reflection? With your glasses?” 

Aventurine looks down at the said pair in his hands. He then smiles, but it seems more to be polite and to entertain you. “Sure.” He shuts the door behind you when he follows you out. 

You knit your brows together. 

Then, it wasn’t intentional.

Or, he’s just really good at playing dumb.

You can’t exactly tell.

His grin spells mischief, however. “Would you like a drink?” 

Your eyes flit towards the bar. It’s always fully stocked, and the bartenders are always lovely, but the idea of liquor in your already churning stomach makes you feel sick. “Oh, no. But thank you. I’m probably just going to go home.” 

“Of course. It’s late.” Aventurine glances down at his watch. “I’d be more than happy to walk you to your car, if you’d like.” 

You blink at him, only slightly dazed. 

You felt as if you had just swallowed three shots of straight vodka. 

Your legs feel unsteady for a moment, and you’re afraid you’ll teeter and fall flat on your face. You can smell his perfume again. It’s stronger now since he’s standing so close to you.

It’s almost humiliating how easily he sends blood rushing up your neck. 

“I don’t- uh… I don’t have a car,” you murmur. 

Aventurine blinks and takes out his phone. “Then I’ll call you a cab.” 

“Thanks.” You clear your throat when his lips stretch into a smile again. Embarrassingly, you add, “you smell so nice.” 

He laughs then, and you like the sound. He narrows his eyes playfully. “Thank you.” 

As if it couldn’t get any worse, blondie then offers you his arm. You could’ve melted on the spot into a puddle of goo all over the plush red carpets of the casino. 

The sound of slot machines, loud chattering, and drinks clacking together in toasts, drowns out the sound of your stuttered breathing and the roar of blood in your ears. 

Aventurine greets one of the staff members on his way out. His arm linked with yours is gentle, more of a persistent comforting anchor than a leash to drag you around in.

He smells really, really nice. 

Your face grows hot.

This is so bad. 

It’s raining outside. The entrance to the casino is large enough to provide enough relief to city goers seeking shelter from the rain. The press of the heating from inside dissipate as soon as you step through the doors.

It’s freezing. The wind whips and sounds as though one thousand ghosts float through the air, lost to time. 

You’re relieved the exterior roof keeps you mostly dry. 

You shiver. 

“They’ll be a cab for you in five minutes,” Aventurine says softly. He lets go of your arm. You ignore the disappointment you feel in your chest. 

“Thanks.” You cross your arms over your chest to shield yourself from the cold as best you could. “You don’t have to wait out here with me.” 

Aventurine looks at you strangely. “Well, it’s not like I’m doing much else.” He gives you a once over before you hear his clothes shifting. 

This is so awkward. 

You feel the foreign tickle of expensive and real fur on your neck. 

You glance at him suspiciously before your shoulders are swamped in his jacket. It’s warm, warmer than anything you’ve ever worn from the velvety insides and his own body heat, and heavy with luxury. 

Your heart stops when Aventurine hums, pleased. 

Your hands shoot to the white fur on the collar to shuck it off and hand it back to him. “I’m fine, really–” 

“Oh, please.” He waves you off gently. “You’re clearly freezing.” 

“I’m really okay–” 

“And would you look at that.” Aventurine straightens up and pushes his rosy glasses back onto his nose bridge. “Your cab’s early.” 

You shrug off his jacket, careful with the expensive material. “Thank you so much, but–” He pushes it back onto your shoulders, following you to the car door. “Mister Aventurine–” 

“I insist.” He opens the door for you. “You’ll freeze.” 

You can’t imagine him standing around in a suit vest and a shirt is warm, either.

You say nothing about it. You practically fall into the back of the cab, shocked. 

“Take it home.” 

“‘Take it–‘” You shake your head. You feel like you’re dreaming. “I can’t take this home. This thing is worth more than the money I just won.” 

But it’s warm, and it’s weighted in the most comforting way.

It calms your nerves. 

“It’s nothing fancy. It was only around one-hundred thousand credits.”  

“Are you serious–” 

“Take it.” And he is serious. You can see your reflection in his glasses. “Please.“ 

His eyes are really, really beautiful. 

You find yourself lost in them for a moment. 

His back is slightly soaked from the rain. He barely notices it. His hand rests on your knee when you swing your feet into the cab. 

You nod once, more to reassure yourself than anything. “Okay.” You look up at him. “Thank you so much.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He offers you a gentle wave before he shuts the door and the car drives off. 

He is cold. Frightfully so as you watch him shiver through the rear view mirror before he steps back into the casino. 

As the cab moves, you relay your address to the driver and sit back in the seat. You feel like you can finally breathe, but when you do breathe, you only smell chestnut and vanilla, and it blurs and muddies your senses nicely. 

You bury your icy fingers into the pockets of Aventurine’s coat, sinking into the neckline until the fur tickles your ears. 

Your fingers come into contact with something smooth and cool, like glass.

You fish it out. 

It’s a small perfume bottle. You pull the clear lid off of the tip of it and curiously smell the top. It smells exactly like him, the same perfume that’s drowned you for the last hour.

You don’t think you can get enough of it. 

You feel only slightly guilty for digging around in this man’s pockets—and, unsurprisingly, you don’t find a wallet—before you fish out a pair of fancy looking golden dice with light green dots on the faces. 

The dice, the perfume, and a small card. Not the credit card you won. That one is tucked away safely in your bag. 

It’s a business card. His business card. His name, what you recognise as the IPC’s logo, and his phone number are written in gold lettering on the laminated white card. 

You hum curiously.

Then, you fish out your phone and slowly type his number onto the screen. 

You: thank u 4 winning 2night for me. & the coat. the coat is nice. x

Sent 9:56pm

Aventurine: You found my gifts! :0 Did you like them?

You: maybe. i did like ur vest btw.

Aventurine: You can have it next time ;)

You find yourself smiling. Your fingers tremble with excitement over the keyboard on your screen.

You: i’ll give u a kiss 4 it :*

Aventurine: Done, deal. Pleasure doing business with you, gorgeous.

You have a feeling your wardrobe will be full of his clothes in the not so distant future. 

[twistyfish]

Rest

Zayne x MC

The door slammed behind you and you tried to kick your boots off before realizing you couldn’t, because they were zipped and buckled on. With a huff, you bent down and yanked on the short ribbons of belt around your ankles, ripping the metal apart and unceremoniously unzipping your boots before throwing them in the corner.

After scrubbing your hands, you practically threw yourself onto the couch next to Zayne.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Zayne gave you that disapproving doctoral look. “I told you to stop saying that.”

“I’m going to kill somebody.”

He sighed, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “What happened?”

“All of this week’s reports got deleted and now I look incompetent. Tara and Xavier are trying to help me rewrite them, but it’s hard to do it from scratch. Bethany told me she would report me to Captain Jenna, as if it’s my fault the reports disappeared.”

He grimaced. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

The hand that was massaging your shoulder wrapped around to your other shoulder and pulled you in to rest on his. “I’m sorry. That sounds frustrating,” came his soft voice.

“Has something like this ever happened to you?”

He thought for a minute. “Yes. I once had all of a patient’s files get misplaced. Thankfully, I was able to print new ones, but my notes were all gone. Since then, I take notes electronically. Is there something similar you could do to ensure this doesn’t happen again in the future?”

“I wasn’t careless. There’s nothing I could have done differently,” you said a tad defensively.

“I understand. But perhaps you could make copies of such documents next time?”

You sat up and looked at him incredulously. “Why are you making this out to be my fault? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did no such thing. All I did was suggest you take preventative measures later. I would advise you to take a chill pill.”

You exhaled and rubbed your forehead. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” Your eyes were stinging; you didn’t know if it was with sleep or with tears.

“I’m just really sick of feeling like a scapegoat when things go wrong, you know?” You said with a scratchy voice. “I swear I’m doing the best I can and it’s never enough.”

“I know, darling. You always put everything into the things you care about. I would be the last to doubt your passion for your work.”

Zayne gently pulled you into his embrace, cupping your head in his large hand and guiding it to rest against his collarbone. His fingers tangled in your hair and massaged your scalp soothingly.

“You are enough. You are more than enough. Your teammates value your tenacity and hard work, and I value your every decision. You are worth more than your work.”

You curled into his embrace, and he picked up a blanket from the pouf in front of you and draped it over you.

“Just rest.”

And you did.

[jlheon]

୨ৎ — cheerleader (pjs)

pairing. basketball player! park jongseong x fem! reader synopsis. jay’s favorite cheerleader isn’t at practice genre. hs au fluff wc. 2337 notes. ft. hyung line, natty, reader has a mom library.

whether they cared or not, everyone knew you had the biggest crush on park jongseong, or rather know as jay to most.

he was jongseong to you though, when he had started to go by jay in middle school you were the only person who still called him jongseong. 

you were everything but slick about your feelings for the boy who sported the number ninety-nine on the basketball team.

the whole reason you tried out for cheerleading freshman year was him. but your crush on jongseong started way longer ago than that, all of the earliest memories you remember you were following him around everywhere. so in short, forever.  

he had been your next-door neighbor ever since you were born. before you were born your parents were average neighbors, only talking during passing. 

that quickly changed when your parents ended up at the hospital just days apart. when his parents were looking at him from the window in front of the hospital nursery so were yours. you were born a mere three days after jay and ever since then your parents had loved setting up playdates. 

jay was your best friend, even if you weren’t exactly his. he still valued you as a friend but when you both started elementary school he had found his group within park sunghoon and sim jaeyun or rather known as jake. while you had your best friend natty. 

for the majority of your school careers, you and he never ended up in the same class, but the fact his parents always drove you home as it was easier and more convenient kept you happy. having short conversations on the car ride home slowly became not enough for you, the change from middle school to high school prevented you from seeing jay even more. 

in middle school, he had always told you how he wanted to make the basketball team in high school, and unsurprisingly he did. you knew once the season started, he was to stay after school for basketball practice while you sat in the car with his mother alone as she drove you home. 

not that it was awkward, you loved giving mrs. park a debrief of your day but you couldn’t help but miss seeing jay after school. so natty decided she couldn’t take your mopping around and missing your daily talks with jongseong, so she signed you both up for the cheerleading team. 

natty was a dancer, so the moves came easy to her. you on the other hand had no experience at all, but with natty’s help, you secured your spot on the team, pushing you one step closer to jay. 

the cheer and basketball team practices happened simultaneously, allowing you to speak with him. 

so now for as long as the basketball season was, not that you knew anything about the sport still, you had small conversations with jay every practice. 

every time his back hit the wall and he sat on the bench so did you. greeting him, asking about his day, and talking his ear off until his coach yelled at him to get back on the court. like always he was your ride home, only now he had his car. 

jay’s teammates labeled you his cheerleader girlfriend, and for some reason, he never had it in him to correct them. the only people on the team who saw you as his neighbor who’s been in love with him since they were in diapers were sunghoon and jake. 

all the cheerleaders never took any advances at jay since they had concluded that he was off limits and yours. 

though up until now jay hadn’t realized that when he tried to ask out one of the flyers and got bluntly rejected. no being let down slowly or nicely, but she had flat out said no, dropped her pompoms, and bolted towards the girls' locker room. 

jay knew this girl as they were in the same psych class and he found her cute, or at least he had listened to what jake had thought about her and asked her out. 

during their free in the library before that day’s practice sunghoon had decided to bring up how jay got rejected.

