#why does it seem like its shrinking?

[maryjaneszombies-blog]

If y'all don't start making bed sheets bigger so they

don't constantly come off the freaking bed

because they barely fit on there.

I swear! Why??

Why do y'all do this??

If it says it's supposed to fit on a certain size bed it should fit on that size bed! 😭

#bed sheets #why bruh? #they always come off #why does it seem like its shrinking?

[ddarker-dreams]

Worthy Motivator.

Blade x Reader.

Warnings: Typical Blade morbidity, Blade's slightly yan because I can never write him as Normal, and not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

Author notes are at the end of the story!

Washcloth in hand, you wipe away the perspiration clinging to your skin. 

While doing so, you squint, an act your reflection obediently mimics, confirming that yes; this disheveled figure is indeed you. You smooth out your hair, moisturize your face, then apply a light layer of toner. The process is completed in a timely fashion. A few hand motions made midair dim the bathroom’s lights.

Yawning, the door slides open at your behest, retreating into the wall like a turtle does its shell. The room is dome-shaped and customized to your liking. A light birch wood floor, pale pink walls, and windows showcasing scenery of a tulip field stretching on for miles. Windmills dot the distance, turning at their leisure. Gentle orange hues from two rising suns envelop the room in a cozy glow. 

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d believe you were actually on the planet Ethos, not traversing the cold, unforgiving space between galaxies.

While playing with the settings to change the time being depicted to twilight, it finally dawns on you that you’re not alone. 

Blazing eyes freeze you in place and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Blade,” you greet, wincing at how gracelessly the word rolls from your tongue, “I didn’t expect…” 

You cut yourself off, figuring that finishing the sentence will strengthen the bizarre atmosphere. What can be said, anyway? ‘Thanks for that,’ or ‘couldn’t have done it without you,’ maybe? Both options seem equally terrible. To make matters worse, he doesn’t explain why he’s stuck around. He continues to stand beside your nightstand, arms crossed over his chest, his lips drawn in a straight line. 

You’re the only one boasting signs of your previous tryst, the most obvious being your unsteady gait. Hoping to convey some decorum, you clasp your hands behind your back and straighten your posture. Surely, he’ll spill whatever’s on his mind and then make himself scarce. That’s been his modus operandi ever since this undefined relationship stumbled into existence. You tried not to take it personally. You’re both adults, if he doesn’t want to stick around for pillow talk, you won’t fault him for it. 

His eyes sear through your being. 

“You’re going to Illij.” 

You blink, thrown off by the flat delivery and the intentions it conceals. He’s either painfully blunt or cryptic in his word choice. It’d be nice if he could find a middle ground between both extremes, but that’s wishful thinking. 

With unusual impatience, he adds, “Alone.” 

Ah. 

A certain magenta-haired beauty’s previous words resurface in your mind. 

“—Alone? Not taking Bladie along for the ride?” she had tutted. “You’ll hurt his feelings.” 

You thought she was teasing, as she’s wont to do, yet your developing dilemma proves otherwise. That, or you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the truth in her words. 

Whilst shifting your weight from one foot to another, you meekly reply, “Kafka gave me permission.” 

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at you. 

“Permission, huh?” 

The condescension corrodes your former sheepishness. 

Placing a hand on your hips, you reply, “That’s the word I used, yes.” 

Your room pulsates with palpable tension. He stands to his full height — having been seated on your bed’s edge — sauntering over like a cat poised to pounce. You cross your arms over your chest as the distance shrinks. He’s yet to fully dress himself, wearing only his signature gray pants. His bare torso is marred with innumerable scars that vary in length and angle. Every time you both succumb to the heat of passion, his bandages occupy a new spot, depending on the circumstances of his latest battles. Presently, the cloth coils around his midsection and upper left arm. 

He’s close enough now for you to notice the latter unraveling. 

It isn’t anything logical that urges you forward. The sentiment resides deep in the recesses of your psyche, unsuccessfully shoved down by denial and trepidation. This formless substance takes shape as you meet him halfway. Blade towers over you. Given the massive gap in your abilities, you should fear him, but you know your pounding heart isn’t spurred by negative emotion. 

Much to his perplexity, you set aside the nascent quarrel, focusing your attention elsewhere. Nimble fingers resecure the rebellious cloth. 

“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” you mutter. “Honestly, what am I s’posed to do with you…?” 

It’s subtle, but this shift in tone relaxes his muscles. That is, until you admit: 

“I don’t like you being my bodyguard.”

Confusion contorts his countenance, then something more raw; something dangerously intimate. 

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt because of me,” you continue, lowering both your voice and head. “It’s… it’s awful and— and then— you don’t even care!” 

Hoping to avoid further humiliation, you stop there, taking deep breaths to prevent tears from flowing. This wasn’t the direction you wanted the evening to take. You wanted to take a bath, dip into a game Silver Wolf wouldn’t stop raving about, and then prepare for your imminent trip. The trip that’d put thousands of lightyears between you and a man whose blood spilled for your sake could rival an ocean. 

“I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve got Silv’s disguise software and she knows how to track me. So — I don’t know — take it easy, or something. You’ve got the month off.” 

His response is immediate. “I can’t.”

“Wh— did you not hear anything I just said?” you sputter. 

“I heard,” he confirms. He raises his hand to the bandage you rewrapped, as if trying to savor your lingering warmth. “When you’re gone, I cannot ‘take it easy.’” 

Blade uses your stupefaction to his advantage. He takes your much smaller hand into his and places it over his heart. It thumps at a slow, steady pace, like it hasn’t been obliterated and formed anew thousands of times. Your fingers twitch. His body, though colder than the average person’s, emits just enough warmth to indicate life. You feel the raised, textured skin that’s present above his every vital organ. It speaks of untold horrors; untold suffering. 

His chest rumbles as he says, “If I’ve no choice but to live… you’d make for a worthwhile reason.” 

You rest your forehead against his chest and squeeze your eyes shut. 

Kafka… are you sure it isn’t my feelings that’re in the most danger? 

A/N: owing to mental illness, aside from nexus, i devised another storyline for (slightly) less unhinged blade, this time with a stellaron hunter reader. while it has the material to make a series, i don't plan on starting up another multi-chaptered work until i make further progress into my current project 😭 still, i'm happy to talk about it if anyone's curious! here are some tidbits that give additional story context for this universe:

reader isn't super thrilled to be a stellaron hunter. a desperate situation ended in them joining the ranks. they're the emanator of the aeon of illumination, whose name i'm still undecided on. essentially, they're a 'consumer of stars,' capable of absorbing + storing well. you guessed it. stars. as you can imagine, this ability can provide immeasurable energy or devastation depending on its usage.

as a consequence, when reader's performing the sealing process, they're extremely vulnerable. it isn't exactly subtle, people tend to notice when their nearby sun is going cyaaaaaa ✌ and try to stop them. that's where bladie comes in. he kills anything and anyone that threatens them.

ethos is a pretty meadow planet that's known for harvesting clean energy (hydro, solar, wind) and using minimum technology. most of its inhabitants go their entire lives without ever seeing a computer. long distance communication is carried out through a dedicated fleet of carrier pigeons.

illij is a laissez-faire paradise. consumerism galore. ads projected in the night sky, ads projected in your dreams in certain low income areas where people can't afford space adblock™. it's a lot but sometimes reader appreciates the distraction.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #stellaron hunters x reader #hsr blade #reader insert #blade brainrot #my stuff

[dotster001]

When You Escape Him; Diasomnia

Summary: Yandere Diasomnia x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

A/N: so, turns out the burnout was actually sleep deprivation. Who knew!

Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Non NRC Staff

CW: major spoiler under the cut, but it does need a content warning, so if you want to see it, it's there, if not, skip straight to Mal's picture. yandere stuff, capture, forced sleep, implied past forced sleep, threats to innocents, Lilia is a shit in 3/4 of these,blood, implied previous injury, implied minor character death

Spoiler Content Warning: reader dies in Sebek 's part.

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

Malleus had done something. Something unnatural. You'd at first kind of believed him. But the horns had started growing in on your son. This was your and Malleus' biological child. As unnatural and impossible as it was, you had no doubt.

The woman who ran the safe house had told you to put him up for adoption. She'd smiled sympathetically, but she told you in no uncertain terms that this child would damn everyone there. So either the child had to go, or you'd both have to go. She gave you until the next morning to leave. She'd send you with food and money, but you couldn't stay there. 

But an hour later, as your son had summoned a storm with his crying, she had knocked on your door and told you she couldn't give you until the next day anymore. It just wasn't safe. And you understood, so you quickly began to pack, hastily hushing your infant son, who seemed in no hurry to stop crying.

You froze as you heard a boom. Not a boom from the storm your son had summoned. But a boom you recognized. 

You heard screams in the safe house as vines crawled up the outer walls and windows. You looked at the sad little boy that you'd tried to save from a life in a cold palace, with a possessive and jealous father. You shouldn't have even made it this far. But that's exactly why you thought….

It didn't matter now.

You picked him up, and ran out of your room, straight out the door and into the rain.

“Malleus! Enough!” You shouted. “I'll go with you! Just leave them alone!”

Before you stood a huge dragon, surrounded by his army. But as the dragon looked down at you, its eyes softened, and he began to shrink back into the man you married.

He smiled wildly, extending his arms wide.

“Beloved,” he purred, momentarily forgetting his anger as relief filled him.

You walked slowly through the mud, ignoring the cold that seeped in your bones from the excessive rain caused by two separate storms. You took a shuddering breath and stepped into his embrace, fighting off a shiver of a different kind as his arms wrapped around you and your son.

“Don't hurt them. They're all just innocent people who need someplace to stay,” you whispered in his ear.

He pressed his lips to your ears, continuing to purr, as he said, “They tried to hide their king's spouse from him. They must face some sort of punishment.”

“Mal,” you said firmly, gently pulling far enough back that you could look in his eyes. “They weren't hiding me. They were about to tell you where I was.”

A lie. But the only way to keep the people in that building safe.

“I shall spare them then,” he hummed. 

The change was instant. A flicker in his eyes that only you knew well enough to pick up on.

“Lilia, please escort my son home,” he ordered, his eyes not leaving yours as you felt the boy wrenched from your arms. Immediately, Malleus' grip shifted to your arm, and he dragged you along with him, straight into a glowing green portal…

Which led to a tower you recognized.

“Wait, no, no, I'm sorry-”

“If I don't punish you, how will you ever learn?” He waved his staff, summoning a stone table.

“Mal, please, our son-”

“You don't love him, but this will teach you to.”

“I do so love him!”

“Then you wouldn't have broken his family,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

There was nowhere to run in the windowless tower, but you knew what came next. So you tried to yank yourself out of his grip, even if it was fruitless.

“What if he doesn't live another hundred years?” You cried as he wrestled you onto the table.

“He will. He has his father's blood.”

At least he admitted it. 

His hand covered your eyes, a green glow beginning to fill your vision.

“He won't remember me,” you pleaded as your body began to grow numb.

“I'll ensure he does.”

You drifted off, falling into dreams designed to “open your heart.” Dreams where the three of you lived happily.

After another hundred years of that, surely you'd become the well behaved spouse he needed. And if not, he had a hundred more years to spend on you. And one day? One day his perfect family would be a reality.

You were elbows deep in another explosion your son had caused through his “science experiments” when you heard a knock on the door.

You blew a hair out of your face, before turning to your son.

“Can you get that, baby?” 

He nodded quickly, happy to do anything to lower his punishment. You dug through some more goo (you didn't want to know what exactly he made) and finally found the bathtub drain. You pulled the plug and…

Nothing.

You groaned. Guess you had to clean it the hard way. Again.

You heard excited noises from the front door, and smiled softly. Your son's partner was prone to making surprise visits, so you figured he was telling them all about his latest explosion. Young love was cute. You hoped it stayed that way.

You pulled your goo covered arms out of the bathtub, and pulled over the bucket that had seen horrors. You began scooping handfuls into it, hoping that less goo would force the drain to go down, when your son came back to the door, looking ecstatic.

“Hey, um, there's someone here to see you.”

You smirked, and said, “Well, as you can see I'm a little busy. Tell them to wait.”

He shook his head vehemently.

“Uh uh, you gotta come see them now.”

The way he was bouncing up and down, it must have been Uncle Epel. He was the favorite Uncle, mainly because he always brought treats with him.

“Well, tell him if he wants to chat, he has to help me clean-”

No sooner had the words left your mouth when some familiar pink magic flew over your shoulder, and made the goo in the bath dissipate. You froze in your place, too scared to look.

“Easy peasy. Luckily I've had a lot of experience with kid's messes, fu fu.”

