#they are in full suits and everything btw

[captainmaxatx]

I think Deadpool and Wolverine 2 should start with them beating the shit out eachother in some nondescript field, just going full tilt completely mauling eachother

And then we see colossus come out the mansions back doors and he starts yelling about them ruining the lawn

[snixx]

forced myself to wake up and leave my warm cozy blanky at 3:30 am in the winter to speedrun my syllabus because they gave us 12 hours to prep for our endsem are yall proud of me

[j3llyc4kes]

somewhere between your third sip of wine and the sound of your husband kento nanami’s toothbrush swishing from the bathroom, the thought slides into your brain with no punctuation or shame. you’re curled up on the couch, legs under a throw blanket, half-watching friends reruns while the wine works its way through your veins. and it’s just—there, sudden and unprovoked. intrusive

his balls. his balls. they get to be with him all day. all the time. nestled in his pants like tiny, smug freeloaders while you’re stuck with the aftertaste of a “have a good day, love you” and a kiss on the forehead at 7am, like some houseplant he waters before leaving.

he emerges from the bathroom looking devastatingly domestic—sweatpants low on his hips, towel in hand, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. he’s doing that thing where he absentmindedly dries his glasses with the hem of his t-shirt and you think, this man is so unaware of his own power. and that’s dangerous. that’s when you say it.

“i’m jealous of your balls.”

there’s a full second of complete silence. you watch his hands freeze mid-polish, watch him lower the glasses slowly, eyes narrowing behind them in a way that says i absolutely heard that correctly but i’m giving you one chance to walk it back. you don’t.

“pardon?” he says, voice level but just incredulous enough to betray the chaos now flickering behind his eyes.

you sit up straighter, wine glass in hand like you’re about to deliver a toast.

“they get to be with you all day, kento. they go to work with you. they get to sit through meetings. lunch breaks. bathroom breaks. they’re just… always there. hanging out. quality time.”

his mouth parts like he wants to respond, but nothing comes out. instead, he pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s in pain.

“you are… absurd.”

“no, i’m deprived. you come home and i have to share you with everything, and your dumb spreadsheets and the very fabric of capitalism. but those bastards are just swinging around, living the dream.”

“they are not sentient,” he mutters, but he’s smiling now—his whole face softening, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to fight it. he walks over to you, arms crossed, looming like a very handsome, very tired pillar of reason.

“you’re drunk.”

“i’m right,” you correct, sipping again.

he exhales a laugh, kneeling in front of you, big hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“you have me now. i’m not at work. the spreadsheets are gone. the balls are…” he pauses, clearly reconsidering his life choices, “…still here, unfortunately.”

“i love you. but i hate them. respectfully.”

“mm,” he kisses your knee. “i’ll inform them.”

“tell them i said they better not take you for granted.”

he leans his forehead against your leg, laughing into your skin now, muffled and warm. “you’re ridiculous.”

you grin down at him, tugging his hair gently so he looks up at you. “and yet you married me.”

“clearly a lapse in judgment,” he murmurs, then adds, “a lapse i intend to repeat in every life.”

and when he climbs onto the couch beside you, pulling you into his chest like gravity itself is pulling you home, you decide maybe it’s okay. maybe the balls can have office hours. but the rest of him? tonight, he’s all yours.

© j3llyc4kes

:3 please check out my other works! here’s the master list! <3

a/n: this was super random BABAHAHA, this is not totally canon adjacent btw, i love salary man nanami and his suit. “money, money, money”

EL HOMBRE QUE YO AMOOOOO 😫

[dreamersparacosm]

𐙚₊˚⊹ ceo!jungkook x assistant!reader 𐙚₊˚⊹

warnings ; sub!reader, reader calls jk ‘sir’, jk is a dick btw, public sex, degradation, overstimulation, you ride him and he’s so nonchalant about it, mile high club

prompt ; in which it’s just another day at work.

You’re not sure what’s more dangerous: being thirty thousand feet in the air, or the way his hand was already halfway up your skirt before the wheels had left the runway.

You’re seated on his lap, facing the empty chairs across from you, spine curved in a subtle arch like your body already knows what he wants from you. The jet hums beneath you but it’s nothing compared to the sound of his breath against your ear as if he isn’t palming you through your panties at cruising altitude.

Your white blouse is wrinkled and halfway unbuttoned, the swell of your black lace bra peeking through, rising and falling with every breath you take. His hand drags slowly up your stomach, pushing the fabric aside like it’s in his way, which of course, it is. Everything is, when it comes to him.