“i still can’t believe she dropped her pompoms!” sunghoon laughed, jay hitting him to remind him they were in a quiet space. 

“i told you she would rather get with me instead,” jake added, looking up from his physics homework. 

“i just don’t get it,” jay sighed, resting his head on his palm. “i’ve never been rejected like that.”

“you don’t think ____ had anything to do with it do you?” sunghoon suggested. 

“i mean it’s suspicious,” jake pondered. “that girl follows you around like a fly, you need to get yourself some bug spray!”

“stop trying to make everything a metaphor jake-”

“i mean i’ve never asked any other girl out on the cheer team…” jay interrupted. 

the three boys didn’t know that you stood behind their table behind the bookshelves where you couldn’t see them but could surely hear them. 

you had been looking for the a book to read for the week and you had just so happened to be there when your name fell from sunghoon’s lips and into the air of their conversation. you could recognize jay’s voice anywhere. you didn’t mean to eavesdrop but hearing your name made your feet incapable of walking away. 

“you have to admit she is why that girl rejected you,” sunghoon inserted, scribbling baseless numbers on his math homework. “she’s constantly around you and ruining your chances of getting a girlfriend.”

“you can’t possibly not be even slightly annoyed by her and her massive crush on you-” 

that was the last thing you heard jake say before running off before you could hear jay’s answer. you texted natty that you suddenly didn’t feel good and would be getting a ride home from jay’s mom. you were glad she was always there when you needed a ride home since your parents were always busy at work. 

you headed to the nurse's office, lying that you had a bad migraine. she looked you up and down and asked who she could call to pick you up and punched jay’s mom's number into her phone. 

mrs. park arrived in record time and before you knew it you were fake sleeping in the passenger’s seat thinking about how the son of the woman driving you home thought you were an annoying fruit fly ruining his love life. 

as much as you wanted to cry you waited until you got home to bury yourself under your covers for eternity. 

after you had run away you failed to hear jay coming to your defense and is now faced with the problem that he can’t put his finger on why he hopes you keep sticking around him even after graduation.  

being the punctual person you are you were always the first cheerleader at practice every day. even when you were sick you were there at three o’clock sharp, right when basketball practice started, and twenty minutes before the rest of the cheerleaders filtered in. you were always there to keep jay company as he laced up his shoes and warmed up. even when you were sick jay had to drag you out of the gym and drive you home when you nearly fainted.

but today was different. jay walked into the gym ready to be greeted by you with baby pink bows in your hair that matched your favorite practice skirt but was met with an empty gym.

“where’s your girlfriend?” the basketball captain, heeseung, asked as he walked in behind jay. 

“i don’t know,” jay unconsciously frowned. 

he spent the whole warm-up portion of practice missing every shot he tried to make. out of the corner of his eye, he saw his teammates eyeing him. when the cheerleaders started to make their way into the gym at their respective sides, jay didn’t hesitate to go find natty and ask where you were.

“natty,” jay called out as he walked towards her and two girls she was talking to. as jay approached the two other girls she had been talking to scattered off to the bleachers. 

“what’s up jay?” natty crossed her arms, looking him up and down.

“where’s ____?” he asked, holding his basketball by his side and catching his breath. 

“she went home,” the long-haired girl answered. “she told me your mom gave her a ride.”

“is she ok?”

“said she felt sick after hearing something in the library,” natty spun on her heel and walked back to her friends.

jay felt his stomach drop, or maybe it was the basketball he dropped, but he walked out of the gym without a word. jake and sunghoon tried to call after him but he went straight to the locker room to retrieve his bag and go to his car. 

he sped (drove within the speed limit like the good man he is) home. parking his car in his driveway and heading straight to next door to find out what was wrong with you today. 

he rang the doorbell three times with no answer and fished out the spare key from the tree house in your backyard and let himself in. slipping his shoes off and taking the stairs up to your room. 

when he gently opened the door he saw your messy head of hair peeking out from under your covers. the sound of the door opening caused you to sit up in bed and look at the door. 

when jay saw your mascara-smudged eyes his eyes softened, setting his bag near the door and coming to sit on your bed. 

“____?” jay reached for your hand, only for you to pull it away. 

“you should be at practice,” you turned your head away from him. 

“so should you,” jay tried to take your hand in his again, but this time you reluctantly let him as he was much stronger than you. “what’s wrong?”

“do you want me to leave you alone at school?” you finally faced jay, tears gathering on your lower lash line. “i will if you tell me to, i know i can be annoying and i’m sorry-”

“don’t apologize,” jay used his free hand to move some hair out of your face. “please don’t miss practice unless you’re actually sick, and let me know beforehand, i played so bad today and i didn’t even make it past warm-ups.”

you felt your face heat up at his words and turned away to hide your flustered expression. jay let out a laugh before softly cupping your face and turning your head towards him.

“don’t ever leave me alone,” he stared into your teary eyes. “i don’t think you heard me in the library but i love being around you.”

jay started to look blurry due to the tears filling your eyes as you let out a couple of sniffles, gripping his hand harder. jay pulled you towards his chest, stroking your head while you cried on him. 

“sorry i got your shirt wet,” you said when you finally calmed down, now sitting in jay’s lap as he rested against your headboard. 

“you have to stop apologizing for everything,”

“sorry-” you started but jay quickly covered your mouth to stop you from saying sorry yet again. 

you looked up at him and rested your head on his shoulder blade. taking in the fact you were sitting in the lap of the boy you had spent almost your whole lifetime pining after. you both sat in silence for some time. 

“what are you thinking about?” he asked, cradling the back of your head. 

“nothing,” your voice muffled by his shirt. “what about you?”

“oh i’m just thinking about if you’d let me be your boyfriend…” jay felt you press your face further into his shoulder, feeling you smiling against the fabric of his shirt. 

“you’re so corny!” 

“and yet you’re going to say yes,” 

“i’ll let you be my boyfriend if you let me be your girlfriend,” you lifted your head and gazed up at the boy in front of you. 

“now you’re being cheesy,” he lightly tickled your sides.

“i’m just matching your energy-”

your door swung open, revealing your distressed mother still clad in her work attire. 

“____ are you okay the nurse called me- oh hi jay!” your mom smiled at the boy on your bed. 

“hi mrs. ____!” jay greeted her back. “her head still hurts a bit so i’m keeping an eye on her.”

“thank you so much jay! tell your mother thanks for driving my baby home!” she said as she closed the door.

“baby,” he copied your mom's nickname for you and squished your cheeks. 

“shut up!”

“that’s no way to talk to your boyfriend!” 

you buried your head into his neck and let your eyes droop. all that crying caught up to you and you now felt extremely drowsy. 

jay’s white jersey was now stained with your tears mixed with mascara but that was the least important right now. the only important thing was listening to your soft snores and combing your hair with his hands. 

“love you seong,” was the last thing you mumbled before completely falling asleep.

jay smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead. 

he was glad that he would have his favorite cheerleader back tomorrow for practice.

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; i

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader prelude next

word count: 5.3k

summary:  Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

warnings: blood/violence, family deaath, v brief allusions to smut/dubcon, reader is traumatized. pls lmk if i missed anything. not edited.

notes: thanks for all the love so far!!! here's the first chapter of the story - if you want to stay updated, i post on AO3 first :) just a quick first chapter to lay the scene before we jump into the engaging parts of the story. feedback is very motivating and highly valued, thank u all <33

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Penitent Crimes of Retaliation

In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed upon them. This action shall such be labelled as "Penitent Crimes of Retaliation". Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences, ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 

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There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it; Peridot, Jades, the velvet green of winter dresses, the tall, mighty green the sacred Pine. The woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon the grey armor your parents wore to train you. 

When the men of one other Houses Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same pine-colored satin, an elegant dress, as she waved good-bye to you for the last time. When the ice would melt off the lower glaciers for those three months every year, the lakes would thaw to a deep emerald green, and your brother, sisters and you would play in it; servants and soldiers alike yelling and pulling you out, shivering to your bones. 

Even at your sister's funeral. The green of the casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet by a man who'd never truly loved her. The women of your House, wearing a veil of mourning in that sacred pine satin as you said good-bye to her. Killed by the birth of her first; a son. Your parents had been proud - You became the oldest of your siblings that day.

You can barely stand to look at green anymore. No, instead, you mostly see black.

Black, white, and red. 

They'd sent you away to make for your house a Fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter - but this place... it crawls with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles; most in the form of your betrothed.

Your na-Baron. 

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year; he, freshly eighteen. He had been as cordial as you'd ever seen him, escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious but mouth less than offensive. He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. And, in fact, you can consider yourself lucky; perhaps for your bloodline, or for you yourself, Feyd-Rautha took special care of you. Maybe he did care for you -in the ways that he could. 

After that, he taught you all you needed to know about the rest of the world. In these final days together, he has admitted furiously that he waited too long to claim you as his wife - four years was much too long for you to wait, even if your purity was claimed by him long before then. 