You were a coward, who was too scared to face fate. As though refusing to face it would mean it would never come up behind you, and wrap his arms around you, affectionately nuzzling your neck.

“How was your vacation?” Lilia hummed.

“That's my dad!” Your son interrupted, excitedly. “It all makes sense now! Why I look fae, why I'm so skilled at magic, why I have a hard time connecting with my peers…”

If Lilia was anyone else, you'd quickly explain it didn't make sense, it was just a sick coincidence. But with him wrapped around you like a python…

You weren't in a position to be dealing with broken ribs, again.

“Not only that, but you have a big brother!” Lilia said happily.

“I do!”

“He's probably downstairs waiting for you! Let's go!”

You couldn't blame your son for falling for Lilia's charms. You'd also made that mistake many years ago. Lilia excitedly took your hand, floating down the stairs while dragging you, your son behind you.

At the bottom of the steps was Silver, who was looking anywhere but at you. Lilia summoned a portal, and you were quickly pulled through it, followed by the two boys.

Your son stared in awe at the mansion that haunted your nightmares.

“We get to live here now?”

“Yes! I have a room all for you, Silver will show you the way, then he'll take you to get a new wardrobe.”

Your son took the stairs two at a time, then paused to look back at you, confused.

“Why haven't we been a family the entire time?”

You stiffened again, but Lilia was a wonderful actor.

“You see, your father is fae and loses track of time. I was supposed to come pick you up. I only just realized how much time passed. I'm so sorry.”

He turned to you, he laced his fingers through your hair, kissing you passionately. He pulled slightly away, whispering,

“Forgive me?”

In an attempt to ease whatever punishment was coming your way, you slowly nodded. You son beamed happily, then looked at you both.

“This is the best day ever! I can't wait to tell my partner!” He pulled out his phone, immediately beginning the call as he continued up the stairs.

“Well? Was that enough of a vacation for you?” Lilia asked coldly.

“How long-”

“Sevens, I knew where you were the whole time. Quite frankly, I'm insulted that you felt otherwise.”

He sounded genuinely insulted. Fuck.

“So…” you trailed off.

“I haven't decided what to do with you yet. You know how important you and my family are to me, yet you ran from me, and stole our son.” He grabbed you by the hair, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“But rest assured, if this happens again, I'll come up with a punishment that leans more…irreversible.”

“Y/N?” 

Fuck. You knew that soft voice. It had a slight tremble of disbelief and shock, so you weren't surprised when you felt a hand gently take your chin, and direct it to a pair of gorgeous auroral hues.

You had thought enough time would pass that you would be unfindable. So here you were, at a cafe with your teenage son, thinking you were safe. What a joke.

“Y/N, where have you been? I missed you.” 

You believed him. God, you wish you didn't, but you did. The problem with Silver was that he never knew what he did wrong. He didn't understand. To him, you just vanished one day, for no reason.

“Oh-” you started, but your son interrupted you.

“Hey, back off,” he said firmly, grabbing his table knife as though that would defend against Silver's sword fighting skills.

Or Lilia's anything, for that matter, as you realized he stood behind his son with a scary look in his eyes. A look you had experience with. A look that said, behave.

“S/N, don't,” you whispered, not daring to pull away from Silver.

“I'm not going to let him take you!” He stood from his seat, causing Silver's eyes to flicker over to him, and grow soft with fondness.

“You're all grown up!”

“Back off-”

“That's enough of that. I appreciate your loyalty, but it would be better suited elsewhere,” Lilia finally spoke, disarming your boy.

“Let go of me-”

“Father, please don't-”

“It's alright, Silver. I've raised two boys, I know how to handle a tantrum,” Lilia said lightly, pinning your son's arms to his sides. “As for you, young man, that's no way to speak to your father, or your grandfather.”

“We're not even related!” He shouted, and it was only then you realized the cafe was empty. They had planned this. Or, more accurately, Lilia had planned this, and probably surprised Silver.

“Enough. I'm putting you in timeout.”

He summoned a portal, and dragged your son towards it.

He turned back towards Silver with a firm look on his face, “Silver. Remember what I taught you.” And then he walked through the portal.

Silver held out a hand for you, and you swallowed your bile as you took it. You walked through the portal together, and found yourself in Silver’s room in the Castle in the Valley of Thorns.

He released your hand, dissipated the portal, and went to lock the door. You took the opportunity to sit on the bed.

Silver sighed as he stared at the floor.

“Father says that if I want to keep you in my life, I have to be more firm.”

He looked back up at you, something new swimming in his eyes. Something that frightened you.

“I don't want to hurt you. But today, seeing you for the first time in so long, I realized he was right.”

The frightening look wavered for a moment, as he said, “Why did you make my son hate me? Do you not think I'd be a good father?”

You sighed, remembering how easy it was to fall prey to Silver's everything. “If it were just you I had to worry about, I know you'd be a great father.”

“Then why…” the look cemented back into frightening again, and he stood stiffly, like a general deciding whether to spare an enemy soldier.

“I've given you a good life, a husband, and a family, but you are taking it for granted. You need to learn to appreciate what you have.”

That was all Lilia. Maybe if you had run away with Silver, you might have saved the last embers of your love for him. But then you might also be killed.

“I have arranged a cell in the dungeon for you. It's comfortable, but isolated. You will stay there until you learn your place.”

You fought to escape his grip as he dragged you down the stairs, pleading with him to see reason. But it was too late, and when the door was latched behind you, you couldn't help but wish you'd thought to try things differently.

You couldn't imagine how it took so long for him to find you. But as you and your son ran in the night, you wished it had been longer.

Ten minutes prior, you'd gotten a call from a wheezing voice you almost didn't recognize.

“Sebek…he…he's coming.”

“Lilia? What are you talking about? Where did you get my number?”

You heard a hard cough, followed by a tired laugh. “Who did you think was your fairy godmother? Run Y/N.”

The call hung up, and you grabbed a bag to start packing, only to hear a loud bang as your front door splintered. Your son had wanted to fight him off, but bless his heart he'd never win. So you'd both escaped out a window and ran.

You knew he was much too fast for you, but your son was fae as well, so he had a chance of getting away. And if you could just wear Sebek out…

You screamed out in pain as you felt something pierce you from behind.

You collapsed to your knees, staring down at the sword poking through your chest.

“No!” Your son screamed, and you choked back the pain long enough to say, “keep running!”

He looked at you regretfully, then angrily stared at something over your shoulder.

“I'll kill you!” He shouted, before running off, and disappearing down an alley.

You swayed from the position on your knees, your vision growing spotty. You turned over your shoulder, vaguely aware of a green haired man staring at you in shock.

Oh. That was Sebek! You had a date today, right? You didn't feel so good though, so maybe you should tell him you had to cancel.

“I… I didn't mean to,” he cried shakily, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. You collapsed again, this time not having the strength to get off your side. He knelt next to you, and felt a sharp pain from something pulling. He laid you on your back, and pressed his hands to your chest, muttering something you couldn't quite hear. His voice sounded like water, moving in and out of your ears.

“Y/N…..don…please…I”

You nodded like you understood. 

His hands came to cup your face. It must be raining, because his hands were all wet. You'd have to make sure Grim remembered to grab an umbrella before class.

You slowly lifted your hand to cup Sebek 's hands that were clutching your face. His cheeks were covered in raindrops, and he seemed to be trying to tell you something important. But you were so tired, it was hard to keep your eyes open.

You had a final moment of clarity, where you stared at Sebek 's broken face, and felt momentary pity for him. But maybe this would teach him something that he would never forget over the course of his long life.

And you thought of your wonderful son escaping this creature, and the black finally completely took your vision.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst silver x reader #silver x reader #yandere twst silver #yandere silver #yandere silver x reader #yandere twst silver x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #yandere sebek zigvolt #yandere sebek zigolt x reader

[lunarmoves]

“say,” sun muses one evening after all the kids have gone home for the day, “can you do something for me, friend?” 

you raise an eyebrow at him over your shoulder. blank white eyes peer down at you from a short distance away. his hands clutch onto a moon plush, long fingers kneading tersely into the soft material. 

“what is it?” you ask curiously. the rag you’d been using to disinfect and clean the top of the security desk gets set off to the side so you can turn around and give him your full attention. you lean back against the desk and make a face at him. “you’re not gonna ask me to help clean out the ball pit again, are you?” 

sun laughs—a loud, sharp thing that reverberates around the daycare in a way that makes your shoulders tense ever so minutely. he waves a hand at you as though to brush off your question. “oh no, nothing like that, silly! i just want you to repeat something for me.” 

“repeat something,” you echo, eyes latched unwaveringly on his form. he tosses the moon plush into its designated bin and approaches closer to you. enough so that his shadow drenches itself over your smaller form like an unforgiving wave and your head cranes up awkwardly to meet his shaded gaze. 

“yes, quite simple, really.” a golden hand reaches forward to set itself on the edge of the desk to your side—effectively caging you against it. a warning bell goes off in your head. you try not to shrink back, but it’s difficult. tendrils of unease snake their way through your chest and into your throat. 

sun’s white-pupil look is unyielding—fixated on something just below your eyes. you swallow thickly.

“repeat after me,” he says in a voice no louder than a murmur. “i love you.” 

your breathing stutters to a stop. 

“what?” is the only thing that breaks through your befuddlement—breathless and rushed out like you couldn’t believe what he’d just said. the tendrils have coalesced into a pressing force that weighs heavily inside your chest. 

sun’s faceplate ticks to the left sharply. grey eyes lower into a half-lidded stare. he makes a sound like he’s clicking his tongue against strangely sharp teeth, disapproving. “that is not what i asked of you, i’m afraid.” his head bows closer towards you. his optics crinkle into crescents as the edges of his smile thin like a razor. “try again.” 

your lips make formless words, but not a sound comes out. your mind feels like it’s running hundreds of miles a minute and yet it’s also… not. there’s no way he understands the depth of what he’s saying, right? what he’s asking? you’re… unsure. you don’t know what to do and it shows in the uncertainty etched into your face and the tautness of your shoulders. 

sun is patient—for now—but you are fumbling miserably. “i— why do you—?”

“ah ah ah,” sun cuts across your stuttering words before you can even get the sentence out. sharp fingers tap against the security desk at your side. tink tink tink. you suppress a shiver. “what did i say? repeat it.” 

you’re stuck. you’re stuck and you have not a single clue on how to slip out of this in all of your unease and reluctance. your heart hammers away in your chest even as your ears burn and a warmth crawls up your neck. sun’s gaze places you in a spotlight and after assessing the way he curls over you in his own semblance of a cage, you exhale slowly through your nose and pull yourself together. 

your jaw clenches, then relaxes, and you part your lips. “i… love you?” 

you cringe internally at the high pitched cadence, but sun does not seem to mind. he shivers—minutely, so minutely—and you can feel where his arm shakes whilst pressed against your side. he looks at you like a lion watching a gazelle, teeth bared in a stretching smile. “again. i love you, sun.” his words are slow.

what are you doing. what are you doing? you balk in the face of his persistence. “i love you, sun.” the words feel… unripe. unnatural. your tongue is made of cotton and lead. 

sun hums in delight—the line of his mouth just inches above your forehead. you cannot even begin to unravel the knot of emotions in your stomach. 

“wonderful,” he eventually breathes into the minuscule space between your faces. his other hand raises to swipe a thumb adoringly under your eye and he sighs contentedly. “just wonderful.”

#and now… i sleep #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #fnaf sun x reader #shay scribbles daydreams #dca x y/n #dca x self insert #dca x you #fnaf sun x y/n #sun x y/n #sundrop x reader #sundrop x y/n #fnaf dca x reader #fnaf dca x y/n #dca fandom #dca fanfic

[ownedbyfictionalwomen]

*:･ﾟ✧reader shows abby what she's missing

warnings: pussy eating, dom!reader, inexperienced abby?, mentions of owen, ass eating, dirty makeout with abbys pussy from behind basically, abby is a part of the cream team and squirt squad

you had been in a weird mood all day: distracted, absent and frankly, engrossed in an image of abby with her legs spread and her head thrown back in pleasure.

to be fair to you, it had been a while since you had seen any action, and the conversation you and abby were currently having was almost as satisfying as sex itself.

you would never admit it to yourself (or anyone) but you were in love with abby- she was perfect. from her thick corded muscles to her long blonde hair... she was faultless.

then the thought of her asshat boyfriend popped into your mind and you were reminded of why you couldn't make a move.

"yeah...", abby started again quietly, provoking you out of your daze, "I mean, i don't cum every time but that's like okay, right?"

her head was angled down, looking at her hands as she played with her fingers, the shame and embarrassment was plain on her face.