You whimper quietly and he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even spare you a glance. He simply tightens the arm around your waist and takes a sip of his whiskey, the clink of the ice echoing loudly in the stillness of the cabin.

“Sir,” the flight attendant says, appearing beside him like a ghost, voice perfectly even. “Can I get you anything else?”

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, his hand stays right between your legs, fingers now hooked in the waistband of your panties, middle knuckle dragging over your slick heat like he’s just testing how wet you are.

Without looking up, he replies, “No. I’ve got everything I need.”

The attendant nods, since you squirming on top of him is nothing worth noticing, and disappears down the aisle without another word.

You try to breathe and focus but his fingers dip lower, push aside the last scrap of modesty you had left, and you gasp, hips twitching forward.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, so low it barely counts as speech. The whiskey is warm on his breath. “So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Please,” you whisper, a breath more than a word. “Please, I-I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, mouth brushing the back of your neck. “You always can.”

He’s not wrong. You melt for him like he’s heat itself. Like his touch is gravity and you’ve never known how to resist it. Your hands are gripping the armrest now, thighs trembling as his fingers begin a slow, devastating rhythm.

You’re drunk off him; dizzy from the altitude, from how easy it is for him to pull you apart with just one hand and a glass of Glenfiddich in the other. He’s still sipping like nothing’s happening.

You let out a choked sound as he presses deeper. His fingers curl inside your sopping entrance and you let him. You let out another shaky breath which is more like a sob, and his fingers still don’t stop.

Your head tips back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs threaten to fall open wider, your dignity already somewhere back on the runway.

“You don’t even know how to sit still anymore,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear, “Look at you. Whimpering in my lap like you’re fucking starving.”

You are. You’ve never been so full and so empty at the same time.

God, you don’t know how this happened. Or… well. You vaguely remember it.

It started a year ago. A new job, a better title, a desk with a view. Executive Assistant to Jeon Jungkook, CEO of one of the fastest-growing private conglomerates in the country. You’d walked in with a pressed blouse and an updated resume, ready to prove yourself. No nonsense, no distractions, all ambition.

Apparently, the role had meant more than just fetching coffees and arranging schedules.

It had meant late nights in his office with the doors locked. It had meant taking dictation with his fingers between your legs. It had meant waking up in hotel suites with bruises you couldn’t explain to HR and an unread text from him that just said “bring aspirin. meeting at 8am”

He warned you the first time. “If you come into this office in that skirt again, I’ll ruin you.”

And you did. He kept up his end of the bargain too.

Now, months later, here you are; tens of thousands of feet above land, shaking in his lap while his fingers work you open. “Say it,” he drawls, “Say how badly you want it.”

You press your lips together, but the sound escapes anyway, a half-formed moan as his thumb brushes where you need him most. Your hips buck despite yourself.

“Please,” you whisper. “I want… God, I want it so bad.”

He exhales a laugh against your neck, amused and unaffected. His fingers thrust deeper in response, drawing another broken moan from your throat.

“You’re such a fucking mess,” he teases, “Wearing my name around your finger like it’s a secret. Begging for me.”

You choke on a breath. It’s true: there’s a thin gold ring on your right hand. It’s not a wedding band, nothing official. But it is engraved on the inside and he got it for you three months ago when he realized he needed to have some proof for himself that he was claiming you.

JJK is engraved on the inside of the ring.

“Open wider,” he commands softly, and your thighs obey before your brain catches up. “You don’t even think anymore when you’re with me, do you?”

“No, sir,” you breathe out. “I—I can’t.”

“Good,” he purrs, fingers curling just right. “You don’t need to think. You just need to let me use you.”

Your fingers clutch at the only thing you can find: his sleeve. The crisp, rolled cuff of his button-down is pushed just high enough to reveal the ink that snakes up his forearm, and your nails dig into it to anchor you to something solid.

You’re keeling over from the force of it, chest heaving, mouth open in a silent gasp as he pumps his fingers in and out of you like he owns you, even though you know he does. Not just your body, but your mind, your routine, your schedule, your every breath. You haven’t had a single thought that didn’t include him in months.

The muscles in your stomach coil tight, your head lolling back helplessly against his shoulder. His voice is the only thing tethering you now, warm and steady against your skin.

“Gonna cum just like this?” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw as his fingers keep working you open. “My fingers inside you, my name on your mouth?”