The accusations had come from his uncle, the Baron; House Bourbon was stealing their precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along their exportation route. Perhaps, he thought, you were the one to plot it against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knew better - knew that you'd never dare betray him. He was the one to demand a public execution of your family - but also the one to redirect your sentencing to a mere prisoner. As if you weren't one already. 

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 

After all the sparring, each time you drew that precious blood from him, and you still haven't been able to kill him. If you'd had a blade, you would have, right there in the stands. 

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies had hit the sand fast; You'd never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning. The black sun couldn't hide the blood that had seeped from him, nor from your mother's throat. You'd swallowed thickly, wishing you could look away, gasp - cry; but you had to hide your pain. Your na-Baron would've loved it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard; forcing your chin to stare up at him. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another - in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power.

He'd snarled, slapping your cheek hard enough for you to groan. His breath hit your face, you're mine to keep - there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

He'd held your eyes open as they'd slit your father's throat; then both of your sisters, and your brother's. Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state - the Harkonnens are rutheless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly behind you, your head in his hands, caressing your shaking cheek - but the neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat. Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp as he sucked a mark just behind your ear, watching as you clenched your palms so hard, your own ruby blood beaded out, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing - centuries of your House, melted away.

Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall - not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. Pulling the sheets closer to your body, your hand finds the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be, still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room. "I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."

Your voice shakes. Few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This is one is a relic.

There is a loud noise just outside; blades. 

For a moment, you imagine there is a hand on your arm. It is strong, ghost-white, and possessive. His voice rumbles in your head. Don't look so sad, my pet. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 

You almost wish he will. 

When you look down to the weight on your arm, you do not find the hand of your once-betrothed, but the remainder of his ownership, a handprint of a bruise that will not fade even as the soldiers in Atreides armor deliver you to the next planet.

You rise from your bed, preparing your sore body for a fight that will surely end before it even starts. You don't stop your old prayer, in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. Even as the doors give in. 

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I will remain-" There are soldiers that burst through.

The way one of them fights strikes a faint memory from a lost childhood, and it fills you with rage. 

Why did you wait so long to rescue me?

You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become in your captivity. You will fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 

Your blade falls within minutes.

You're taken by the man from your past not a minute after. 

You're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear, in an hour. 

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"My Lady."

You don't realize the worker addresses you until you snap out of it, flushing behind your veil as you step out of the aircraft.

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty. 

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds an umbrella above you, shielding your elaborate dress from the water as you walk up towards where the members of the House await you. You stare down at the dress - green velvet. A texture you have not felt in years; your skin looks different not wrapped completely in black.

Your eyes strain to take in the grand entrance to the castle from the hangar which Duncan Idaho had escorted you, ignoring him as he turns to glance back at you momentarily. You can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you, now.  

He looks the same - maybe less tall, but that has more to do with it having been six years since you last saw the man. You, however, are not the same girl you were when he knew you on Sabberon. Fear, panic, and wrath rage within you while your gaze smolders daggers at the back of his head. 

He walks just slightly in front of you and despite yourself, you slide just a bit closer - the only semblance of comfort you can allow yourself to feel as you take in the largess of the castle. The air is thicker here than you've ever felt; salty, windy, like you can taste the sea in the rain... it clings to your skin, but it feels clean. You'd been changing into your robes when you entered atmo - you've heard many things about the ocean, about Caladan. 

Something within you yearns to witness it yourself. Subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse; nothing in the near distance but the walls of the castle and high cliffs. 

You nearly trip as Duncan Idaho stops just a few paces from where the members stand at attention to greet you and your retinue.

Duke Leto Atreides, regal and composed, stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding your attention. Beside him, a woman wearing a deep cerulean gown - Lady Jessica. Easily, from behind your own veil, her gaze penetrates you; A cool sensation down your spine as you seem to feel her words in the back of your head as she watches the Reverend Mother who'd travelled with you per High Court orders.

 Hello, sister.

You purse your lips, looking on - there, next to his mother; Standing tall with an aura of quiet intensity, his eyes on you, is Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, you can see that he's handsome - lithe, hair curled and combed back to show his eyes. They are wide, penetrating like his mother's, but Maker, they are so green. 

There is no hunger in his eyes, nor hatred, nor anything but a mild curiosity; it strikes a chord of fear in your gut, wishing briefly to return to the na-Baron's sight. It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; They always made their intentions clear, and the na-Baron never wanted many to see you besides himself. You always knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him enough to control him. 

But Paul. His stare betrays no emotion but duty. If not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you could have mistaken him for his father. A Duke. 

Your name, boomed from the voice of Leto Atreides, pulls you back to the surface of Caladan. "Welcome." Duke Leto's voice resonates through the hall with authority as he addresses you, his tone measured yet warm. Your stomach twists and turns as the man nods courteously to you. Coaxing your body to move, you bow to him.

"We are honored by your presence." His voice is surprisingly humane, exceedingly polite towards you; someone who was just come from the protection (a laughable phrase) of their sworn enemy. 

Your throat tightens at this. There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 

Though you feel the prickling behind your eyes, you force your head to tilt in acknowledgment, schooling your expression to respectful - perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 

"Thank you, Duke Leto, my lord." Your voice carries steel beneath its polite, quiet veneer, though you try to calm your heart. You turn to Lady Jessica to greet her.

"My Lady, it is a pleasure." You say, equally even. Lady Jessica offers a tight smile, something akin to understanding swimming among her irises. It's been quite some time since you were permitted to talk to a woman; Your servants on Giedi Prime were, of course, tongue-less, as na-Baron wished. "Thank you for welcoming me to your home." 

"We understand that these are trying times for you." She says softly, her words a gesture of solidarity as your legs stagger. You feel dizzy and tired, but you force yourself to nod, bowing again. Your chained headdress overlaying your veil chimes slightly with the movement, swaying with the rain.

For such an acclaimed House, you're surprised by the gentleness of their welcome. Perhaps, they'd thought that the groaning and echoing hallways of Giedi Prime might break you, that they'd be taking in some injured little dove, wings clipped by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her nameday. 

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side serves not as a reminder, but as fuel. It did not quell your spark. It ignited it, with a bloodthirsty rage for revenge.

Months of being thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that assassinated your family, no - this pit was smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself, and drugged concubines and servants with blades to service his na-Baroness. A place to watch his pets play. 

Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 

Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

Lady Jessica is correct, these are trying times for you. You swallow as you straighten your back. Despite everything, there's a minor comfort in the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your traditional customary mourning traditions. Your family may be gone, but you can still have this part of them; as a way of saying good-bye. It's what they would have wanted. 

You turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

The Harkonnens had tried to show you the dangers of house Atreides; The poison of appearance, of trust. You are not foolish enough to have believed the Baron Vladimir and his webs of deception, but you are sharp enough to know that in times like these, nobody can be trusted. 

Your betrothed watches you, as if trying to see through your mourning veil. The green of his eyes sends a warmth through your stomach as you avert your eyes. "My Lord," you bow to him, your heart thumping in your chest, remembering how you might be rewarded for looking your formerly betrothed in the eyes during ceremony. Trying not to flinch, you wait to see what Paul's hands may do. But they do not strike you, nor grasp your jaw sharply. He barely moves. 

"My Lady." His voice is softer than you expected, and it strikes your heart with a cool unease. Distrust slithers around you like a daunting snake. He bows back to you. 

It's silent for a thick moment before Duncan Idaho - the man from a distant past - speaks from beside you. "We have much to discuss." 

Cutting to the chase, as always. Your eyes fall to the Duke, who nods. "Do you need to see treatment?" He asks the Swordsman, eyes assessing the soldier. 

Duncan laughs at this, gesturing to his arm, where beads of blood still slowly peeks through his the tunic he'd slipped on after changing out of his armor.

"Harkonnen blades are sharp. So are Lady Bourbon's nails."

The prickling of four pairs of eyes strike you as he continues, turning this time to address you full-on. "Your fighting is much different than I remember, Little Bourbon." 

What he doesn't say is clear to you: Much more savage than he remembers. Something between shame and pride licks at your cheeks and you avert your eyes; It had been a force of habit - rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

You clench your hand, your nails digging into your palms; you learned early on that sharper claws could keep Feyd tame for longer. 

The force of Duncan's old nickname for you, when you'd been young - it nearly knocks the air out of your chest. It's been over half a decade since you'd seen the man; too much has happened since then. Nonetheless, you smile toothless behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you'd just left behind. Of what cold life lies ahead. 

When you respond, your voice is frigid. 

"Sometimes adaptation is survival, Duncan Idaho. Threats demand evolution." 

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The rain is gone by the next day.

In the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. There must be a clock somewhere near, as the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. A cleared throat, a swallow of water. 

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

Your arrival last night held no such time for small talk - you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; Your old clothing and that of your sisters and mother - the few things the Atreides soldiers had salvaged from the ransacked Castle at Sabberon - had been washed thrice of rubble and smoke and were hanging, waiting for you, in the wardrobes. 

Barely awake, late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. There, sat across from Lord Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and the Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed - more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. Your eyes could not ignore the Lady Jessica, who stood behind the Duke, her fingers twitching to the others when you responded to a question asked of you. They had some kind of language, you'd realized, as they responded in their own subtle hand gestures. 

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 

Truthfully, you're breaking fast with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had found the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers.

You'd sat watching, cradling your chest with wide eyes, as the ghost slid onto his knees. How he'd crawled, smirking at the foot of your mattress, whispering to you with sharp teeth and beckoning fingers. The sweet promise in his eyes laid with blood and pain, coaxing you forward despite yourself - until something in the corner of your vision moved, and you'd screamed. 

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water, and you'd asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; she must barely be twenty. You insisted on sharing a pot of tea with her, sitting in the silence but sipping shortly on your teacups. You didn't talk much, but instead breathed and felt the safety and of a woman's company, even if she is a few years younger than you. 

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your courting customs before your arrival - she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. 

And now you sit similarly - in the morning dining room, your hands perched in your lap, unsure what to do with yourself.

Your future husband, no older than yourself, sits across the table from you now, pushing his omelet around on his fork. The table shakes just slightly, jilting your glass full of water - he must have a restless knee. He chews at his lip, avoiding your stare, sharing slight conversation with his Lady mother. Her attempts to bring you into the conversation are met with polite answers and more silence, your voice shaky and cold. 