"abs... you know that's not your fault. you've been with owen for years, he should know what you like and make sure you finish every time." you said, making sure that no one else in the cafeteria could overhear what you were saying before you bit into your apple.

abby's eyes flashed up to yours briefly before she looked back down and moved her empty plate to the side, laying her hands flat on the wooden surface of the table. "he can't help it though, sometimes I just can't cum."

you rolled your eyes and let out an irritated sigh before returning your attention back to your apple, trying to hold back the stream of insults that were about to fall out of your mouth- you hate owen.

"what? you disagree with me? you think it's his fault?" abby asked, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning on the table, briefly drawing your eyes to her bulging biceps.

"of course i disagree with you. owen seems as useless in bed as he is in the field." you said with a slight laugh, watching abby carefully as she dropped her head with a little smile.

"okay, he isn't that bad. like i said... i cum sometimes."

"abby... every time i have sex i make sure she cums... it's not that hard." you said, giving your eyes another slight roll as abby tried not to squeeze her thighs together at the thought of your naked body writhing with another faceless woman's.

"a woman making another woman finish has got to be easier though..." abby says, watching your face turn from a joking smile to an unimpressed frown.

"does owen have fingers?" you say, abby nods, "does he have a tongue?" abby nods again," then he can make you cum every time, honey."

abby shivers a little, rubbing her arms to hide the goosebumps as she again imagines you with a woman: your tongue swirling around a swollen throbbing clit whilst your fingers curl inside a creamy little pussy.

"he doesn't really use his tongue, honestly." abby admits quietly, her hands coming up to cover her eyes, hiding the humiliation of her abysmal sex life.

"he doesn't eat you out?" you say, unintentionally at a high volume, slamming your palm down on the wood and drawing the attention of a few passersby.

"shush," abby whispers, her eyes wide as you shrink back into your chair, realising your mistake, "and no, he doesn't, he says it's gross."

you try not to roll your eyes for a third time, but you're seething with anger, and can't help it. you can't help the growl that escapes your throat at the thought of abby's pouty upset face as she hears owen insult her.

"abby, sweetie. eating pussy is not gross," you start, grabbing her hands and holding them in your soft grasp, "in fact, its the opposite. it's intimate and it's satisfying and i love it, you know why?"

it takes a second but abby shakes her head, albeit hesitantly.

"because it feels good," you whisper, rubbing your thumbs across abby's knuckles. "whether im getting mine ate or im the one doing the eating... it feels so fucking good."

abby bites her lip and keeps her eyes locked on your eyes, unable to stop her mind from wandering again- instead, the faceless woman you're with is now her.

her thick thighs hug your head as you drive into her neglected pussy; licking and sucking at the perfect times and places, not leaving an inch of wet skin unloved.

"makes me sad that you don't know what it feels like, honey."

"can you show me?"

---

"oh baby, you've just been dying for this, haven't you?" you ask, landing a soft smack on abby's ass as she bends over for you, letting you continue eating it from the back.

her sweet pink cunt is on display, dripping thick white cream from such a perfect tight hole that you can't help but dip your tongue in again and start swirling.

your movements are met with a quiet whine as abby arches her back further, pushing her needy pussy into your mouth another inch. you use your hands to part her plump asscheeks before dragging your tongue all the way from one hole to the other then all the way down to her clit.

"both your holes taste good, just as i thought."

abby can't do anything but moan as she feels your tongue flick her clit harshly, before sucking the juices from it and spitting them back onto her sloppy folds.

you moan from the feeling of her clit throbbing on your tongue, and you apply a little more pressure and slide a finger into her pussy, feeling the tight clench and moaning again.

"such a good girl taking this, baby. you wanna cum for me?" you ask, briefly neglecting her cunt to talk before diving back in, moving your mouth from side to side, trying to suck everything into your mouth and maximise her pleasure. you release her clit with a light pop before returning to suckle on her pussy from top to bottom.

the throb on your tongue intensifies, and you can tell she is getting closer. you inch another finger inside her pretty hole and lick her clit faster, then abby is squirting on your tongue.

you try to catch as much of it as you can, swallowing quickly before going back in. at the end, your shirt and the sheets are soaked through, and you give abby a little bite on the ass... to which she yelps.

"ah, fuck."

abby flops onto the bed, the mattress gently bouncing you.

"so, what do you say?" you ask, pinching the bite mark on her behind jokingly.

"thank you."

"and who do you come to the next time you wanna cum?"

"you."

#abby anderson smut #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson

[silkjade]

SPARKS AMIDST THE SNOW

scaramouche x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, second chance romance ⤀ synopsis: he meets you again for the first time since erasing himself from irminsul, and new hope flickers in the barren cold. a/n: for the best reading experience, pls think of the outro to all too well (10 min version) while u read this !

when scaramouche inevitably accompanies the golden haired traveller on their journey to snezhnaya, the last thing he expected was a pit stop in your little village on the outskirts of the capital. and although his puppet body does not shrink in the face of this nation's biting cold, his skin burns under the curious, yet cautious, gaze of those once familiar to him.

he keeps his head down, dipping his hat so that its large brim might hide his visage, eager to avoid any unwarranted attention. still, his eyes cannot help but wander and his heart, imaginary as it may be, cannot help but wonder.

were you well? the last he'd seen of you, he had promised to return a god—one who would whisk you away from the barren cold of snezhnaya to live out your days in glory as his mortal consort. but for all that had transpired, and then that fateful traipse beneath the irminsul, he's now no more than just another stranger passing through—fleeting as the falling snow, just another memory to be buried in the desolate stillness of winter.

he cares not for the stars in the sky, yet somehow they still dictate that his traveling companions would task him with purchasing commodities, of course from your family's stall. he's long grown out of his naivety; knows that in this infinite realm of possibilities, there’d always be the chance of meeting you again, slim as it may be. if it really came to, he had been prepared to let you live your life, free of him this time around, but it seems this world has its own twisted sense of humor, for he cannot tear his eyes from the ring that sits upon your finger.

"that ring. where did you get it?" he's never been one for small talk, but the biting curiosity rivals that of the wind, as it chips away at his exterior. he keeps his tone even, ignoring the multitude of emotions whirring in his head, though irritation clearly seems to buzz the loudest.

it should have been impossible that a ring he'd forged with his own hands should still exist, but as the fate of this world has yet to reflect that… if he hadn't given you the ring, then how? or perhaps even who... the cold, gunmetal glint laughs in his face as your swift fingers wrap up his purchase.

the stranger's question takes you by surprise, and you look up, taken aback by the intensity of his indigo gaze—beautiful, and bitter, and so blatantly familiar, yet you cannot quite figure out why.

your village is nowhere near the main road, so it isn't often that you'd host any foreign guests; even if you did, you're sure you'd remember if someone like that were to ever have passed through. nevertheless, you flex your fingers, pulled out of your thoughts by his impatient sigh.

"I'm not sure. I've had it ever since I could remember."

you're the same as he remembers, he thinks. a rose amidst the snow, with frost resting in your hair and on the curls of your lashes. out of habit, he takes your hand, inspecting the ring at a closer proximity.

'how rude,' you think. and yet your hand in his, feels comfortable, and warm, and right. like an electric charge drawing two magnets home to the other. it’d be blasphemy to pull away, but you manage to do so anyway, furrowing your brows at his boldness, the frown on your lips more so a reflection of your confusion, rather than displeasure.

“if you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” you mumble, as you slip the ring off your finger, offering it to him in the palm of your hand.

the detailed metalwork, the particular branding imprinted in the iron… there’s no denying the influence of the raiden gokaden, though it was perhaps, a subconscious decision made from muscle memory. in hindsight, he thinks that, in the moment, he must have felt—still feels—that same overwhelming affection that came as second nature to kabukimono. after all, it was forged as a promise of his love, and there’s no question about it when, hidden beneath his clothes, its pair hangs on a chain around his neck.

"it’s made with excellent craftsmanship," he boasts, "any merchant worth their weight, would give you a good price for it." he figures you might as well get something out of it, and a piece like this, though meaningless now, is still sure to last you until at least the next winter.

but a stubborn pout is painted across your snow-kissed features. "absolutely not! it’s actually quite dear to me, you know..."

scaramouche scoffs at the irony. ‘why?’ he wants to ask. he is not foolish enough to believe himself an exception from the rules of this world; not when he's already convinced himself to give up on chasing the impossible. still, here you are, turning destiny on its head—his heart, right within reach.

“it can’t be that dear, if you’d so willingly hand it off to a stranger.” his face reveals nothing, though he cannot say the same for the bile that rises in his throat. he crosses his arms, a brow raised in skepticism. "how do you know I won't run off with it right now?"

“I don’t,” you start, “so I suppose you could call it a leap of faith.”

“or a doomed attempt at flight,” he counters. “you’d leave something so precious up to fate?”

you ponder for a moment as to why you feel so drawn to this stranger, why this back and forth comes so easily, why you seem to somehow just trust him.

"we don’t get many visitors here,” you start, “and as fate should have it, the day we do, it happens to be someone as interesting as you. that must count for something, no?”

the realist he’s learned to embody rolls his eyes at such ridiculous notions: your blind optimism… putting such faith in these false stars…. but the tenderness he had buried begs to differ, planting roots between the cavities of his chest, sprouting until it breaks through the surface.

he takes a further study of the intricate details, the careful inazuman script engraved on its body. ‘my heart,’ he had wrote.

scaramouche dips his head as his fingers close a fist around the piece, the large brim of his hat hiding the fondness glimmering in his eyes, and the ghostly smile settling on his lips. he does not cringe as he recalls the lingering remnants of kabukimono's innocence: stubbornly deluding himself to believe that his hollowed chest was naught for his natural lack of a heart, but because fate had dictated you to be its keeper.

perhaps the warmth of sumeru had indeed rubbed off on him—melted the frost that crawled upon and tore his skin, whilst teaching him to hope again, not for anyone else’s sake, but for his own. what was that vahumana saying? it’s difficult for people to truly understand themselves—and as much as he’d like to disagree, judging by his current predicament, he knows he cannot.

“have you ever considered that this ring might be one half of a pair?” he tosses it in the air, nonchalantly, as if he were merely flipping a coin, catching it mid-way before you have the chance to swipe it back.

“what do you suppose fate would have to say about that?”

it’s almost impossible to tell whether he’s truly genuine in his queries, but the mischievous gleam in his bright eyes, and the smug look on his face, seem to nullify any regards you may have had. your brows twitch in vexation. was he not just here to buy provisions? and yet he toys with you so…

“well if that were the case, then it would be between me and whoever owns the other half,” you huff, reaching over once again in an attempt to snatch back your belonging, only to miss by mere seconds thanks to a quick slight of his hand.

breathing out something between a chuckle and a scoff, scaramouche tugs at the thin chain around his neck, hard enough for it to snap right off, and toss in your direction.

"a leap of faith," he says plainly. it lands in the palms of your hands: a ring, near identical. 'my soul' it reads. if he lacked a heart, then it could only have been forged from his soul.

a flurry of questions swarm in your head, as you stare at his ring. you want to ask him why and how, but he's already pivoted away, the tassels of his hat barely missing you by inches, as he quickly grabs his purchase.

“who are you,” you manage to blurt out, calling out to him, and asking him to wait, so he might answer these questions he’s planted in your heart, but he only bids you farewell with a lazy wave of his hand.

though there's nothing he'd like more than to hear the sweet song of his name falling from your lips, he's learned it best to leave the past where it belongs. once he's settled his scores... then he'll get his second chance with you—he'll make sure of it, vowing to come back for you, not as kunikuzushi who you had once known him, but he hopes you might one day be able to love him as he is, as well.

‘my soul.’ your new ring reads. you shake your head, pursing your lips at the mysterious wanderer, wondering if you’d ever see him again, but a gust of wind blows your way—not a prickling cold as you’re used to, but a warm summer breeze that seems to caress your cheeks oh so sweetly.

perhaps it's only in your head, but you swear the wind seems to carry the whisper of a name in its flurry. 'and don't you forget it,' it seems to say.

a/n2: pleaseeee associate this with the outro of all too well (10 min version) like imagine the camera slow panning out amidst the falling snow, to the hopes of another chance together (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) anyways, tysm for reading, reblogs/feedback vry much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #astronetwrk #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #scaramouche drabble #scaramouche x reader fluff #genshin impact

[ghcstao3]

(part 1)

-

As more days pass, the job doesn’t get any less strange.