You nod. It’s pathetic, really, the way your whole body trembles just from the sound of him.

“Of course you are,” he bites his lip. “That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it? Cum for me. Sit on my lap and make a mess while I do all the work.”

You sob just a little, gripping tighter to his sleeve, and then, just as your legs start to shake, just as you’re right there on the edge, he pulls out.

Your cry is instant and desperate but he doesn’t give you time to protest.

He brings those soaked fingers straight to your lips. “Open,” he says, and you do, and he slips them past your mouth, two fingers deep, pressing on your tongue with the weight of command.

You moan around him, the taste of yourself flooding your tastebuds, heat rushing to your cheeks. He watches you suck like it’s just another task in your job description.

“God,” he mutters, thumb brushing your lower lip as you hollow your cheeks. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Before you can blink, he shifts beneath you. One hand still in your mouth, he moves the other to his belt, unbuckling it with one smooth flick of his wrist. The metallic click of his zipper coming down fills the cabin with such finality that your eyes flutter open in time to see him push his slacks down far enough to free himself.

He’s hard and already leaking. Thick and heavy against his stomach, flushed a deep, angry red. Your body reacts before your mind does, hips tilting instinctively, thighs vibrating as you grind back against him with muscle memory.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop and trails them down your throat, then lower. “You want me inside you?” he speaks lowly, dragging the head of his cock against your slick folds cruelly.

“Yes,” you breathe, already delirious. “Please, please, sir, I need it.”

“You need it,” he repeats, almost amused, guiding himself to your entrance. “Hm. You’re soaked.”

With one slow, possessive thrust, he slides into you, inch by devastating inch, and you swear you see stars. He pushes in slow, savoring the stretch. Your walls clamp around him instinctively, fluttering from the burn, the sheer fullness. You can barely breathe. Every time it’s the same: that impossible stretch that makes your eyes roll back, makes your stomach tighten, makes your mind go blank.

You always think uselessly to yourself how you got to this point. When one of your friends asks, you give the same answer: It’s his voice, his touch, his control. The way he ruins you and pieces you back together without ever breaking a sweat.

His cock drags against every sensitive inch as he bottoms out, your walls struggling to take all of him. You feel split open, stretched past your limit, and still you can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop pulsing around him like your body’s already surrendered.

“Fucking tight,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt. His arm tightens around your waist, keeping you flush against him, chest to back. “You get tighter every time. Your pussy knows it’s mine.”

You whimper and nod helplessly. “It is. It’s yours, sir.”

He lets out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “Damn right it is.”

You shift and the pressure makes you cry out again, a weak little sound that only makes him hold you tighter. “Shh,” he soothes, kissing just below your ear. “Don’t overthink it, sweetheart. Just sit here and take it like a good girl.”

You lean forward, shaky hands finding his knees to steady yourself. Your thighs burn already, heels still on, skirt bunched around your hips. You start to move, your breath hitching as you lift yourself up an inch, before sliding back down with a choked moan. The angle punches the air from your lungs.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, dragging his hand up your stomach, over the swell of your bra. “Letting me stretch you open like this.”

Your head drops, hair falling over your face, your hips starting to find a rhythm. The stretch hurts so good, pleasure simmering low in your belly, your thighs trembling with the effort to keep moving. He groans behind you, “That’s it. Fuck, that’s my girl.”

Of course you’re his girl. You’ve always been since the first time he made you cum on his desk and told you not to get any ideas. Since the first time he let you stay the night but made you leave before sunrise.

Since the first time you said “yes, sir” and meant every word.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, bouncing a little harder now, every motion pushing him deeper, “I—I don’t know if I can—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, hand sliding up to your throat, resting there, just reminding you. “You’ll cum when I tell you to. Not before.”

You nod, gasping, tears brimming in your lashes. You’d do anything he says.

Your thighs are shaking. Every movement now is a pathetic, stuttering bounce driven by the maddening stretch of him inside you and the need building low in your stomach like a fire that won’t go out.

You should feel ashamed but your mind is gone. Fucked right out of your body and left hovering somewhere above the clouds with the seatbelt sign still glowing overhead.

You’re still moving. gripping his knees for balance, skirt hitched up to your waist, blouse half off, bra on display and he’s just sitting back now, fully leaned into the leather of his chair, cock buried deep inside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

One hand rests lazily on your hip. The other holds his glass, the amber liquid catching the cabin lights in a warm shimmer as he lifts it to his lips, eyes locked on the way you move for him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “Bouncing like a good little fucktoy. So fucking pretty like this.”