After a while, a woman enters, whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Though your stomach coils, you nod, "-if you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it."

His eyes find yours from behind the veil and you clear your throat. He's quiet but chivalrous; A nod, a glance sent back to his mother as she leaves. A short gust of air through the room and suddenly you can smell him. His hair, clean and glossy - healthy - glints as he faces a window, exposing the early morning sun to his bright eyes.

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched and his half-eaten. 

"Are you one of them?" 

Them?

You stare at him from behind the thin pine veil that covers you. It occurs to you that Paul may assume you are just as bald and sick as each Harkonnen; years of adapting, surviving off of instinct and placation, are over. With a jolt, you realize you are not a Harkonnen. And you will not be wed to one.

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today, ignoring the melancholy feeling in your gut. 

"I have hair." You state simply, looking down at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight - your skin, glowing with real melanin like the House of Bourbon.

You'd never spoken this freely on Giedi Prime besides in the sole company of Feyd-Rautha - stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either - but there is no home anymore. And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, its that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators. 

Paul is likely the same. 

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that, just as you couldn't help with Feyd-Rautha. They can dress you, insist in your traditional customs - but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder. You are more than the bones which hold you up; Meaner than the demons that kept you in their ghostly-grip for four years. 

His cheeks flush a peculiar pink, bottom lip captured between pearly teeth. "No," he starts again, eyes searching - trying to find you, beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. "Not Harkonnen-" he quiets after he says the name, as if worried to offend you. "I meant-" his eyes swim, "Bene Gesserit." 

Your stomach chills as you meet his eyes. 

After some hesitation, you shake your head. "No, my Lord."

When he blinks at your words, you feel compelled to continue. "I suppose I was..." you move your hand to pull on the sleeve of your robes.

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"or, I was supposed to be." your unemotional tone rings through the room. Paul doesn't say anything to that, biting back the suspicion that climbs up his throat.

He stands when you rise from your seat; Your mourning dress, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, flows like the leaves of a weeping willow as you push your chair in behind you. When he offers a stiff arm to escort you out of the room, you hesitate before looping yourself loosely to him. 

She is telling the truth. 

His mother had indicated, with flicks of her hand, during the meeting the evening before; you, sat before the Atreides' council, unaware that his mother was reading your honesty. 

But that could be a trick; you've admitted to being partially trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, perhaps you found a way to deceive his mother. As much as he trusts Duncan and his father, he can't shake the suspicion that you're a mere pawn in the Harkonnens' game.

But his father's words burn sharply into his mind. 

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. Love may come in other ways - but you will marry her, and together you will sire an heir when the time comes.

By decree, it was ordered you be wed to Paul, but he can't find it within himself to lose the feeling of distrust. He has spent hours learning about the Harkonnens - how they think, their strategy; and yet, from Duncan's account, the Baron and his nephew just let you go. It makes no sense to him. 

"I was supposed to be a lot of things." 

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, much more resolute than he'd expected. But you are extremely cold, and evidently unwilling. Polite, yes - it seems you've been trained just as he and every other young noble of the Great Houses have - but you are calculating, aggressive.

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl.

You walk with your chest out, back straight like a soldier; your words are cordial yet laced with steel and indifference - it only serves to deepen his unease. He guides you through the castle, murmuring quietly as he shows you along, introducing you to various members of staff who stop and bow in recognition. 

You don't say much until he escorts you to a path that winds down out of your sights; Below the castle, between jagged rocks, Paul finds himself concerned to no longer be surrounded by castle walls. Beside him, you take a deep breath, your footsteps faltering as you slow to stare at moss that sprawls across the cobblestone. 

Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy fields and rocks. Soon, as though an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. "Apologies, my Lord." You start to turn away. "I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person." 

Paul is suddenly struck by the realization that you may not have seen much of any flora nor fauna on Caladan. He knows what Giedi Prime is like; and your homeworld, from what he'd read last night before bed, was mostly full of Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. Perhaps you are interested in such things; the idea surprises him. 

So instead of moving along, he finds himself bending to pull off a bit of the moss from a fallen trunk. The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, the green bright against his skin. You watch him silently.

"It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water." He says it quietly, repeating what he'd learned in an ecological lesson, pushing on the spongy material with his thumb. "Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools outside the castle." 

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your short height - he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated. "Am I allowed to see?" You ask stiffly, your arms by your sides.

An initial wave of protectiveness over his home washes over him; remembering his father's words, he forces his shoulders to relax. He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. 

"You are to be Lady Atreides, one day." He tries to school his voice evenly, avoiding any hint of resistance to this fact. "You do not have to ask permission to see your own land." 

The wind from the sea whips around you; his stray curls fly in his vision. There are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 

"I do not feel well, my Lord." You say moments later, voice cordial but thick with the desire to be alone, "I believe I am sick from travel. Please, if you would excuse me." 

He is unsure if he had made you uncomfortable or if you are truly feeling sick; nonetheless, Paul escorts you to your chambers silently, calling one of the handmaids - Hestia, her name is - to check on you. He insists she bring you some bread and cheese, to draw you a bath if you please. 

His jaw clenches; he's to train with his mother soon, but he needs release. His muscles clench in repressed frustration and so Paul lets his feet carry him swiftly to the training quarters.

His fingers itch for a blade; his mind itches to forget about the last day, about the cold life that lies ahead of him. 

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[kyeomyun]

2:01 AM

pairings: dad!jeonghan x gn!reader

genre: FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF :((

warnings: none... you might lowkey go through baby fever :)

word count: 0.8k

synopsis: jeonghan would do literally anything to stop his baby from crying, even if it included being dolled up.

::note: WELL- yes ik now those jewels on jeonghan hair are indeed stickers and not hairclips but YK WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS. also hello strangers :). it's been a fat minute since I have actually written something down so if this seems a little dry... just know I haven't written anything since august 🧍🏾‍♀️but i do hope you enjoy this absolute brain rot I wrote last night at 2 in the morning 😍

network(s): @kflixnet

If there was one thing Jeonghan absolutely despised, with his whole entire being, it would be seeing someone who he holds, oh so dearly to his heart, cry.

He knows crying is a trigger for intense emotion, don't get him wrong, he knows very well it was common with toddlers. Including his. But that does not eliminate the huge tear he feels in his chest when the salty crystalline drops roll down his wife or his daughter's cheeks.

And he would do about everything (except cook the pot roast dinner that you LOVE that takes almost 5 hours to make and Jeonghan could not, for the life of him, stand on his two increasingly aging feet for more than 2), to make his loved ones stop crying. Even if that included doing something he thought he would not fit..

"Almost done, darling?" Jeonghan asked softly, careful not to make the tire of his voice get the best of his tone.

It was 2 AM, and his daughter, Yoon, had a rude awakening with cold sweat and vivid memories of a nightmare that she did not want have the guts to relive with her father. Which the father could understand, reliving a nightmare is not fun at all and he did not want to force that scenario onto his precious girl.

"Nu-uh," She clipped another hair clip onto Jeonghan long hair, humming in approval watching her masterpiece come to life in front of her eyes. "You said I can put a lot, daddy!" She pouted, hands flowing through the overload of bows: baby pinks, baby blues, even ones with sparkles and stars dazzled upon the long strands of freshly washed hair. Messy? Yes. Did Jeonghan care? Just a little tiny bit. "I have to make you really, really, really, pretty!"

"I did say that, did I?" Jeonghan said that more to himself, his words playing back on him tremendously. His eyes were drooping, fighting back the wondrous dreamland he was in before he was awoken by a frightened 4 year old. As much as his body wanted to shut down, his mind was stuck on one thing and one thing only.

Well maybe 2.

How long will it take to take these hairclips out and how is his miniature him doing?

"Mhm!" She clipped glittery pink hairclip on a randomly selected portion of her father's hair. "But at least daddy will look extra, extra pretty!"

Jeonghan butt was staring to numb, sitting on the carpeted floor of his daughter's room criss-crossed and Yoon standing up behind him with the next 2 hairclips awaiting their home on his head. But his heart filled rapidly, an intense feeling he has always had at moments like these. Ever since Yoon was born, this feeling was almost... unexplainable. Too immense to be just happiness and too extreme to be just love. It could be a mix of both but those 2 words are just not enough. No words could ever be.

Oh, he is down bad...

The smile that stretched upon his poorly chapped lips was one worth describing though; a smile that held so much value, love, adoration, did he think love?

"One more, daddy!" Yoon announced enthusiastically, a pretty baby blue butterfly, clipped on a strand near the front of Jeonghan head. A small giggle was heard as the little girl admired her work, grabbing ahold of the mirror and giving it to her pretty caregiver. "Is it pretty?"

Jeonghan took the mirror, its weight light but enough to slightly tilt his hand a bit. This motion was able to show the awaiting face of his daughter, who too stared into the mirror and tried to read her father's face. But he obviously had his answer.

But he still pretended to contemplate, his pointer finger tapping his chin in wonder. "It's not pretty,"

That cute pout adorned her lips again, her fragile heart clenching painfully. "You... don't like it? I thought–"

"It's beautiful, baby," Jeonghan looked behind him, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could match the cuteness of seeing his other half, his small angel, puffy cheeks bunch with joy. A smile that could kill many, Jeonghan being one of millions. Billions.

"Yay!" The excitement was barely contained in her small body, slightly bouncing in her place she stood in for almost 30 minutes before her stubby arms wrapped around the neck of her father. "Do you think uncles will be jealous?"

"Very," Jeonghan stared back in the mirror, his smiling bundle of joy warming his heart to the greatest. "Very, very jealous."

A kiss was planted on his cheek, and now he was conflicted about what his members will actually be jealous about.

His marvelous creation on his head, hairclips and bows that were placed in no particular pattern, or the creator, that shined her crooked teeth and eyes shining just as bright as she went back to slightly messing with the butterfly hairclip that hung just barely in his peripheral.