Johnny is still poring over Ghost’s hint, trying to figure out how it could be possible that all these varying pieces are from the same artist. Unless it was someone more contemporary, experimenting in art styles of different eras—

Which would make sense, if not for the paints and materials not available in the present day, their methodology in creation having been lost to time, or its dangers realized.

And the signature. Scribbled consistently on every one of the pieces in the exact same place, exact same handwriting, even when the initials of S and R shift from the Roman to Latin alphabet, and when the length of the name itself shrinks and grows.

About every theory that pops into Johnny’s head is easily dismissed for another that makes slightly more sense, until he reaches another road block in reasoning. It’s impossible, plain and simple.

But at the end of the day, Johnny has to shake his head of those sorts of thoughts anyway. Because he’s here for a job, not to speculate, even when it’s his current employer that’s planted this dilemma in his head.

Speaking of—Ghost hasn’t gotten any less weird himself, either. Or, perhaps enigmatic, Johnny should say.

He continues to pose questions to Johnny as he works, but at some point they begin to sound less like questions from the owner of the artwork—and more like questions from the artist, as if seeking feedback.

All Johnny can do is answer honestly. He’s gotten better at deciphering Ghost’s hums and huffs and grunts, but not to the extent of really understanding what he’s thinking. Which only serves to confuse Johnny further about the whole… arrangement.

It’s on the last day, while Johnny is finishing up the last piece, that Ghost asks him the strangest thing of all.

“Say you were… immortal,” Ghost begins slowly, sometime nearing the end of the day; the end of Johnny’s contract, “would you choose to make a mark on the world, or remain invisible?”

Johnny furrows his brow. “I’m not sure. I mean—really, unless you’re big and famous, you kind of remain invisible to most, anyway.”

Ghost shakes his head, seeming almost frustrated by his answer—which would be a first. “No, not like—like if you made art, would you choose to keep it hidden, or would you allow it to be shared?”

It’s the first time Johnny has ever heard Ghost seem unsure of himself. He’s never seen the man falter like this, wavering in this intimidating, indifferent persona he’s thus far created.

Johnny suspects that there’s more to this question than it simply being a hypothetical.

“Depends,” Johnny says. He blinks up at Ghost, staring undeterred into that intense gaze of his. Sometimes Johnny thinks Ghost expects him to be nervous in his employer’s presence. “If it’s something personal, then sure, I’d keep it to myself. But I think in creating art, there’s also times that you’d want to display it, so I would. Not necessarily to leave something behind, but… maybe to inspire someone else.”

Ghost considers this for a long while, eyes raking over Johnny’s face for who knows what. Maybe a discrepancy in his honesty.

Eventually, he breathes slow and deep as he squares back his shoulders. “Then I’ll ask this again:” He pauses. “What do you think happened to the artist?”

The corners of Johnny’s lips twitch upward, though a proper smile never appears.

“I think he’s giving himself away right about now,” Johnny decides. It hasn’t really clicked to him, of course, that Ghost might be immortal—but it’s a conclusion he can at least speak aloud.

Ghost squints his eyes, and Johnny is inclined to think that means there’s a smile hiding beneath his mask.

“Suppose I have,” Ghost admits. Almost sheepishly, he then asks, “Does that change your answer?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I still think these should be displayed, if you’re willing. They’re… they’re beautiful pieces, and… why should you hire me to restore them just to keep them in storage?”

Ghost shrugs, and there reappears that new uncertainty. “I wanted a second opinion.”

Johnny laughs, shaking his head again. “Next you’re going to tell me you destroyed these yourself just to get it.”

Ghost stares at him a long, silent moment after that. Johnny’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline with the very clear answer to that joke.

“…Ghost.”

“It’s Simon,” Ghost corrects. “And I may have… tampered… with them. Just a little.”

Johnny scoffs. “Ghost, Simon, whatever. Some of these materials have been lost to time! And you just… you just—“

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes Ghost—Simon—that has Johnny trailing off from the rant he’d just been ready to go on. Art history is so meaningful to him, and he has a living man who can attest to those times in front of him, and—

And Johnny was just insulting him.

He shrinks back as Simon’s laughing tapers off, and that cold look in his eyes is overtaken by something warm, something friendly.

“Those pieces never meant enough to me,” Simon finally says, something melancholy falling over his tone. “But… I do have one more that was actually ruined by time that I think… I think I’d trust you enough to fix.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, perking up at the suggestion. “Really?”

Simon nods. “I’ll pay you however much, I—“

“No need,” Johnny interrupts. “You’ve already paid me… far more than you needed to, for the rest. I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Simon cocks his head, silently willing Johnny on.

The smile threatening Johnny finally releases, spreading wide across his face.

“You let me ask questions,” Johnny says. “I have a few debates to settle.”

Simon hums. Something… approving.

Finally, he says with an air of humour, and something oddly akin to hope, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

#not proof read because i am feeling a bit Lazy #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

[kirain]

Tav: Oh my gods ... it's happening. It's happening! Everyone, come quick!

Astarion: What the hells are you shouting about? It's barely four o'clock in the bloody morning. I know you don't get it, but I prefer to rise when the sun does.

Tav: It's the egg! It's hatching!

Shadowheart: The one you got from the githyanki crèche? You mean you still have it?

Tav: Of course! You didn't really think I'd give it to that crazy baby-snatcher, did you?

Gale: Shh, shh! Everyone, calm yourselves and be silent. I may not look it, but I know quite a bit about child-rearing. I read many books on the subject when I was Mystra's Chosen, and as I understand it, newborns require low, serene noises when they're brought into the world. Anything too stentorian could overwhelm the poor babe.

Lae'zel: That is perhaps the case for you pitiful, soft, fragile humans, but githyanki offspring are born with an innate sense of—

Tav: Quiet! It's hatching!

Narrator: The egg stirs and shakes, then cracks as the inhabitant kicks at its confines. After a few moments of struggle, the shell breaks, pieces of green and yellow debris sliding off the newborn's slender frame. Free at last, it looks up at you, is eyes narrow but full of wonder, then mews like a kitten looking for its mother.

Karlach: Ohhh-ho-ho-ho-hooo my gods! It's so cute! Look at its little feet and droopy ears! And look that that: born with a full set of tiny chompers! I want to squeeze it and never let go!

Lae'zel: Githyanki offspring are not "cute"...

Astarion: That's for damn sure. It looked like a jaundiced monkey.

Wyll: Heheh. Well, it's certainly something. It's ... well, I'm not actually sure. What is it, exactly?

Lae'zel: A soldier.

Wyll: I meant the sex.

Lae'zel: Oh. A boy.

Wyll: Welcome to the world, little man! We're going to have so much fun. I'll teach you how to use a blade and defend the innocent and—!

Shadowheart: Hold that thought, why don't you? You're getting way ahead of yourself. This is a tremendous responsibility. What do we even do? Lae'zel?

Lae'zel: What? Why are you looking at me?

Shadowheart: Because out of everyone here, I would assume a githyanki knows best how to raise a githyanki child.

Lae'zel: I know nothing of raising hatchlings. It's not my place.

Shadowheart: Lady Shar protect us ... and this child.

Tav: Don't be so defeatist. We'll be fine!

Gale: Absolutely. How hard can it be? An infant is an infant. He's probably hungry, so let's tackle that problem first. Come here, little one!

Lae'zel: I wouldn't—

Narrator: Gale reaches down and scoops the young hatchling into his arms. At first the creature seems confused, pensive even. Then, its pupils shrink, its teeth clenching. It growls like a caged animal and claws at the wizard's face. Luckily for him, it misses, but the battle is far from over. In a rage, the creature twists its body, then sinks its teeth into Gale's hand, latching onto it in a fit of fury.

Gale: Ow, ow, ow! Aaaugh!

Lae'zel: Typical.

Narrator: Gale attempts to shake the vicious newborn off, waving his arm up and down like a madman, but to no avail. The creature holds steadfast, almost mockingly.

Gale: A hand would be very much appreciated!

Karlach: Ask the babe. He already has an extra one.

Everyone: *Laughs*

Astarion: Well ... I wasn't too keen on the idea at first, but perhaps keeping the creepy little morsel around isn't such a bad idea after all.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #tav #bg3 tav #astarion #gale of waterdeep #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #karlach #githyanki

[myymi]

Wholesome prompt: sonic teaching tails how to play guitar?

word count-971

ao3 link

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

“Dude, this isn't rocket science.” Sonic said, laughing at the confused look on his brother's face as he repositioned the younger’s fingers again.

“Of course not. Rocket science is easier than this.” Tails grumbled, shifting to sit in a more comfortable position.

“You're being dramatic.” The hedgehog rolled his eyes before plucking the same three cords again to remind the kid of the melody. “It's not hard. It shouldn't even hurt, your fingers are destroyed.”

“It doesn't hurt.” The fox mumbled, pulling at the first string. He frowned at the guitar, “Even if it did, that's not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Sonic asked, gently placing his paw to cut off the noise. The younger seemed to shrink into himself at the fact his hero's attention was now fully on him.

Tails debated with himself on whether he should talk about his concerns. He ended up deciding against it and gave the guitar back to its owner. “Nothing.”

“If it's nothing then why are you giving my guitar back?” Sonic asked, raising a brow as he nudged the instrument back towards the other.

“Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal.” The kit said, setting the guitar in his brother's lap before standing up. “I should get back to working on the weapon upgrades for the Cyclone anyway. I still—” He was cut off by his own yip when his wrist was grabbed and pulled, landing him right in the hedgehog’s lap.

“Not today, kiddo.” Sonic shook his head as his arms banded around the fox's middle, the guitar laying on the floor of the workshop beside them. “I won't force you to learn it, you know that, but you seemed excited about it when you asked me to teach you. What's going on?”

Tails groaned at the tone of the older’s voice. He leaned his head back against the teens shoulder, “It's stupid.” He grumbled, “Seriously, I–”

“What did we talk about with that?” The kit bit his lip at that and started to fidget with his fingers. The older sighed, one of his paws gently taking the younger’s two to stop him, “If it's bothering you, it isn't stupid. Not to me.”

Tails stared at the paw atop of his own for a few quiet seconds as he argued with his own brain. He knew he wasn't winning this fight, so might as well let it play out. “I play the violin.”

“..Okay?” Sonic hesitated to answer, not having expected that. “What about it?”

“I looked it up. It's easier to learn guitar than to learn violin.” The kit explained, letting one of his tails drape across his lap as the other wrapped around the hedgehog. “And yet I keep screwing up the basics that I already know from violin.”

Sonic thought on it for a minute, his eyes trailing around the room before they landed on a cupboard. “Maybe we need to treat you like a true beginner, then.” He said, setting the fox on the ground before running to the cupboard to search through it.

“But I'm not a full beginner.” Tails said, his head tilting to the side in confusion as he watched the older, “Regardless, how are my mints going to help anything?”

“Just trust me, will ya?” The older grunted, pulling out a square package of some mint flavored gum. Tails wasn't crazy about gum, but he kept it so he'd have something to chew that wasn't his lip, tongue, or whatever writing utensil he used.

Tails’ confusion only grew once a stock of gum was presented to him, but he took it anyway, “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Give it a little kiss, Tails.” Sonic teased before rolling his eyes and poking the fox’s nose, “You never eat gum before? Chew it.”

“How does this help anything?” The kid asked as he unwrapped the gum, placing it in his mouth.

“The guy who introduced me to guitar said it helps.” The hedgehog shrugged and tossed the package over to the general area of where the cupboard was, earning an annoyed glare from his little brother.

He didn't pay attention to or though, already zipping off to dig in a new cabinet. He quickly emerged with a pair of headphones, running back over to his original spot and pulling the kid back onto his lap.

“Headphones?” Tails asked, not even bothering to fight against the older’s hold. “How–”

“You learn better when other people can't hear.” Sonic winked at him as he dug his phone out of his shoe, plugging in the headphones.

“How exactly do you plan on teaching if you can't hear when I mess up?” The fox mumbled, his ears twitching at the sound of him chewing the gum.

“Just trust me, kid.” The teen smiled as he turned on his music app, letting the songs shuffle as he handed the guitar back to the fox.

He gently positioned the kit’s finger again before playing the three cords again, resting his chin on the younger’s head.

Tails went to say something, but decided it'd be easier to simply not question his brother's antics. He went to pull the strings, a bit surprised he managed to copy the melody almost exactly. He was just a bit too slow.

He rolled his eyes when he felt the older squeeze him, knowing there was a grin on his face. “Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled despite knowing the hedgehog wouldn't hear him.

“See?” Sonic's voice was elevated now due to the music blasting in his ears, causing Tails’ ear to lower slightly, “Big bro knows best, keed.”