Ok, definitely the creator.

did you enjoy your order?

if you did, please reblog, like, (pls) comment, all of that jazz :>

have a good day, sweets ^^

tagging: @wheeboo @etherealyoungk @rubywonu @trblsvt @icyminghao @idubiluv @odxrilove @stormyjisung @slytherinshua @fairyhaos @gyu-effect @hannieheartuu @jaehunnyy @luvhyun3 @lvlystars @mesanthropi

[koiiiji]

lookism x teaching them your language

author’s note ; someone here is specially for @imtomiee 💋 also correct me if i used some words wrong way!!

tw ; swearing words on different languages! fluff

GOO KIM — RUSSIAN

evening air was cool, but the vibe in the room was anything but. you were lounging on the couch with Goo, your legs tangled together in a comfortable mess, a playful banter going back and forth as it often did when the two of you were together. Goo, ever the curious one, had recently taken an interest in learning a few words from your native language—russian.

of course, knowing Goo, it wasn’t the polite phrases he wanted to learn.

“so, what’s the next one?” Goo asked, his signature smirk plastered on his face as he leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before deciding to go all in. “alright - alright, how about this one — poshel nahui.”

Goo’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued by the sound of the words. he tried repeating it, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables. “po…poshel nahui?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt. “gosh, babe, you’re doing such a great job,” you teased, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “you sure you don’t know russian? or maybe in a previous life been russian?”

Goo’s grin widened, clearly pleased with your praise. “really? what does it mean?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. you tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “it’s like… sending someone on the dick.”

Goo’s eyes lit up with amusement, and he laughed, the sound rich and warm in the small space. “but i don’t want anyone else except you on my dick!” he declared, his tone both playful and his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. you rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him away, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “it’s not necessarily yours, hun,” you quipped, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “you can send them on Gun’s dick.”

the smirk that spread across Goo’s face was devilish, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by the idea. “oh, i’m definitely using that one,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in to capture your lips in a brief, but heated kiss.

PARK JUNGUN — ARABIC

you and Jungun were lounging on the couch, both scrolling through delivery apps, the familiar debate simmering just below the surface.

“how about we order Italian tonight?” you suggested, your mouth watering at the thought of creamy risotto and cheesy pizza. Jungun’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back with a sly grin. “italian? seriously? we just had that last week. i want sushi,” he declared, his tone dripping with playful arrogance.

you crossed your arms, feeling a familiar annoyance bubble up. “but sushi is so… predictable! italian has variety, flavor, and soul! plus, you can’t deny that a good lasagna is perfect comfort food.”

he chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “comfort food? you mean your heavy, cheesy dishes that weigh you down? sushi is light and refreshing. it’s an experience, not just a meal.”

“an experience that costs a fortune! at least with Italian, you get value for your money. you can’t tell me sushi is worth the price when half of it is just rice!” you could feel your cheeks flush, but you refused to back down. “rice is the foundation of life! and sushi is an art form — i can’t believe you’re comparing it to some pasta dish,” he shot back, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “you’re just being stubborn because you can’t appreciate the finer things.”

“finer things? like overpriced fish that’s raw? you’re just being defensive because you’re japanese!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “admit it, you’re biased!”

“bias? me? i just have better taste!” he retorted, a smirk plastered on his face. “you’ll come around one day; i’ll make sure of it.”

“yeah, right! you’re impossible!” you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “you’re like a child throwing a tantrum over his favorite toy.”

“child? at least i know what i want, unlike you, who can’t make up her mind!” he shot back, leaning closer, his arrogance palpable.“make up my mind? this is about you being stubborn! you’ll never admit when you’re wrong!” you felt your heart race, both from the argument and the undeniable chemistry between you. he leaned back, arms crossed, a smug look on his face. “and you’ll be the one begging for sushi sooner or later. just wait.”

“okay, how about a compromise?” you proposed, trying to mediate the escalating tension. “let’s do Italian tonight, and sushi tomorrow. you’ll still get your fix!”

for a moment Gun pretended to ponder. “hmm, let me think… nope! i’m not settling for anything less than sushi tonight.” you sighed dramatically, an amused smile creeping onto your lips. “you’re the absolute worst, you know that?”

“stubborn? no, i’m just determined,” Gun replied, his arrogance unwavering. after a few more rounds of playful banter, you finally relented, knowing how stubborn he could be. “fine! we’ll have sushi tonight, but only because i can’t deal with your arrogance any longer.”

“yeah, that’s right” he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out his phone to place the order.

as the two of you settled back on the couch, the tension dissolved, and a comfortable silence fell between you, you found yourself leaning against him, his warmth comforting. you felt a rush of affection and couldn’t help but murmur into his shoulder, “ya5rab baito sho habito” Jungun pulled back slightly, a confused look on his face. “bitch, tf you just said?”

with a calm smile, you leaned your head against his shoulder and whispered, “literal translation: may your house get ruined i love you.”

he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re impossible!” but he tightened his embrace around you, pulling you closer.

“sometimes, you can be so stubborn,” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

“and yet, you love me for it,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “of course i do,” you shot back, your heart full as you nestled deeper into his warmth.

JIN HOBIN — GERMAN

it was just another chaotic day at school, the halls buzzing with the usual chatter of students. Hobin strode through the corridors, his presence commanding attention. he was used to the whispers and glances, but today, something else caught his eye.

in a quiet corner, you sat on a bench, phone pressed to your ear, animatedly talking to a friend. as you hung up, Hobin approached, curiosity piqued. “hey, what were you talking about?”

you looked up, slightly flustered. “just my friend. nothing important.” he smirked, leaning against the wall. “you speak german, huh?”

“yeah,” you replied, trying to downplay it.

“cool. can you teach me some swear words?” he asked, his tone teasing. you shrugged, playing along. “sure. like ‘Verdammtes Miststück.’” [fair-DAM-tes MIST-shtook]

Hobin raised an eyebrow. “what does that mean?”

“it means ‘damn jerk,’” you explained, a small smile creeping onto your face. “damn, that’s spicy,” he laughed. “i might have to start using that.”

just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. you stood up, ready to head to class. but as you walked away, something clicked in Hobin’s mind. he suddenly remembered that phrase — that phrase. the memories flooded back, taking him by surprise.

“wait!” he yelled, sprinting after you. “bitch, you called ME that name??” you turned around, feigning innocence. “what? i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“don’t play dumb! you always called me that when we were enemies!” his voice was a mix of disbelief and playful frustration. “you used it all the time!”

you shrugged, trying to suppress a grin. “i really don’t remember.”

“seriously?” he exclaimed, a smirk forming on his lips. “you were always throwing that word around at me! you can’t just forget that!”

“maybe i just didn’t like you,” you shot back, trying to keep a straight face.

“come on! admit it!” Hobin insisted, laughter bubbling up despite himself. “admit what?” you teased, enjoying the banter. “that i cursed at my rival? sounds a bit dramatic.”

“dramatic? you were practically a german swearing machine!” he laughed, shaking his head. “i can’t believe i’m just now connecting the dots.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his animated reaction, feeling a thrill at the memories of your rivalry. “well, maybe i did. but you know what? it’s not like I’m going to do it again.”

Hobin stepped closer, his expression playful yet intense. “oh, I’m counting on it. you’re just too fun to mess with.”

with that, he gave you a wink and turned to leave, a confident swagger in his step. you watched him go, heart racing. it was strange how easily the tension from those rivalry days transformed into something more intriguing, something that hinted at new beginnings. as you walked to class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this playful back-and-forth was just the start of something.

RYOHEI KURODA — ENGLISH

you were curled up on the couch, engrossed in your book, when your adorably clueless boyfriend, flopped down beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“y/n! teach me english!” he whined, resting his head on your shoulder. you sighed, trying to focus on your reading. “Ryohei, we’ve been at this for hours. you need to practice more!”

“but i want to learn from you! you’re the best teacher!” he clung to your arm, his eyes wide and pleading.

after 5 minutes of him being annoying you finally, you gave in, exasperated but amused. “alright, fine! but i’m teaching you something cool.” you leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “say ‘bastard.’ it’s a fun word!”

“bas-tard,” he repeated like a child who just reached to something that was once forbidden, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“good! just don’t overdo it, okay?” you warned, chuckling.

later that day, Ryohei strolled into work, his confidence soaring. he spotted Eugene, who was busy with paperwork. with playful boldness, Ryohei called out, “hey, you bastard!”

Eugene blinked, stunned, while Ryohei burst into laughter, clearly unfazed by the shocked expression on his boss's face.

you could only imagine the chaos that would ensue. mortified yet secretly amused, you buried your face in your hands. Ryohei might be a handful, but he sure knew how to make life interesting — and you loved him for it.

bonus ; later that day Ryohei was feeling bold again. he spotted Kenta and, with a playful grin, shouted, “bastard!”

Kenta’s expression dropped, and he looked genuinely upset. “Ryohei, that’s not cool,” he said quietly. Ryohei’s smile faded as he felt a pang of guilt, especially since Kenta was usually so quiet. Ryohei took a deep breath and approached him.

“Magami, what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone sincere.

Kenta shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just... i know english better than you, and it was disrespectful.”

Ryohei’s heart sank at his words. “brooo wdym im really sorry. i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined, shaking Kenta’s shoulder.you stepped in, sensing the tension. “how about we all go get milkshakes? it’ll be on me..”

SEO SEONGEUN — POLISH

smooth purr of Seongeun’s Rolls-Royce filled the quiet atmosphere as he drove through the city, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while the other hung over the gear shift. you sat beside him, gazing out the window, trying to keep yourself occupied while Seongeun focused on the road. you had been living in Korea for a while now, and while your korean was pretty good, there were still moments where your native polish slipped out, especially when you were irritated or frustrated.

however, it had been one of those days, and your mood was already on edge. the final straw was when your phone buzzed with an annoying notification about the broken coffee machine back at home. you groaned, rubbing your temples in frustration as the stream of oolish curses tumbled from your lips.

“ja pierdolę...” you muttered, trying not to dwell on your frustration.

without taking his eyes off the road, Seongeun raised an eyebrow, his tone casual but curious. “what do you mean babe?”

you blinked, glancing over at him. “what?”

he briefly glanced at you with a smirk before focusing back on the road. “the stuff you always mumble when you're annoyed. you’ve been doing it for weeks, and I don’t get it.”

you flushed a little, realizing he’d been picking up on your muttered polish rants this whole time. “oh! that... yeah, i tend to mutter in polish when i’m emotional. it’s like a habit.”

Seongeun’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, but there was an amused glint in his eye. “and what exactly are you saying?” a small smile tugged at your lips. “you wanna learn some polish, babe?” you teased, poking his arm. he scoffed lightly but couldn’t hide his smirk. “i’m just curious. what do you say when you’re pissed?”

you hesitated, suddenly feeling shy about explaining. “well... i usually say ‘ja pierdolę’ or ‘kurwa mać.’” your cheeks flushed deeper as you tried to explain. “the first one means ‘fuck it,’ like when something goes wrong. and the second one… um... direct translation means... uh... ‘fuck your mother.’” you winced slightly, knowing how it sounded out of context.

Seongeun let out a low laugh, shaking his head “yeah, fuck that bitch. so what about the translation?”

you chuckled softly, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to find the words. “baby, i just told you! it doesn’t mean that literally. it’s more like saying ‘FUCK IT!!’ but with extra aggression.”

Seongeun laughed again, his deep voice rumbling through the car as he reached over to squeeze your knee affectionately. “gotcha, babe. polish frustrations... i get it.”

just as you relaxed, a mischievous glint appeared in Seongeun’s eyes. “so, what’s the deal with that beaver stuff? do you guys have beef with beavers or something? how do you say it? bo-bober? bober kurva?”

you stared at him for a moment, utterly blindsided by his sudden question. then, it hit you, and you couldn’t help but let out a snicker. your heart swelled with pride at his attempt.

“babe...” You blinked dramatically, pretending to wipe away proud slavic tear. “you’re trying to get it right. i’m so proud of you!”

he smirked, his gaze still fixed on the road, though you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. “whatever makes you happy, baby. but seriously, tell me more about this beaver meme.”

[sillygoosealert]

★Future predictions☆

Death, Marriage, idk angst?? Just Daisy being a silly billy Sukuna stuff

The King of Curses has you pinned underneath him, forcing you to take both of his cocks, one in each of your overly warm holes.

Making sure to keep your mouth occupied, he shoves his tongue into your mouth, filling it to the brim. Every inch of you is and will continue to be filled by him- that he would promise.

Not that he liked making promises. There isn't too much of a point to them. They provide a sense of security, but why would he give that to anyone who wasn't worthy of it- which is everyone.

Everyone but you, Sukuna thinks. For you, he would promise the world- if you would like that. That's something he wanted to promise, but he won't. Ever.

The Disgraced One could never promise to let you sleep in his bed, but Ryomen Sukuna could guarantee he won't let you leave afterward.

Right now, you're being crushed under his weight, gasping for air, as he doesn't do breaks after he's finished.

You begged him to be gentle for your first time doing- both of your holes, and he said he couldn't promise anything. This is one of the times he's glad he doesn't make promises, so when the inevitable happens, and Lord Sukuna does whatever he wants, no verbal agreement can be held against him.

It's foolish how much something as flexible as words can hold so much value for you.

It is also foolish how he gives in to your desires. Something he does in the moment and regrets soon after.

While your foreheads are touching and his breath is on your mouth, he rambles about how he truly feels about you. The words 'I love you' are said in his way.

"You will be my wife. I will give you the biggest ring and the nicest clothes.."

He likes to tell you these things to see your eyes widen and your heartbeat pick up.

Telling you, not asking, and not exactly promising. But saying what will happen.

When he puts you on top of him to curl up, he finds himself also falling asleep.

Waking up in the garden, he finds himself hand in hand with you. Eyes meet with his, filled with tears and shock.

A ring in his hand limp by his side.

"Will you marry me?"

Something he would never say if he had complete control of his body.

"Will you marry me?"

Is marriage something he could ever be content with?

"Will you marry me?"

The king of curses does not settle.

"Will you marry me?"

Ryomen Sukuna is staring at you while the words leave his lips.

"Will you marry me?"

Could Lord Sukuna truly love a mortal?

"Will you marry me?"

Would Sukuna be enough for you?

It doesn't matter what he thinks, because you're nodding your head vigorously as salty drops of water go down your cheeks.

"Promise me something, please." Promise? He's shaking his head yes without processing your words fully.

"Let me have the privilege of being your only wife. I am devoting my life to you, please, give me this, Sukuna."

Oh.

That might be something he could agree to.

You might be the only person, let alone a woman, that he would look into the eyes and make a genuine promise.

Very pretty, kind, soft eyes, on that note.

"You are the only woman I will call my own, I will promise you that."

"Are we ready for that?"

He's sliding the ring on your finger, cupping your face with another hand.

"We are. I will always be ready for you."

That might now be the full truth. The reality is he's so, so scared. This might not be the time. But now it's too late. It doesn't matter when he would prefer to do it. You're married now. Forever. Permanently.

"Does this mean we can have a cute little white fence and a pretty garden filled with daisies?"

He could do that.

"And a family?"

Hm..

"You aren't scared to have a child with me?"

"Why would I be?"

A good question with too many answers.

"Look at me, and tell me you aren't scared."

You look him in the eyes and open your mouth.

"I'm not scared of you."

Things blur and nothing makes sense.

And he wakes up.

There is no longer a ring on your finger.

You're sleeping beside him.

He did not overcome his fear of commitment.

You are not married.

There were no promises.

Nothing can be held against him.

But would it be so bad if there was?

Kinda rushes the seconded half, idk got mad and was just kinda over it lolz

[undertheorangetree]

Cherry Wine

Summary- Coriolanus returns to the Capitol with his most prized possession.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Female reader. Technically TBOSAS spoilers. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Really incredibly toxic relationship. Choking. Fingering. P in V sex. This is technically kidnapping.

Author’s Note- I wasn’t sure if this was ever gonna actually see the light of day but I am a lush little creature so enjoy. This is part 2 to In the Woods Somewhere but can probably be read as a standalone?? Either way full story linked below :)

She hates the Capitol. She has hated it since the first moment she set eyes on it. Admittedly, she had not seen much when she first arrived- thrown in a cage at the zoo, paraded through the streets, dragged into the arena- but it had been enough to forge an opinion. She hates the opulence, the disgusting displays of wealth. The way everything of value is flaunted and passed around as if it’s frivolous and easily replaced. How the towers loom over the wide streets, so different from the ramshackle buildings that make up Twelve. The way garbage is swept from the roadside the moment it appears, refusing for even a moment to appear as anything less than immaculate. Everything manicured. Everything perfect. Designed to make an impression, everything about it seems to grab you by the jaw and force you to look at the perfection of it all, nails dug in lest you attempt to look away. A perfectly ripe peach, all sunset pink with its soft, near endearing fuzz, hiding the rotten, maggot-ridden center underneath.

It's enough to make her miss the coal dusted streets of home.

The Snow penthouse- Coriolanus’s penthouse- seems to be the perfect example of Capitol excellence. The perfect patterns built into the tile in the bathrooms, the marble floors that seem to glitter beneath her feet, the paintings displayed behind thin sheets of glass to keep them perfectly preserved. She can see everything from up here, the highest apartment in the tallest building, and the longer she stares out the window, the more she comes to realize she hates to be so high up.

Or perhaps she simply hates that this bay window is the only view she gets of the outside world. The only view she has gotten in weeks.

She had regretted following Coriolanus onto that train the moment she set foot inside it but by then it had been too late. The doors had slid shut as silent as a wraith and she knows her face must have changed as he had half hauled her into one of the padded chairs and made her sit, watching her with his too blue eyes as if he were waiting for her to run. And had she thought she stood a chance, perhaps she would have. She should have. But then she had caught sight of the Avoxes serving them, standing silent and resigned in the corner and knew that should she cause a scene, she would likely share their fate.

So she had sat there uncomplainingly. Let him parade her back home and listened as the lies he told Grandma’am and Tigris flowed off his tongue like honey, hating the bits of truth sprinkled throughout. Holding her hand like a shackle as he told them how they had fallen in love. That he couldn’t possibly leave her behind. That she wasn’t really district, was she? Not like the others, not when she had never truly been one of them, not now that she was a Victor. The perfect lovestruck boy and his pretty little prize. Who could make them part now, separate them so soon after they had found each other? They had fawned all over him- and Tigris over her- so quickly it had made her skin crawl but still, she had said nothing, offering smiles she knew didn’t reach her eyes.

She had continued to say nothing when she heard him tell the Plinths just how sorry he was for Sejanus, that if he had known what he was doing, he would have stopped him. As he told them how dear his dead friend had been to him. Best friends. She had listened silently as the Plinth’s rewarded him for his devotion, handing him the keys to a lavish new penthouse for little more than his supposed loyalty, for loving their sweet, kind Sejanus. The keys to her self imposed prison.

Coriolanus had never told her how the Capitol had gotten its hands on the jabberjay that damned his lone friend to the hanging tree but he didn’t have to. She has had plenty of time to put that story together herself, sitting alone in his locked apartment while he attended the university and worked under Doctor Gaul planning for the next Games.

She is a Victor and though perhaps that should mean something, it has become clear that it doesn’t. Though people watched her Games, though she made an impression, the memories of those in the Capitol are fleeting. No Victor is remembered following their Games. They are congratulated for their victory and sent home on the first train, never to be seen or heard from again. They fade from the public eye quickly, forgotten before the next moon, and perhaps she would have been as well had she not caught Coriolanus’s attention. Had he not been her mentor, so enamoured with her that he would cheat to save her.

She blames herself just as much as she blame him. Curses herself for not being able to see behind that perfectly curated mask he presents to everyone who looks at him, for being distracted by his pretty blonde curls and handsome face. Had he been ugly or cruel or anything other than deceptively kind, perhaps she could have escaped all this unscathed. Gone back home to Twelve without having him falling behind her like some forgotten shadow. Even if she had lost the Games, at least then she would be free of him. But instead she had been little more than a moth drawn to a flame, her wings now singed and leaving her an easy meal to the predator who first spotted her.

Read the full story here

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello! May I ask how Megumi, Gojo, Okkotsu would react. When some other girl flirts with them or acts very intrusive, completely ignoring the reader who is standing next to them. Or acts rudely towards the reader.