The fox rolled his eyes and elbowed the older in his ribs, but couldn't help the smile that grew when the hedgehog laughed at him.

He had the best, most annoying big brother ever.

#AHH MADE IT #it's freezing in the room im in so i typed this all out painfully slow #but it's fine #happy wednesday yall #im not making you cry this week 🫶 #miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #sth #tails the fox #sonic #unbreakable bond #dynamic duo #no-need-to-apply #myyanswers #myydrabs #sonic drabble #drabble #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #wsatw #wholesome wednesday

[yuquinzel]

— singularity.

feat. mikage reo. gn!reader. implied fwb. suggestive. i’d call this toxic. wanted to write reo in a new light. thank u user @fallenssun aka rosie for hyping me for this <3

mikage reo resents you, that much, you are aware of.

maybe hate is too strong of a word. you are afraid to use it. resent rings the right way — the perfect adjective to explain his lasting glares, the twist of his lips followed by dismissive responses whenever you strike a conversation. you catch his eyes on you often, maybe looking for more reasons to abhor you. he doesn’t seem to hide it either, whenever you flash him a smile and he only scowls at you. curse him, he wears it dashingly.

but then again, for reo to resent you so much he can not stay in the same room as you must mean you have done something to be the subject of his bitterness.

that, is where you are clueless.

despite his resentment, reo is quite gentle with you. when he needs to be, at least.

is tragedy a strong word too? your relationship with reo resembles one strikingly. a bloody-eyed tragedy dressed as a daydream in which tongue and limbs entangle and fingers run through disheveled hair, thumbs trace the bruised skin of the other. your vision is blurred and memories are hazy when blinded by euphoria. you can taste nectar on reo’s lips. as much as he resents you, he can not deny you either.

which is why you are still in his life, you conclude. you wonder if you could ever have the power to ruin him like he does with you.

nagi seems to have a strange liking in stirring up the already uncomfortable atmosphere, “think i’m gonna go, ’m too tired. ’ts such a pain seeing you both act like nervous teenagers.”

reo pays him no mind, instead finding the empty ochoko in his hand more interesting. he traces a lazy finger on its outlines, breathing a sigh of content when he pours himself more of the saké the three of you had indulged in.

it had been nagi, who invited you. he did not tell you he would be companied by reo as well. you guess reo must’ve tried convincing him otherwise. but you know you’re just flattering yourself — reo does not think of you as often as delude yourself.

“nagi, shut up. you’re the one who asked me to come. it’s rude to leave after that.” you say with blush-stained cheeks and a slurred voice. you haven’t drunk much. but you have always been a lightweight. nagi had known that, you think.

“come with me, then.” reo stirs in his spot. nagi turns to him. as the snow-haired male speaks the next dragged and slow syllables, you feel reo’s eyes boring into you. in any other occasion, you would’ve pretended to ignore him and shrink in your spot further. but maybe the alcohol has settled in your system. you feel defiant under his gaze. “reo wouldn’t mind, will you?”

it takes countable, pathetic seconds for reo to respond. you would call it hesitation — the second reo steals for an answer, but you know better. “i am going to stay back for some time. you can leave if you want.” he wears an elegant smile, eyes set on you. it is something the poets would call enchanting. a long-drawn breath leaves you. reo’s eyes haven’t left you. not yet.

you know what he’s asking. he won’t verbalise it. you know him. you feel compelled to play along with him. he knows you. you don’t really give him this power over you. he just commands it like it has always been his.

“that so?” nagi waits for your answer.

which comes in the form of a hesitant nod, “i’m staying back too, i don’t wanna go home yet.” you mirror reo’s smile. he pretends to look away and take a sip of his drink.

“ah. can’t be helped. ’m leaving then.” the subtle stretch of lips on nagi’s face and the tone of his voice is a little teasing. one you’d call mocking if you couldn’t hear the fondness behind it.

a part of you feels betrayed. that nagi has left you alone here, fully aware of your shaky relationship with reo. the more braver part of you is thrilled. you blame the alcohol. reo has never initiated a normal time together besides the unassuming “7:30” texts followed by the address of some five-star luxury hotel he must frequent a lot.

you always tell yourself it will be the last time. you always end up going again.

you wonder if this unplanned business is the same one as well. you would be disappointed if so.

the silence that encompasses the quaint tatami room is oddly comforting. there is a faint glow of honey, its origin nothing but the paper lamps hung over the walls. you think the restaurant must’ve been reo’s choice.

“i did not try to convince him to not call you, if you are wondering.” reo begins, and you feel like a part of you — hidden somewhere deep within the confines of your secrets is scanned over and vulnerably exposed. “i was the one who asked him to call you.”

“ah. i didn’t assume anything.” you lie, for reasons you can’t pinpoint. you shouldn’t be drinking more than this, it would backfire later. but it’s a good distraction from being the centre of reo’s attention. it is unnerving. you are not supposed to enjoy it this much.

as if reo can see right through you, he lets a chuckle hum in the air. “i see. that’s good. i was afraid i gave that impression.”

you know he’s doing this on person. that’s just what he does. and you don’t really feel like entertaining his amusement tonight, “you didn’t. but i wouldn’t have come if i knew you asked for me.”

your words take him aback, you hope so. reo clears his throat. “mhm. that’s why i asked nagi to do so. i have something to say.”

“and it couldn’t be over texts?” you lie again, because it is easier than admitting you wanted to see him.

“it couldn’t be over texts.” he repeats. “i had to see you.”

maybe the alcohol was too strong. reo has never been a lightweight like you. and he does not give you the luxury to discern his words further.

“do you hate me?” he mutters after a bated breath.

“i wouldn’t want to see you if i did.”

your finger goes to rest on your lips, brushing a little over the slightly chapped skin. you don’t miss the way reo’s eyes follow your ministrations. you hadn’t expected yourself to answer so quickly, or at all. but it is almost as if it was scripted. like you had hoped for him to be the one in doubts and for once, you being the one who subjects him to your cruelty.

reo lets your words simmer in his mind, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. some phantom words slither through his teeth and rest on his tongue, tasting bittersweet and dangerously addictive.

it has always been like this with you. you have always made him like this.

“do you think i hate you?” he asks. you hold your breath.

“resent would be the right word. you resent me.”

reo sucks in a deep breath, you see yourself behind his eyes. it seemed to you as if he was in pain. you also know you are the cause of it. it is both solemn and exhilarating. you feel bad. but you really don’t.

then he smiles at you. one you have always thought charming and fake. “would you like to go on a walk with me?”

.

.

when nights ascends the city of tokyo, bringing along a rainshower of artificial lights reflecting on the damp asphalt, dwindling the city scrapers with stars and fluttering with the scent of cheap champagne and take-out food— it’s when the city truly comes alive.

reo and you walk side by side. it is a little cold, so reo has you wrapped in his coat. it has been quiet for moments, maybe he is giving you the time to prepare yourself.

“i’m sorry.” the sudden apology hits you like a train. you could not have expected it. your face contorts into something intangible. reo sees your confusion.

“...for what?” you ask when he does not elaborate. you figure he had waited for you to question it.

“for wanting you.”

a nervous breath makes it way past your lips, and you struggle to find it again. the air is knocked out of your lungs just like that, and your heart stalls and stutters in your chest. reo sense your tension. he knows only he is capable of this. he does not say anything about it. if he expects you to question him again, then you’re afraid the conversation will end here.

but then he continues, “i’m sorry for wanting you. and i’m sorry i made it your problem.”

“what? — what are you saying, reo—”

“you have always been the only thing i’ve wanted. so desperately.” this is where reo pauses, to look at you. the contrast to his words and the twist of his lips, paired with the knit between his brows — it’s dangerously charming. “you are also the only thing i’m not good at. it makes me resent you.”

hearing the words resent and you in the same sentence in reo’s voice, directed at you — it would’ve tore you apart, it would picked at your skin until you bleed and fire smokes your lungs. but it would be peaceful. you could accept it and eventually come to terms with it. however long that takes.

but right now, it only leaves you more conflicted. if reo intends to love you, then it is a torment in itself.

“i despise finding you in everything. even when i’m not looking for you. i thought my resentment would eventually overrule everything else. but it didn’t. i only want you more than i can deny. you are on my mind more than you should be — and all that is making me realise i don’t resent you after all.”

a faint glow of strawberries is dusted on reo’s cheeks. you can feel the head radiating off him. along with the scent of his expensive luxury cologne, one he has covered you in many times before. it seems like a lie. “i just resent wanting you when i know i should not.”

seconds seem melt into infinity. you think your thoughts are no less than your words. they are spoken the moment they come to mind. when you part your lips, the december winter of tokyo manifests as the condensed air with your words. reo feels the urge to brush his thumb over your flushed cheeks. something about the moment is making you seem oddly vulnerable. “if you love me, you do not love me in a way i understand.”

your voice comes hushed. reo tenses up. then you hear his chuckle. it does not make you look at him. it does not make him look away from you.

you know you should walk away. this is not good for your heart. it makes you sick. you should walk away and never look back.

but instead,

“will you teach me?”

you feel a sick urge to smile, as wide as you can when you see reo part his lips. a broken voice, nothing more than an incoherent blurb of sound, leaves his lips.

it seems reo and you are not much different.

“teach me, how to love you that way. the kind that is so intense, it becomes greater than love and manifests as resentment. the kind you are so afraid to show. let me see it.”

there is not much distance between reo’s fingers and the heat of your skin. not when he brushes them over the outlines of your jaw, and then the corner of your lips. the very spot your own finger has traced only moments prior.

“you will leave me.” he says, pressing his thumb a little harshly on your bottom lip.

“if i had plans on leaving,” you let yourself lean into his touch. reo seems to like that, “you wouldn’t have seen me tonight.”

“i am afraid of hurting you.” reo knows his voice is weak, uncharacteristic and in contrast to his usual charm. he can’t seem to hate it though. he reminds himself you have seen more vulnerable than this.

he knows you will probably see more of him than he ever has, when your lips brush against his thumb. he aches to make it last, but then you speak again. “of course you’ll hurt me. you already have. i can’t promise i will not hurt you either. but i have stayed. love is just a compromise between hurt and adoration. you should know only you could hurt me in ways i’d adore.”

reo closes his eyes. you watch the rise and fall of his shoulders. “i wanted to see you one last time today. because i’m leaving.”

reo lets his finger rest between the crease of you brows. he smooths it over with a subtle drag. he looks like a bittersweet teenage dream. when he smiles at you like that. you should’ve been at a loss for words. you can not ask him when, or where, how far, how close — you can not ask him anything. yet you find yourself speaking anyway. maybe to fill in the silence. “do you expect me to ask you to stay?”

at this, reo has to look away. it is the first time tonight he has actively avoided your eyes. “no, but if i do — if i stay, will i see you again? will you let me? not just in hotel rooms or dinners like these, but everywhere. i want to keep seeing you.”

it is weak, his voice. he seems to be at the mercy of your reactions. it’s a little odd. your heart shouldn’t skip a beat at this.

“i will.” you don’t say, instead letting your hand rest on top of his. the one that is still caressing the side of your face. “then see me.” you don’t demand, instead clutching onto his hand a little stronger.

reo seems to understand you anyway. he has been good at that.

so he lets his lips crash with yours. there is no hesitation, it’s brimming with fervent passion. reo steals your breaths, as if he’s never had enough of it. he has always been a little selfish when it came to you — but you like him like that, he knows. which is why when he pulls back — only because he was breathless — he would look at your lips, swollen and bruised. he relishes in seeing your flushed cheeks. your parted breaths.

he tells you he loves you. in this moment. and later when you’d find yourself in his room, on his bed, covered in his sheets that smell like him. after, when you wear his shirt that hangs loosely around your shoulders. and when he drops you home, when he bends down to place a kiss on the side of your neck.

mikage reo tells you he loves you. and if you believe him, then this time you have no one to blame but yourself.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

unhealthy relationship based on physical attraction, which is mistaken for love. reo does not tell you he loves you, but you simply delude yourself into believing it. so when he does say it — you’re too in love to notice it doesn’t mean anything.

that’s what i was going for i mean but yeah ok. now back to characterizing reo right and writing fluff :> thanks for reading, cya !

#❛ ‧˚🪐 — the dusk renditions. #couldn’t help sneaking in one richard siken quote :> #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #reo x you #mikage reo x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #reo mikage x you #blue lock reo #reo x reader #i want a dollar for everytime i wrote resent ngl

[lulublack90]

Prompt 25 - Invincible

@jegulus-microfic February 25 Word count 994

Previous part First part

Regulus was waiting outside Rosier House. He’d wait outside until he spotted Lily Evans. She was James’s friend. If he told him his theory, she’d never be questioned. This was too important for sentimentality.

Hours passed before he spotted her. He stepped out of his hiding place just as she passed him. 

“Evans,” He spoke clearly. She spun around, wand raised, and fired a stunning jinx at him. If he hadn’t been such a proficient duelist, she’d have knocked him off his feet. However, he was, and she didn’t. “I only want to talk, Evan’s. No need for violence.” Lily did not lower her wand. 

“What do you want, Black?” Her scowl was giving Regulus’s a run for its money.

“I just need you to answer a few questions for me.”

“And why would I ever tell you anything?” She still had her wand in her hand and twitched it up slightly. 

“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the Order that you regularly sneak into Rosier House. A house of known death eaters. Don’t think that will look good for you, will it?” Regulus watched as her pale skin went paler. 

“Please. They don’t know about Pandora, please.” She begged. 

“Then answer my questions.” She nodded. “Have you told Pandora any information you shouldn’t have?” 

“What? No! We don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“So you haven’t been passing information to the Death Eaters?” 

“What? No. I’d never do that!” She fully raised her wand this time. “What are you getting at Black?” Regulus took no notice of her defensive stance. 

“There is a spy amongst the Order, and I had to check it wasn’t you.” Well, at least that was one down. 

“Why would you care about that?” She questioned. 

But before he could answer her, the mirror heated in his pocket. “One moment, please. I need to take this.” He ignored Lily while he flipped it open. 

“Hey Reg, I’ve got some news. Dumbledore agreed with everything. He’s asked that we arrange a meeting to figure out how to track down the H—”

“James, shut up!” He hissed, cutting James off. “I’m not in a secure location.”

“Shit, sorry.” 

“How quickly can you get to Rosier House?” It would be easier to do this now if he could make it. “Bring Sirius if you can.”

“It’s safe, right?” James looked worried. He didn’t trust Evan and Barty as much as Regulus did. He sighed and handed the mirror to Lily. 

“Tell him it’s safe.”

“Lily?”

“Oh, hi, James. Erm, yes, you’ll be safe here.” She quickly handed the mirror back to Regulus. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, but I want you and Pandora in Evan’s room in…” He looked at James, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh, erm, give me an hour. What about Peter?”

“What about him?”

“Well, he’s one of us, isn’t he? So, should I bring him along? Dumbledore said we need as many people as possible.” Regulus wasn’t happy about this. He’d always thought Pettigrew was a weak, weaselly person.

“Does he know Sirius’s current status?” He asked, thinking this would be a good way to narrow down his answer. 

“No, I haven’t seen him to tell him,” James admitted. 

“Then no, James.”

“But, Reg—”

“No, James, it’s too important.” James groaned but didn’t push it. 

“I’ll be there in an hour.” He said, and then he was gone. 

“You have an hour, Evans,” He told Lily, “Tell the others when you go in. I need to go pick up one more person for our little group.” With that, he apparated to a secluded clearing in a forest in the midlands. 

In moments, he was surrounded by grubby men and women. Regulus ignored them. 

“Lupin you about?” He said calmly. Remus pushed through the other wolves to stand opposite Regulus. 

“How’s it going, Black?” Remus had a few new scrapes on his face and arms, and he was covered in forest, but other than that, he looked alright. 

“You coming then?” Remus nodded. He closed the gap between them. 

“Remus!” A voice rang out across the clearing. Remus seemed to shrink. “You have three hours. Be back before then, or we’ll hunt you down.” Remus’s head bowed low. 

“Yes, Fenrir.” His voice was quiet. Regulus grabbed his arm and apparated them away. 

“Go get a shower, Lupin, you need it,” Regulus ordered when they arrived at Rosier House. Remus didn’t even fight. He went straight into Evan’s bathroom.  

A blur of black curls raced across the room at Remus when he emerged from the shower.  Sirius clung to him with tears streaming down his face, making Remus wobble and fall onto the floor. Neither of them seemed to care.

Regulus gave them a moment while he greeted James with a bit more decorum while they were in company.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Sirius, we need to get started. We only have two and a half hours before Remus needs to be back, or we put him in danger. The quicker we get through this, the more time you can have with him. 

Sirius pulled himself together but refused to let go of Remus. Regulus made a start.  

“We believe Voldemort has created Horcruxes. If this is true, he is invincible.” The silence in the room was deafening. “Unless we track down and destroy them. That is now the job of everyone in this room. I can not express how important it is that no one outside this room finds out what we are doing. You can tell no one. I don’t care who you think you can trust. If they aren’t in this room, you don’t tell them anything. We’re all that stands between Voldemort winning or losing.”

He felt the determined shift of the room, and he let himself believe they were going to win. James wrapped an arm around his shoulder. 

“So, where do we start?” James smiled at him, proud of how far Regulus had come.  

Next part

#February 25 #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #jegulus fanfiction #regulus black #james potter #regulus arcturus black #james fleamont potter #sirius black #remus lupin #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #lily evans #pandora rosier #albus dumbledore #lord voldemort #fenrir greyback #james x regulus #james and regulus #regulus x james #regulus and james #james potter x regulus black #dead gay wizards #invincible

[raineandsky]

hi! i was wondering if you'd be willing to write a piece where a hero, who is the older brother of the villain and considered "the golden son," and the villain, who had left home once they were of age, haven't talked for months after a big argument. Then one day, Villain is fighting his brother when his brother has a panic attack. Villain tries to leave, thinking it's a trick (cause his perfect older brother could never be hurt, right?) and goes to hide. but then their parents appear and Villain realizes perhaps Hero wasn't as admired by their parents as Villain would have liked to believe. In fact, it almost seemed like they disliked Hero all together. they're being mean and kind of calling him pathetic, and hero keeps getting more and more anxious until finally the Villain realizes something is wrong and tries to help

god this turned out WAY longer than i intended - i hope you like long stories anon!! and ofc thank you for the request :)

-

tw abuse

“What are you doing?”

The villain thought they were fighting, but now the hero wants to sit on the floor and pant like a dog and clutch at his chest. He thinks it’s a fair question to ask.

“I don’t want to fight you, [Villain],” the hero manages through short breaths. “Please.”

The villain doesn’t see him much anyway. He’s not sure why one fight would take it out of him. He simply rolls his eyes, blatantly unconvinced. “If we weren’t on opposite sides I would maybe consider it.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” The words rush out before the hero has to heave another shallow breath. “We don’t have to hate each other.”

He glances up to the villain and– oh god, is he crying? What kind of game does he think he’s playing? The villain scowls wholeheartedly.

“Funny,” he says flatly. “Look, if we’re not going to battle it out I’ll be on my way.”

“No, [Villain].” The hero practically chokes on his name. What a show he’s putting on. “[Villain], please, don’t leave me—”

But the villain’s already turned on his heel to make one of his famous escapes. It’s not quite as extravagant as it usually is, considering he’s walking away rather casually and not pursued in the slightest, but he’s getting the hell out of dodge and that’s all that matters.

Or he tries to, at least. He’s just reaching for the door handle when it swings open with a mind of its own. He just about has the foresight to stagger back to avoid being whacked in the face.

“[Hero],” a voice says coolly from the stairwell.

The villain’s stomach drops in a way it hasn’t in a long time. He’s flitting round the corner to hide before he realises he’s doing it. He hates that his own father can still have this effect on him, even 16 years later.

Two superheroes stalk out onto the rooftop, seemingly oblivious to anything but the hero sagging on the floor in front of him. “Where’s [Villain]?” the other superhero demands after a moment.

The villain shrinks back in his hiding spot slightly. The hero doesn’t even look at his parents. “He left.”

The villain didn’t care what was happening with the hero, but the superheroes don’t seem to even notice. The superhero looks at the hero at his feet like a child who’s done nothing worse than get bad grades in school. The other superhero sighs like he’s simply a stubborn teenager. Of course they do. They never saw anything less in him.

Jealousy isn't the right word. Just distain, maybe. Annoyance that their parents had to have favourites.

“He left,” the superhero echoes coldly, “and you let him?”

The hero’s breathing is in tatters now. He seems like he’s barely even listening, his head bent, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t—”

“What kind of hero are you if you just let villains run out of your grasp?” the superhero snaps, and the other superhero nods shortly. “Villains waltz in and destroy everything me and your mother have created and, what, you cheer them on?”

“H–He’s my brother—”

“He’s vermin,” the other superhero butts in sharply. “You can’t even save the city from a rat? Is that it?”

The villain keeps his emotions carefully in-check. He knows his parents were never going to be happy with his life choices, but it still hurts. Being compared to a goddamn rat is a little hurtful.

And the hero. What’s with the shortness? He’s the best of both of them. The golden child, the star pupil, the one their parents spent all their time building into the perfect son. The perfect hero.

“Answer your mother, [Hero],” the superhero spits coldly.

Even the villain can see the hero shaking even from here. He’s practically choking on his own breath, his sight probably blurry with the tears. The villain’s heart twists in a way it hasn’t in years. He’s my brother reverberates through his mind uninvited.

“He can’t even answer a simple question,” the other superhero says with a disappointed tut. The villain recognises that noise—it’s a lot more of a death sentence than it sounds. “Pathetic.”

He’s my brother. He’s your brother.

The villain pushes himself upright.

“I– I can’t—” The hero stumbles over his words for a moment, a desperate cough pulling from his chest. “I can’t hurt people. I can’t hurt him.”

The villain heaves a deep breath, stabilises himself. “Sometimes you have to hurt people to get them to do what you want,” the other superhero says. She flicks her hair over her shoulder much too casually for this conversation. “You have to whip the horse to get it to move, [Hero]. I’m ashamed we haven’t drilled that into you yet.”

The fact that she doesn’t use his actual name isn’t lost on the villain. He takes a few careful steps out of the shadows.

Don’t leave me.

“You don’t need to whip a horse,” the villain says sharply. The superheroes whip back to stare at him, and it feels like he’s fourteen again; got too dirty, played too rough, liked the wrong thing. The you’re in deep shit kind of feeling. “You can get them where you need if you give them reason to trust you.”

“Ah,” the other superhero says with a disingenuous smile. “The vermin returns.”

The hero’s head has snapped up, tears streaking his face. The villain wants this to be over. “Leave [Hero] alone,” he spits. “Leave my brother alone.”

“Oh?” The superhero smirks. “Now you want to get involved in family affairs?”

“Go on,” the villain taunts stupidly, “show him how a real hero does it.”

The superhero strides towards him, and it takes all his willpower to stay put. “You act like goodness and peace are one and the same.” He says flatly. “Sometimes violence is the only language you animals understand.”

“What a thing,” the villain retorts. He can feel the regret building as he’s saying it like he’s a child again. Don’t draw his attention to you. Stop talking. “To call your son an animal.”

The villain feels, rather than sees, the superhero’s fist on his face. It takes him a moment to realise he’s on the ground, the cold concrete an unforgiving bed. The hero shouts something incoherent, his voice torn. “I would never hurt my son,” the superhero says, emotionless, “but you are no son of mine.”

“Thank god,” the villain says with a mouth of copper.

“Let’s arrest the rat,” the other superhero says. “We can question him about his associates at the agency.”

The handcuffs are refreshingly cool in comparison to the burning in the side of the villain’s face. The superhero shoves him to his feet with no less remorse than any other villain he’s dealt with.

“Let me take him,” the hero says quickly. He stumbles to his feet, breaths still uneven, sniffling desperately. The words come out choked. “I’m sorry for messing up. I’ll take him.”

The superhero pulls the villain a little closer by the cuffs. It’s almost protective, if he didn’t know his father better. “You realise villains aren’t doves that need releasing into the wild?” the superhero drawls. “They are scum that need stamping out. If you take him, we will find him in the agency, won’t we?”

“Of course,” the hero says shortly. “I’ll get him there.”

The superheroes eventually go on their way. The villain spits on the floor after them.

“Some city defenders they are,” he says flatly. “Why the hell didn’t you leave?”

“They entered me in a race I didn’t realise I was running,” the hero says. His face is pulled taut, sweat beaded on his brow, his voice shaking. “And when I figured it out, it was too late to do anything but live up to their expectations and win.”

His hands still tremble on the villain’s arm. “I’m sorry I didn't see it sooner,” the villain whispers, like his regret is a curse. “You could have come with me.”

The hero laughs insincerely. “I’m sorry dad punched you.”

The villain shrugs as the hero gently nudges him towards the door. “Comes with being a villain. I’ve been punched a lot harder than that before.”

“I don’t know how you live like that.”

“I don’t know how you do either.”