Let me say, that was pretty cool to write! Hope you enjoy it <3

How Gojo, Megumi and Yuta react to other girls flirting with them/reader getting insulted

Word Count: 1,9k

Pairing: Gojo x reader, Megumi x reader, Yuta x reader

Warnings: language

Note: Requests for complilations are still open, feel free to leave one!

Megumi Fushiguro

„Look at you, Megumi! Back then I always thought you were quite handsome, but now…what a catch you are.”

You turn on your heel and stare into the mischievous grin of the unknown girl in front of you. Did you hear that correctly? Did she just…flirt with your boyfriend? Who is she? And why does she talk to him like that?

“Yua, I didn’t know you were still around”, Megumi responses, not a single spark of affection in his eyes.

You put on a kind smile. Even if she doesn’t even look at you, it’s not too late to get to know her. Maybe she was his classmate back then. You owe it to Megumi to at least try.

“Oh y’know, some model contracts here and there. You should have called me! You know I always loved spending time with you!”

“Hi, I’m Megumi’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet people from his past!”

You stretch out your hand, inviting her to a friendly conversation. But she doesn’t take it. Instead, she stares you up and down with her merciless eyes and screws up her face. Your heart sinks as well as your hand. Does he know her better? He never talked about any girls from his past, especially not girls like her. She is nothing Megumi values. Why is she this rude although she never met you before?

“Girlfriend? I thought you’re better than that, ‘Gumi.”

You bite your tongue when her words hit you like a knife. No, don’t cry because of her rude comment, don’t let her get under your skin. She doesn’t know anything about you or your personality. And on top of that, Megumi tells you over and over how gorgeous you are. He wouldn’t lie, right? But her beautiful dark locks and stunning green eyes make your confidence waver. Maybe he could in fact do better…

Suddenly Megumi pulls you in his arms, his grip around your waist tight and his jaw clenched.

“Can you just fuck off already? In contrast to your entitled self, (y/n) is naturally striking, let alone the smartest and kindest girl I know. She carries more character in her little toe than you in your whole body, Yua. I don’t give a damn about your model contract or looks, you are miserable and your jealousy makes you uglier than any other girl could ever be. If you talk about my girlfriend like that again, then there will be consequences. And now get out of the sun and annoy someone else.”

You can’t help but stare at him with glossy eyes through wet lashes. You never heard him leash out like that, especially not in order to protect you. It feels like your heart sprints out of your chest, the admiration you hold for him flies like sparks around him as you watch her face drop immediately.

“I never liked you anyway”, she hisses, turns around and walks away while swaying her hips dramatically.

Thick silence hangs in the air as both of you watch her leave.

“Hey, look at me.”

He lifts your chin up gently, other hand still resting on your waist.

“Don’t you dare to believe a single word she said. She’s just jealous, that’s all. You are the most beautiful girl on this planet and I am more than proud to call you my girlfriend…Wait, why are you crying?”

You can’t hold back the salty tears that sting in your eyes any longer. God, you love him so much that it hurts sometimes.

“I guess I’m just a little…overwhelmed. No one has ever stood up for me like that before…”

He wraps his arms around your frame and presses a gentle kiss on your head.

“You’re my everything, no other girl in the world will ever change that, okay?”

Gojo Satoru

That was the greatest evening you’ve had in a long time. Despite all the work that awaits both of you at Jujutsu High in the morning, your drunken gaze wanders to your boyfriend who holds you in his strong arms.

“How is it I never knew about your passion for ABBA? Like for real, it scared me to see you like that”, he remarks, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“I just feel like some of their songs hit me in another dimension, y’know? Lay all your love on mee”, you babble out, singing into the warmth of the hot summer night.

“Oh god, luckily you are a better jujutsu sorcerer and teacher than a singer. And you’re pretty cute when you’re drunk.”

“Satoru, I’m not that drunk!”, you blur out, whole body shaking in giggling.

“Hell yes you are. And you look absolutely stunning in that skin tight dress. I can’t wait to rip it off your body as soon as we’re home.”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins, you feel like flying. Even if you’ve been his girlfriend for years by now, you still can’t believe that the stunning man in front of you is really your boyfriend. Satoru is simply jaw-dropping gorgeous, so easy on the eyes that it hurts. And while you are very aware of the fact that you are a striking woman yourself, you can’t get over the fact how outstanding he is.

“No wonder he’s taking you home when you look like a whore.”

“Although, he’s pretty handsome. How the hell did she manage to pull a guy like him?”

“Look at that slutty dress. I wouldn’t dare to leave the house with a body like that – Gross.”

All color drains from your face as the alcohol and good mood seems to be gone in the wind. You swallow hard, widen eyes pierced to the ground. You know all too well how mean women can be. These girls don’t know you, they haven’t even seen your face. There’s no use getting stressed out because of their venomous tongues.

“What did you just say?”

Satoru’s voice is low and dry – an auspicious combination.

“Satoru, c’mon. This is not worth fighting over it. Let’s just go home, shall we?”

“How dare you to disrespect my girlfriend like that, huh?”

He turns on his heels, moving towards the group of girls with rapid steps. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your heart hammers against your chest, this anger is extremely rare. All that because of some stupid comments?

“W-we…weren’t t-talking a-about her”, one of them mutters, eyes pinned to the ground.

“Stop the crap. Just to make this clear: I wouldn’t even turn my head after basic bitches like you without some self-respect. Maybe you should invest your time in your puny self rather than badmouthing my woman who is obviously well above your measly level”, he spits into their faces without a spark of humor in his venomous words.

“And now get lost!”

He doesn’t need to tell them twice. As fast as their sky-high heels allow it they sprint away while exchanging looks of shock. You just stand there and stare at Satoru’s back, still absolutely mesmerized by the way he just stood up for you. Has a guy ever done something like this for you? Definitely not, especially not in such a hot way.

“How is it that I suddenly feel so turned on?”

Satoru turns around, casually walking towards you with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“That’s all I wanna hear. Let’s go home.”

Yuta Okkotsu

It’s way too hot outside. You and your boyfriend Yuta are on a well-deserved day off which you want to spend shopping.

“Urgh, I’d die for an iced coffee”, you groan, sweat dripping from every pore.

“Why not get one then? Wait here”, Yuta replies in an instant, his usual bright smile lighting up your mood.

“You’re just a sweetheart. Thank you darling.”

You watch him enter the Starbucks shop in awe. God, how lucky you are to have a boyfriend like him. Even though he himself can’t see his worth, you definitely know that he is the best boyfriend you could have asked for. Always tender and caring and so stunning that you can’t stop staring at him. Thank god you decided to join Jujutsu High that day, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with him.

You frown. Why does he take so long? When you last saw him, he was the only customer in the store. You take a few steps and have to comprehend what you see.

The girl at the counter is holding your cup of iced coffee in one hand while she brushes over Yuta’s arm with the other. Your hands clench into fists while you see nothing but red. What the hell is she doing?

“Excuse me Miss, flirting with my boyfriend surely isn’t part of the job description”, you bark at her, feet carrying you inside the store without hesitation.

“Everything’s fine, I already told her that I’m taken, (y/n)”, Yuta shyly interrupts, face already red like a tomato.

This isn’t enough. The dirty smirk in her stupid face makes you want to break her nose right here right now.

“Now that I see you it seems like there’s no competition anyway”, she proclaims with unnatural high-pitched voice.

Something inside you snaps. Who the fuck does this bitch think she is to touch your boyfriend like that and talk to you in such a manner? You are way too good for her bullshit.

“Get your dirty hands off him before I beat that smile out of your ugly face”, you yell at her.

Oh no, there goes your temper again. The second Yuta saw you entering the store he knew there was trouble. You are pretty hot-headed, especially when it comes to someone hurting your feelings. And that girl was definitely going too far.

“Oh, I’d love to see that. Go ahead bitch”, she spits at you.

You grind your teeth, eyes narrow in nothing put hatred. You are only seconds away from feeding her your fist when Yuta grabs your arm and softly smiled down at you.

“Come on, she isn’t worth your time and energy, (y/n). You are the love of my life, no matter what. A random girl in a coffee shop won’t change that”, he murmurs into your ear.

“I’m flattered, but I already have a wonderful girlfriend. Have a nice day though.”

And with that, he gently pushes you out of the door, iced coffee in his hand. It takes you a few seconds to stop your heart from beating out of your chest and to unclench your hands.

“You know I would have beaten the shit out of her, right?”, you grumble, taking a sip of your coffee.

Yuta lets out a hearty laughter, arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“And she would never have forgotten that in her life. But we are here to have a day off, right? And she just wasn’t worth your time. After all, I love you with all my heart and a random girl won’t change that.”

“You could have told her to back off, though.”

His eyes widen in horror, face completely twisted.

“B-but I d-did tell h-her!”, he demands.

“I’m just messing with you darling”, you reply with a soft smile, intertwining your hand with his.

[meanbossart]

Hey! I was thinking of trying to write something for you about DU Drow but after a trying to gather stuff about him via your page I’m struggling to get something substantial for his personality- like I get it mostly (I think?) but it’s hard to put into words (which makes it easier for me) so if it’s not too much to ask; how would you explain DU Drows personality and maybe some of his values? - if you don’t mind! I love your art BTW!

Man, this is a tough ask and I MADE the guy. The fic is definitely the best place to see his personality in action, but it is also 20 chapters long so far - and I'm a fairly reasonable man.

Before I get to any descriptions, there's two important things to note: A) Overwhelmingly, his looks do not match his demeanor. and B) DU drow is extremely hedonistic in practice. He might claim to have certain beliefs or standards but hardly ever practices them.

Anyways, I present to you: The guy, more-or-less summarized to the best of my abilities.

BEHAVIOR: Purposefully standoffish. He wants to be noticed, but he does not want to be bothered. He's a little bit stiff with his body language and mostly makes use of head/neck gestures to assert his sentences and signal his level of interest. On that note, me makes it extremely obvious for the socially-versed individual to tell what he thinks of them - he hardly ever tries to hide if he's disinterested, annoyed, or having a laugh at your expense. He expresses emotion through his face a normal amount, but his default look is eerily bland, and subtle emotions might go unnoticed because of his eye-color and thin brows.