They share a smile, kind of. It’s a little awkward and subdued, but it’s a smile between brothers long since torn apart. That’s all that matters.

“Look,” the hero says after a short moment, “I’m really sorry about everything. I’ll get you out of prison.”

“And incur the wrath of those freaks?” The villain laughs. “No, don’t worry. I’ll break myself out.”

“I’ll get you out,” the hero says quietly, “and this time, I’ll come with you.”

The villain stares at him, unabashedly wide-eyed. “Really?”

The hero looks better than he did ten minutes ago—colour is just starting to warm his cheeks again, his breath a little more even. Relief floods the villain’s heart in a way it hasn’t in a long time. “Anyone who calls my brother vermin is no parent of mine.” They start down the steps, slow, lazy, like they’re putting off getting home from school again. “I’m tired of trying to fit into their perfect ideals of a hero. I’ll come with you.”

The villain grins boyishly. Getting punched was almost worth it to get his best friend back. “We have room for you.” Almost. “But you get the bottom bunk.”

The hero rolls his eyes but he agrees, and it almost feels like nothing ever went wrong.

#creative writing #writblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #request #tw abuse #sorry youre getting this so late anon you caught me like 2 days before i went to this conference so i had no time to think on it rip #i think i went a lil off script but i hope its still to your liking!!

[angelltheninth]

Babygirl Din + 12. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Omg, the angst coming out of this one, I can sense it through the screen.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, angst, confession, fear of loss, doubt, insecurity, helmet kisses, chin kisses, soothing kisses, soft!Din Djarin

Word count: 0.6k

A/N: Din does give babygirl energy, you're so right there Anon!

12. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Din had been even more distant then normal lately. He's not the man of many words, he never was never the type of person to talk a whole lot after missions but these past few have been incredibly conversation dry. Not only that but he didn't want to celebrate with you anymore, made you wonder if it was something you did.

"You're fine. I just have a lot of things to do, between Grogu and visiting Bo-Katan, I don't have time for chit-chatting." That was a load of shit and you knew it.

"But you have time to run around the galaxy with me at your convenience. And I know its not tough jobs either Din, you could handle those on your own and take the reward for yourself." It was almost laughable, the types of bounty missions you went on. Easy money, but also very easy missions, not something that was dangerous or challenging. "I love partnering up with you but you've been sending me so many mixed signals as of late. Hasn't anyone ever told you its not wise to play with a woman's heart?"

"Good thing I'm not trying to. You're the one who said you wanted to hang out with me more, isn't that what we've been doing?" Din settled back into his pilot seat and turned to look at you.

You threw your hands in the air, unbelievable, he was unbelievable, "I meant outside of missions. We used to be better friends then this. We used to... be closer."

He was a dad now and that took a lot of his time. You were happy that he was taking the role so seriously, not many in his line of work would. It was a quality of his that you were very much drawn to. But he still made time for you too before, he brought Grogu along. Oh, oh no. Did... did Grogu not like you?

"Grogu loves you a lot actually." Din spoke up and replied to your apparently spoken out loud question, "That's not the problem."

"Then what is Din? Please tell me, what's the problem between us?" You surged forward and pinned the Mandalorian flat into his chair, hands on either side of his head. No escaping you now.

He seemed to shrink back into his chair, a funny sight for such a badass Mandalorian, "I think I'm in love with you and I'm... I'm terrified." His helmet almost blocked out his entire confession with how silent his voice was just then.

"Huh?!" You tried to back away but Din caught your hands. No escape for you either as he pushed them slowly against his helmet, "I-In love with me? Since when?"

"I don't know... exactly. Might have happened when were we trapped together on that ice planet, or on our undercover mission to the Casino. All I know is, its been scary going on missions with you. I know you yourself have a reputation to uphold, but when I'm with you I don't prioritize the mission, I prioritize you." So that's why its been easy pickings lately, he can mess them up even if he's distracted. "I know this isn't what you thought you'd hear but Grogu's been talking me into this for some time now. I promised him I'd try."

Anything for his kid, what a good dad.

"I wish you hadn't told me this now." You heard him grunt and saw his shoulders slack, fully expecting your rejection, "Because I don't think I can focus now either." You planted a quick kiss on his helmet and then an even quicker one on his jaw as you lifted the helmet up just enough. Din whined when your lips came into contact with his skin, "Oh I definitely won't be able to focus now." You teased, letting his adjust his helmet again.

"Kriff you." Din mumbled and you could almost imagine the blush on his face. One day you would see it for yourself, maybe sooner then you thought.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fluff #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #mando x reader #mando x you #mando fluff #mando imagine #star wars x female reader #din djarin x female reader #x female reader

[neonacity]

DEAR MR. SANDMAN | Jaemin x Reader

Summary: You're afraid you're slipping into madness. You're wrong.

You're already mad.

Warnings: depictions of mental illness, disassociation, and negative way of thinking. Hypnosis and psychiatric themes. No detailed smut but there are HEAVY hints of it. Reader is highly unstable. Please, please, PLEASE do not read if you find this theme triggering. Minors are not welcome.

"Tell me, how does it start again?" 

Your lips parted slightly as you took in a half breath. In front of you, the warm lighting of the room resembled like dying flames—a sharp contrast to its supposed purpose of making the space look comfortable and welcoming. Your eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, lifted just enough to gaze at the set of hands in front of you. Blankly, you noted the pen resting patiently on the clipboard, and the long graceful fingers holding it. 

"Tortoise shell. That's a new one."

"I'm sorry?" 

You only realized you've said your thoughts out loud when you heard him speak. Your doctor's voice is calm as usual, unbothered despite the strangeness of your reaction. It's one of the reasons why you have decided to stick to him after going through so many shrinks who weren't able to fix you. 

"Your pen. You are using a new one." 

A pause. You watched quietly as his fingers started to move after to scribble some quick notes for himself. His hands have always fascinated you in a strange way; gentle, but with an odd edge you can't quite explain. You didn't dare look at his face out of fear of missing the way his fingers danced over the paper.

If only your dreams handled you the same way. 

You couldn't remember anymore when it exactly started. One day, you were just a regular boring individual, slaving through your nine to five to pay for your student loans with your scrap of a salary. You go to work. Eat. Sleep. And work again. Your life is so painfully average that living it every day felt like hell. Sometimes, you're lucky enough to catch someone's eye and get a fucking. More often than not though, you're pretty much a wallflower, uninteresting and forgotten, like a piece of furniture in someone's home that hasn't been trashed yet simply because everyone has grown so familiar with it.

You've resigned yourself to a life of waste, until one day, the dreams started coming. They started subtle at first, shadows moving slowly against nothingness, too far to reach you. You didn't pay them any mind initially despite the fact that before this, you never really dreamed at all. Painfully, you noted how they were the only things that stood out from your boring existence, the only signs that told you that you were, in fact, still living.

You accepted the discomfort, just like how you have settled to take your miserable existence without a fight. But then your nightly visitors started forming shape, a peek of a curve of a shoulder here, and an elegant stripe of a throat washed by moonlight there. Then came the voices. Words whispered to the shell of your ear, or breathed against your skin. The fact that you could never remember the exact words the moment you wake up infuriates you, but your flesh… your flesh seems to remember them. As if they are seared to your very core.

"It's a gift from a friend. This pen."

Your focus snapped back to reality like a rubber band. Your eyes automatically met the dark ones of the man in front of you who obviously broke your disassociation before it went full on spiral. You were pretty sure you looked lost, but he only returned your gaze with a patient one as he sat back against his chair. Every action of his seemed pointed, silent signals telling you that you are safe and unjudged, at least in his presence.

"Let me know if you are comfortable enough to answer my question. Do you remember it?"

You gave a stiff nod.

"Do you want us to move on to other topics first?"

"N-No… I… I remember some of my dreams from last night."

If that gave him any hope for a successful session today, he didn't show it. Other than a slight dip of his head, his gaze on you stayed professional. That was another quirk about him that has also gained your trust. He seemed so calm despite your struggles. 

Your madness. 

You cleared your throat and unconsciously tried to rub your damp palms over your skirt. You were already wavering, so you decided to stare at your pale hands to anchor yourself. 

"I slept at the same time yesterday. Around… 10pm. I made sure to take the new pill you gave me. The dreams… they didn't really come until around 3am… Just like usual…"

The sound of pen gently gliding over the paper filled the stale air of the room. You swallowed dryly to keep yourself from being distracted. 

"Did you wake up as usual?" 

You nodded. 

"How?"

You paused. It was one word, but it was enough to drag you back into the shadowy corners of your dreams. You remember the hands tracing your body, the way their fingers curved to make sure they touched the deepest parts of you. Then there was the pain that almost seemed to split you into two, followed by the unmistakable pleasure that sets over after the white blinding scream of your flesh. It always starts like that. Sometimes you could feel teeth against your throat and nails digging painfully on your scalp. But you always wake up from your slumber one way or another. By having your breath slowly cut off by the tightening noose of fingers around your neck...

And the pleasure buzzing from your core.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure that you have never ever felt before from any man or woman. At first, you have chalked off the changing tune of your dreams as another mad but regular twist to your nightmares, but you started feeling more convinced there is something more to what's happening when you started noticing the soreness… the fullness after. As time went on, the nail marks left on your skin started looking wider, same as the welts of red on your neck that you can no longer match to the size of your hands. Every single night you find them on yourself, you wake up even more detached from reality.

"I think I'm being haunted, Sir."

The words left you before you could even realize your thoughts. The scratching of writing stopped and you felt your doctor's eyes rest on you. 

"What makes you think of that?" 

You burrowed your brows into a frown and pursed your lips as if you were in pain. The expression didn't come unnoticed and you saw him finally put down his pen and fold his hands in front of him. 

"You know that this is a safe place for you, right?" 

You didn't answer, hesitation still masking your features. You couldn't bring yourself to put into words what happened last night. If you do, then it would make the madness even more real.

"I'm scared," you mumbled as you finally lifted your eyes towards the man sitting across from you. His features, handsome and gentle, looked even more pronounced by the light and shadow that suddenly crept into the room. You didn't know if it was all in your head still, but you can definitely feel the beginnings of your consciousness slipping from reality again. 

"Will the hypnosis help?"

Your heart skipped at his question. Like an addict offered a hit to stave off your edge, you gave a nod, eyes bordering on begging. You would be lying if you say that isn't the reason why you came running here. With both your waking and sleeping moments turning into your personal hell, you can only find reprieve now in moments when you relinquish your mind to him.

As if in slow motion, you watched as he lifted his hand to remove his glasses, gaze unreadable. 

"Close your eyes."

You did ever so willingly, your lips parting to give a relieved sigh as your vision blurred at the edges. 

And then the darkness came. 

*******

Jaemin gave a low sound of approval as he stretched himself on his seat at last. Head tipping back, his lips finally curved into a slow smirk as he let the waves of pleasure flow through him in waves. He knew he could have you anytime he wants, but oh, doesn't your vulnerability taste so much better when you come here, begging for release. 

What an innocent young soul, asking for help from him. Her doctor.

"They've always tasted so good like this. Maybe it's the trust," he murmured to himself as he reached to loosen his tie. He moved his fingers then to comb through his hair which fell back in dark waves over his eyes. 

He was right as usual in choosing you as a host—your insecurity and loneliness is perfect fodder for him. He has to admit though, he didn't expect you to break so easily under his wiles. If only you could hear yourself beg for him every night, the way you whine for him to fill the gaps of you that only his darkness can satiate. Poor soul. He had you addicted without even knowing. 

You have been perfect, but he only gives it one more month, maybe two tops, before he finally breaks you for real. Jaemin has no doubts how sweet you will taste at your ruin, but for now, he has your nightmares to stave off his hunger. 

Dark eyes followed the curve of your body now lying pliantly in front of him. His gaze stopped at the beautiful strip of your neck and the necklace of red that stood starkly against your skin like jewelry. 

He smiled. 

If only you have looked close enough earlier, then maybe you have noticed the perfect way his fingers matched your marks.

His gift. A sign of promise for making Nightmare fall in love himself.

*******

A/N: Hi. Guess who is randomly back with a semi-proper fic after disappearing for month. I don't know where this came from but the craving to make a story for Jaemin gripped me so bad yesterday. Excuse the long-winding thoughts; I've gotten a little rusty. Anyway, enjoy and advance Happy Halloween, loves!

#jaemin x reader #nct fic #nct smut #jaemin smut #nct fanfic #nct jaemin fanfic

[tempvstas]

Hello's I was wondering if I could request something. I was curious if you could do an overblot reader based on this song. (https://youtu.be/zEGbIpD6wNo), with the housewardens If you can I would be so grateful. If not that is okay, I understand. Just thought it would be cool. Thank you

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Content Warning(s): angst hehe, not really spoilers, but I mention every single overblot from in the game(in JP, not EN)

Character(s): GN!Reader, most of the TWST cast(too lazy to type out everyone's name)

Authors Notes: this song is so angsty i love it HAHAHHA, apologies for the long wait. Characters may be ooc because it's been a while. Also some parts may not make sense. Interactions can be seen as platonic or romantic.

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The Nowhere King

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It's dark.

You can feel a coldness against your skin, seeping into your bones.

The voices are muffled, where are you? You're sinking, deeper and deeper into a seemingly bottomless lake, the darkness surrounding you. A voice urges you to close your eyes, whispering for you to close your eyes and to give into the endless void closing in around you. And somehow you don't feel like resisting. You succumb, curling into yourself, feeling the tender embrace of your murky surroundings.

Unbeknownst to you, a battle rages outside of the safe haven of the cocoon you wrapped yourself in.

.....

"Dammit...no one told me they would be this strong," Leona grits his teeth as he stares up at your imposing form. Behind your current overblotted form looms a large imposing inky figure. An entity stitched together, its face covered with the distinct head of glass with leaking ink seen in all overblot forms, complemented with two large, round ears atop its head. Its white ink-stained gloves slam into the floor sending dust and pieces of the ground flying into the air. Everyone stands before you, worn out from how long the fight has dragged out.

Azul staggers to his feet, wincing slightly as he pushes up his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he stares at your form. "They've lost all sense of rationality. It appears as though our words at this point will be futile." Kalim's eyes go wide at Azul's words, panic settling into his gaze. "What do we do? We're never going to get them back." He whimpered.

From where he's stationed, Riddle peeks out from behind the fallen rubble he used as a shelter, he quickly shoots off a blast of fire in your direction. The blast does little to damage you but merely aggravates you more as the entity behind you swings its hands with reckless abandon scattering more debris everywhere. "Then we just need to blast some sense into them! Just like they did for us..." he stares around at his fellow housewardens. Behind the 7 housewardens, it's chaos. Ace, Deuce, and Grim can be seen running in your general vicinity distracting you as the housewardens formulate a plan to bring you back to your senses. Jack in wolf form charges at you with Epel atop his back, screaming obscenities that would send Vil into a coma, but he can't seem to bring himself to care at the moment

Amidst the screaming and yelling behind them, Idia shakily clears his throat catching everyone's attention. He shrinks away as 6 pairs of eyes focus in on him. "..H-how did none of us realize that they would end up like this? After all, we've all undergone this...a-and did no one notice that the Prefect was a bit off in the past few days?" Vil scoffs, shaking his head, "If you noticed, why didn't you say anything?" Idia moves to rebuke Vil but Malleus cuts in before he can say anything.

"That's enough Shroud, Schoenheit. Do you really think the Child of Man would like to see us bickering over them like this? As we all know, they are not the best at expressing themself." With his words, everyone falls silent. "So the best thing that we can do is to be for them, as they were there for us in our most dire time of need. All in favor?"

Leona huffs, pushing Malleus aside, his shoulder bumping against Malleus's as he gets up from where he was standing. "No need to tell me what to do lizard," he sneers, holding up his staff, watching you swipe repeatedly at the first and second years waging battle against you. "And it looks like to me that the herbivores out there are starting to get worn out, while we sit here all nice and pretty," he pauses, his gaze becoming unreadable, "As much as I hate the idea of working alongside Malleus, I can't help but agree with the fact that they were there for all of us, and I don't like someone being able to hold something against me...so what say you that we go out there and bring them back to their senses?" he grins, leaping down from atop the rubble and running out.

Vil sighs, before dusting himself off and standing tall, a smirk on his face, "I can't let Leona take all of the glory so it looks like I'll have to join myself." As he follows suit, the other housewardens also get to their feet, charging at you to assist their underclassmen.

.....

Hush now, hide, all you little ones Rush now, into the middle of nowhere Singing and laughter will die

You find yourself drowning, struggling to make sense of your surroundings. You feel an overwhelming sense of grief, coupled with anger. Anger at Crowley for being useless and deflecting as always when questioned about a way for you to get back home. Anger at being forced into situations that you had no control over. And most of all, anger at yourself for not being able to do anything and always feeling helpless. Never being able to fend for yourself and always having to depend on others to be able to take care of you.

It's happened time and time again, with Riddle's temper tantrum in the Heartslabyul rose maze. Leona's rampage in the Spelldrive stadium. Azul's meltdown over his contracts in the Octavinelle dorm. Jamil's outburst over winter break. Vil's spiral during the VDC competition. Idia's change of heart on the Island of Woe. Malleus forcing everyone into a slumber. It was all too much for you to bear.

Give in. The voice in your head whispers. Rest now, and let me take over.

Dreamless sleep, follows the Nowhere King When his kingdom comes, darkness is nigh

That's right, you're nobody. Insignificant. Useless. No place to truly call home, and no one to go home to. The darkness seeps in coaxing you to give in.

...

Give in.

.......

...........

Give in.

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

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

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

GIVE IN.

For a brief moment, you open your eyes and visions flash before your eyes. Your friends in danger, everyone screaming and running. Is that...your doing?

You raise your hand to your head to alleviate the pounding headache racking your brain, but your horrified to see that your hands have morphed into ink stained ones, covered and dripping with black liquid. You feel nauseous and sick to your stomach, covering your mouth to resist the urge to hurl out your guts right then and there. You stumble as you shield your face from the blinding blasts of magic flung your way.

Quiet, crawl to the in-between Silent, secretive feeling Of fearsome hatred that reaches the skies

You've always kept your emotions to yourself haven't you?

As much as you hate to admit it, there's resentment that has always bubbled beneath the surface. You don't show it but you've always been envious of your friends who have somewhere or someone to go to whilst you're stuck with nothing, no one to rely on.

.....

Isn't that right?

Why was it you of all people?

It's not fair, isn't it....?

The mask you've so carefully crafted starts to slip and crumble to pieces. You fall to your knees, gasping for air. Inky tears stain your face as the ground bites into the palms of your hands.

You will bring joy to the Nowhere King When he sees the light leaving your eyes

.....

With one final combined magical blast, the entity behind you lets out a roar of pain before collapsing. It's delicate glass face cracks and shatters, more ink spilling out. As it falls, so to do you, your body crumpling lifelessly. Thankfully before you can hit the ground, Malleus swoops in beneath you, cushioning your fall with his arms. Gently, he cradles your face checking you for injuries before setting you down, his arms supporting your body.

"We...did it?" Azul murmurs in disbelief, his breathing ragged. Everyone else doesn't seem to be faring better than he is. It seems everyone has worn out themselves in the battle.

Everyone crowds around you, concern in their gazes. Before long, your eyes flutter open, and you let out a groan of pain, trying to sit up. "WAAHHHHHHHH Y/N!!" Grim sprints up to you, leaping into your lap, his face tearing up. Still out of it, you grunt, feeling his paws make impact with your stomach and you let out a sharp exhale of pain. It's funny. You think to yourself. Grim never uses your actual name. "You had me so worried don't ever do that again okay?" Grim sniffled rubbing his face into your shirt. "Ew Grim, you're getting snot all over me," you scold him lightly but your voice is soft as you press a hand to the top of his head.

"Take it easy, you're hurt." Vil murmurs, kneeling next to you and wiping your ink-stained face gently. His tone although laced with worry is uncharacteristically soft, his slender fingers feel cool. You inadvertently find yourself leaning into his touch, shutting your eyes.

"W-what happened?" you croak out, wincing a bit. Everything aches and hurts whenever you move.

"You...overblotted..." Jamil murmurs quietly. "You weren't acting like yourself and before long...." he gestured at you, indicating the state you were in.

You inhale a shaky breath, pushing yourself up so that you can face everyone better. You feel tears pricking at your eyes, threatening to spill out. "I'm sorry everyone...I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. I lost my cool...and it ended up with you all forced to use your magic against me and wear yourselves out. All because I couldn't control my emotions..."

No one speaks a word, letting you convey your thoughts. There's a brief moment before Grim walks up to you, gently pressing a paw to your leg to get your attention. You stare down at him, surprised by the serious look on his face.

"Henchman, no one is going to blame you for feeling emotions," he pauses. "You've already done so much for everyone, there's only so much stress you can take." Grim shrugs looking at everyone around you two. "I keep telling them that they're working too hard, but they always insist on seeing things through to the end." Everyone laughs a little at Grim's wording and you can't help but crack a slight smile at his words.

"Classic prefect shishishi," Ruggie smirks, his hands resting behind his neck. You shake your head, setting Grim down on the floor as you attempt to get up. Riddle takes notice of this, leaning down and offering you his shoulder for support. Gratefully, you take it, leaning heavily against him.

"Prefect," your name hangs in the air as you stare at Riddle curiously. "I can't promise that I can offer the best support to you, but I hope you know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I will be here to listen to you...even if I can't offer the best advice." Deuce comes up besides you, supporting your other shoulder, "Ace and I will be here too, you're not alone in this," he grins, allowing you to shift your weight against him.

You feel yourself start to tear up again, your head falling over, your shoulders shaking. "Thank you..everyone. Thank you for bringing me back."

"You were there when we were at our lowest. It's only fair that we return the favor."

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[byhees]

that smile on your face.

엔하이픈 재윤 ・ female reader + word count 600 genre fluff high school au potential enemies2lovers warnings not proof-read nicknames mention of ‘god’, word implying ‘stupid’ — more

a/n. requested!

“why out of all, he picks you?” a grumble falls from your lips, and you heave a sigh, intentionally dragging out the sound, making it sound more dramatised than usual.

jake simply walks into the tiny storage room, and picks up a discarded plastic box. “you do the stopwatches, i’ll get the cones,” he utters, before walking towards the dust-coated mess of multi-coloured plastic cones.

clicking your tongue, you drag yourself to the metal rack, eyes set on the flimsy cardboard box on the top shelf, its side having a large ‘stopwatch’ writing scribbled across— must be the ‘thing’ mr. kim was referring to.

standing in front of the towering rack, your gaze shifts upwards, as though ‘setting your eyes on the prize’. extending an arm towards the top shelf, you find yourself scrunching your nose at the aimless flailing of your right limb.

your fingertips graze the metal edge, them being so tantalisingly close, yet frustratingly out of reach. brows digging into your skin, you withdraw your hand. damn, did you shrink or something? or did they switch out the old rack?

you shift your body, taking a glimpse at the room. doesn’t seem like they’d keep stepladders in here. and, no— of course asking jake is not an option, you’d rather scarf down a sock than ask for his help.

a scoff slips out your mouth, and you resort to the next best thing— balancing.

gripping onto the rack, you step onto the first shelf, its low position giving you an advantage; whilst balancing precariously atop the ‘stepping block’, a voice happens to call out. “knew you were short, didn’t know you were this much of a numbskull,” jake chimes from behind you, his footsteps becoming eminently louder.

the moment the shuffling of his shoes against the ground stops, a resigned sigh falls from behind.

as you tug tighter on the edge of the metal shelf, knuckles turning whiter by the second, he begrudgingly mutters, “i’ll do it.” your eyes widen in surprise, and before you’re able to say anything in protest, jake directs you to step aside, making it visibly clear that he’d handle it.

stepping in front of the metal rack, his long limbs reach upwards, fingers deftly gripping the edges of the box, poising to retrieve it effortlessly.

“god, you’re so short, you’d have to go on your tippy toes to kiss me,” jake singsongs beside you, the rattling of objects mimicking the hammering of your heart.

what did he just say?? kiss him?

your head does an immediate snap towards his direction, eyes flickering from the sly smile prancing on his lips, to the crease of his eyes, clearly suppressing the urge to burst into laughter.

jake takes a mere glance at your face, before succumbing to a soft chuckle, hands still in the midst of grabbing the little circular devices. “that should be thirty,” he adds, counting the stopwatches in the plastic box.

you simply resort to a gape, mind still scrambling to grasp pieces of reality. you probably misheard him; there’s absolutely no way— zero chances— that he’d say such a revolting thing. him? and you? kissing? disgusting.

“c’mon shorty, don’t wanna keep mr. kim waiting,” he cooes, and you can hear the curve of his lips, the teasing grin plastered all over his face.

clearing your throat, you adopt a brisk walk, grimacing at how he’d been holding the door open for you, a smug smile glued on his lips.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @crxzs @g4m3girl @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sp22sworld networks! @kflixnet @enhanet

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