As it is with most people, the more uncomfortable he is with a situation the more stiff and inexpressive he becomes, and vice versa.

SPEECH: DU drow is very much well spoken, and simultaneously very blunt. He abides by most conversational formalities (definitely more formal than you would assume him to be) and basic etiquette. He will greet you and he will say please and thank you even if clearly not meaning it or feeling like you're unworthy of the gesture. Sometimes, he does it just to be patronizing.

With all of that in mind, he has a tendency to use violent turns of phrase and analogies to express himself, this applies to both negative and positive feelings. That being said he's aware of social norma and knows full well when things are or aren't appropriate, even if sometimes he chooses to ignore that and be weird anyway - usually with the purpose of intimidation.

He is the most earnest and sincere with very close friends (quite literally only Astarion and Shadowheart) and rather curt with everyone else unless you catch him in a particularly good mood. He's a little chummier with dwarves and duergar (he finds them amusing and fun to hang out with) and reserves a slight bit more tenderness and kindness for children and mothers, especially if they're elves. He's also fond of animals. He is dismissive of gnomes, goblins, bugbears, half/full orcs and hobgoblins. He despises githyanki and drow. He treats humans fairly respectfully but thinks they are a far lesser race than pretty much all others.

He has a very dark/offensive sense of humor and a tendency to make well crafted, but cruel jokes or quips about sensitive topics. This goes for everybody, including people he's on good terms with.

VALUES: Here's where things get tricky. DU drow is both a hypocrite and a unreliable narrator of his own story, not to mention deeply unfamiliar with his own inner-workings and feelings. Politically, he would be the guy who doesn't vote, doesn't want to pay taxes and dreams of living off the grid, who thinks everybody should pull themselves up by the bootstraps and that it's a dog-eats-dog world. He hates systems of government, authority figures, hierarchical structures and archaic customs. He believes it would a chaotic but functional world if people governed themselves.

In practice, he doesn't stand for anything and gladly overlooks injustices and things that don't align with his supposed values as long as they favor him, or just don't get in his way, and easily makes exceptions for things on a whim. He's indifferent to slavery; unless it's Astarion's. - He thinks humans are a worthless pet-race, except for his dearest and nearest friend, the half-elf Shadowheart. He thinks Half-orcs are intellectually inferior, but he will gladly be chummy with them if they amuse him and make for good-company during a night-out.

INNER WORLD AND INTIMACY: DU drow is extremely unfamiliar with his own emotions and very often comes up empty when he has to justify or explain anything that is based on feeling, while simultaneously operating on impulse and instinct for the vast majority of the time. He is subject to fear, resentment, and insecurity as much as anyone else, but carries a deep shame in acknowledging his own vulnerability at all. He is very intense when it comes to love, however, and shows no reluctance in expressing it through his words and actions towards the people he cares about. He does care for the levels of comfort of those dearest to him though, and doesn't bombard them with it unless the moment is right, or if overwhelmed into doing so. The same applies to physical affection - he's extremely comfortable with it, but cares deeply for respecting the boundaries of his loved ones. When it comes to strangers, he only touches them outside of combat if there is some kind of power-game at play.

A couple of other things that might be of note:

-He likes creature comforts, but is also fine with going without them and won't ever complain about having to live, sleep, or survive in less-than-ideal circumstances as long as he feels in control of the situation. -He can be enticed by valuables and gold because they make the immediate future easier, but he doesn't seek a life of vast riches. -He is not an alcoholic but probably has a binge-drinking problem. -While he is fond and respectful of animals, he has no issues killing them if the situation calls for it. -He pretty much always believes himself to be the most impressive person in the room. -He is not a vain man, but very much likes the way that he looks and to have it be acknowledged by his partner. -He believes faith, religion, and gods to be a waste of time.

[cherri-rice]

Moral of the Story~

(Bakugou x Reader)

——————————————————————————

•

•

Everyone knows that Bakugou Katsuki has the biggest ego and that he doesn’t believe that someone could ever be better than him.

He wants what he wants.

And he wants what he can’t have.

But he’ll find a way.

You and Bakugou have been together for 7 years, and were currently in the process of getting married. You only ever had eyes for him, ever since middle school. Even when he was rude and treated people horribly wrong.

You even stayed with him when he told your classmate to jump off the top of the school building. You stayed when he was on his death bed recovering in the hospital. When you had to spend extra shifts at work to pay off the hospital bills. When he wouldn’t pay a dime of rent, or even pay for groceries.

Even his lashing out and aggressive behavior couldn’t get you to leave the trance you were stuck in.

You had all these questions and feeling about if he even valued your relationship. But when he proposed to you, all your worries vanished. You felt nothing but joy when he asked you to marry him.

You had never wanted anything more in your life.

You said yes.

Second year of high school was when he first asked you out. It wasn’t anything big. It never was. But you had all this built up love and admiration towards him, for how strong he was and how he never could be beat, that you couldn't see that it was fun to him. To have someone that thought he could do no wrong. So, he kept you close.

You let him get away with everything, you expected his half assed apologies. The ones where he’d come home late, late enough to know you were already sleeping, and he’d put a small trinket with a few words written in ink on a sticky note and place it on the nightstand.

He’d be gone in the morning before you woke up. You’d see the apology and forget why you were even mad in the first place.

But today.

Today felt different.

Today was your birthday and you couldn’t shake the feeling of regret, sadness and guilt.

Today you were turning 25. And you couldn’t help but feel like your life was missing something vital. Something you didn’t have to worry about. Someone you didn’t have to walk on eggshells for.

You went about your day going to work, having a few cards and small gifts from your coworkers, went out for a celebration drink, and went home.

Not at all throughout the day did Bakugou text you, not even a happy birthday message.

When you arrived home he was already asleep, passed out on your shared bed. Looking at his sleeping form you felt anger and frustration. You felt you were drowning in dejection and unhappiness.

You were uncertain of where these emotions came from and why you felt them now. You had always loved and cared so deeply for Bakugou. But after 7 forgotten birthdays and countless missed anniversaries, you just could do it.

All these memories of you waiting for him just for him to no show. Memories of arguments that you just had to let go of and surrender. Memory after memory. They came rushing back to the front of your mind. It’s all you could think, all you could remember was how he humiliated you in front of the entirety of Japan a vast amount of times.

You couldn’t help but feel insecure. Like you weren’t enough.

So you decided that you needed to see a counselor.

One that was going to give you the right answers. One that was going to help you move past this feeling.

-

After many months of trying to converse with Bakugou and how you were feeling, and not getting anywhere you decided that maybe your counselor was right.

-

“Where’d you find this guy?”

“I guess…I just fell in love with the wrong person”

-

It hurt to leave but you couldn’t be in a house that didn’t feel like a home. You had packed your things and left a note on Bakugou’s office desk stating how his treatment was making you feel. Telling him that it was over and that even if he came looking for you he wouldn’t be able to find you.

Walking a way from the house and to the train station, you left for Europe.

-

Over the course of three years you lived in the shantytown of Otheon. It was peaceful and you had a decent paying job. Able to provide for yourself. You even make a new friend.

Soul Rody. He was a cool guy that had two cute little siblings that you found just adorable. Rody was your roommate. He let you live with him after you impulsively left Japan with no clue how you were going to live in Europe.

-

“Oh. One more thing. I have a friend that’s going to be visiting. Just letting you in know before you freak out because a random guy is in the house.”

You didn’t know Rody had any other friends. He never mentioned anyone for as long as you’ve known him.

‘A friend?’

——————————————————————————

Requests are open

NO COPYING

NO STEALING CONTENT

NO REBLOGGING

[milkywayes]

Thinking about Garrus again and how much I appreciate his character, his development, his search for perspective and how it shapes his relationship with Shepard.

He always wants to do the Right Thing, as in Achieve X Positive End Goal, but the way there is so murky to him. So tough to navigate, to visualize. He likes when it's clear and when it's simple, but it simply never fucking is, so he has to Think It Through. And he simply cannot trust anyone else to do the thinking for him. He can't trust them to value the Right Thing as much as he does. He can't trust them to want it as badly.

and then, ENTER SHEPARD STAGE LEFT, and finally he finds someone that he can trust. With all of it. He can Tell she wants it just as badly, but the difference is, she seems to also have an idea of how to get there.

I've seen people complain that he has no backbone and just agrees with whatever Shepard says, and it's like… they don't get it. He needs someone in his life who he can trust to think things through with him, to meet him where he's at and to engage in good faith. She is the Only person he would ever cede to, the only authority he'll accept, because she has proven herself to care just as much as he cares.

(As a side note, that's also how I view his infamous elevator talks. He's not approaching these conversations closed-mindedly even if his word choice is often lacking or people take offense to his straight-forwardness. As I said, the path is murky for him. He's asking because he genuinely wants to know. He's practically desperate for another point of view. He wants to understand.)

He's the only character who constantly asks Shepard for her opinion on things, on morality issues and approaches and how she'd navigate all the little pitfalls that line the road to Justice. And over the games he recognizes that even this lofty end goal is anything but simple, and it's shaped by how they get there. He doesn't talk these things through with her just to follow her direction like a soldier following orders. Him accepting her response, no matter what it is, is him respecting her so much and believing so much in her true desire for achieving Justice - it's not blanket agreeing with her.

This happens so often in ME3: he'll ask, and she'll respond, and he will accept her answer without judgement, but you never hear him say "you're so right, o my moral compass". He's just mapping the path that's ahead, and he takes her opinion as much into account as his own, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have his own or that it always aligns with hers. He wants the full picture, and at that point, he is humble enough to know that his opinion is subjective, so he needs more points of view and more intel, and there is none that he values more than Shepard's.

But it's not all for himself. They're both stuck in the same, horrible situation. He's asking her, and in turn she has to think about it and really consider all the pitfalls he's already identified but isn't sure how to approach. He's a safe sounding board for her. They think it through together, her as this unstoppable force towards the Right Thing, him as the one in the sniper's perch who sights the path ahead and calls out to her when there's a wall before she can run head-first into it. In the end, they're two people united in their striving for the same thing, two halves of a well-oiled machine. No Shepard without Vakarian.