You don’t even hear her footsteps until she’s already there.

“Mr. Jeon,” comes the voice, professional, not a hint of shock. “Just letting you know we’ll be landing in about an hour. Would you like anything else before we begin our descent?”

You freeze for a second but Jungkook doesn’t. He takes another sip of his whiskey, lets out a soft sigh and replies, casual as ever: “No, I’m good. My assistant is good too.”

The attendant offers a polite smile like she didn’t just see you fully fucked-out and stuffed full in her peripheral vision, and glides away without another word.

You should be mortified. You should be scrambling to fix your shirt, to pull your skirt down, to hide. But all you can do is keep moving. You keep rolling your hips in tiny, desperate circles that send sparks up your spine, because you’re so close. You’re going to cum and you don’t even care who knows it.

“I should make you stop,” Jungkook says idly, thumb dragging along the curve of your ass. “Should make you sit still and behave like a proper assistant.”

“Please don’t,” you gasp, your whole body clenched around him. “Please, sir, I— I’m so close, I can’t—”

“Of course you’re close,” he mutters. “You get off on this. Being used and watched. Being mine.”

You whimper, helpless, your grip tightening on his knees as you bounce faster, chasing that high like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

He finishes his drink in one smooth sip, sets the glass down, then slides both hands to your hips, steadying you.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, voice hot against your ear. “Be a good girl. Cum for me.”

Your vision blurs, your whole body spasms, and the orgasm crashes through you with white-hot force, ripping the air from your lungs as you fall apart in his lap. Still, his cock stays buried inside you and his hands don’t stop and you can’t think of a single reason to care.

Your body’s trembling, thighs twitching, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob but you don’t stop.

He hasn’t finished and he hasn’t told you to get off of him. Which, in his words, means you keep going.

Your cunt is throbbing, slick and soaked and stretched so wide you feel hollow and full at once. The orgasm is still echoing through you, nerves frayed. You grind down onto him with shaky little bounces that make your overstimulated walls flutter around him.

“Good girl,” he exhales. His hands grip your hips tighter,“You’re gonna give me another one?”

You let out a choked sound, something between a moan and a cry. “I-I can’t,” the words are already dissolving before they fully form. “I’m too—”

“Yes, you can,” he interrupts, dragging you down harder. “You’re gonna sit here and take my cock until I’m done with you.”

You comply with his request, chest heaving, face flushed and damp with sweat. You try to lift yourself again, but your thighs give out halfway through, and the angle sends him even deeper. Your jaw drops in a silent moan, overstimulation sparking like electricity under your skin.

“Fuck,” you gulp down saliva you didn’t even know you were holding, nails digging into his knees. “Hurts… feels so good, Kook. I can’t think..”

“I know,” he groans, thrusting up into you now, meeting your broken rhythm. “You don’t need to think. You just need to ride me like the needy little slut you are.”

That word makes you shrink under normal circumstances. It used to make you want to crawl off people and fix your blouse and hide in the bathroom.

With him, it makes you pulse. Makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back as your body begs for more.

“Keep going,” he moans, slamming into you again. “You’re so fucking wet. Gonna let me cum inside this perfect pussy?”

You shake your head up and down frantically, body too spent to lie.

“Say it,” he growls, hand tangling in your hair, forcing your head back against his shoulder.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stammer out “Please cum inside me. Please, please, I need it.”

“Fuck,” he snarls, his pace snapping into unforgiving territory. “You’re gonna take every drop. Gonna sit on my cock and keep it all in, even when you’re shaking.”

“You were made for this,” he hisses, thrusts going sloppy now. “Made to ride me, to be walking around with my cum in you.”

And just as your body starts to tip into another high, another dizzying crest, you feel it. He curses loudly, hips jerking up hard one final time. Then he’s spilling into you, white ropes of cum painting your walls to a lethal degree, his grip bruising on your waist as he buries himself deep and stays there.

You’re still in his lap with his cock still inside you, thighs slick and trembling from overstimulation and the slow, obscene drip of his cum leaking down the back of your legs, soaking into the soft leather seat beneath you.

Somehow, he’s already fixing his cuff.

His other hand ghosts over your thigh to feel the mess he made, before reaching for his watch, tapping the face like it’s just another Monday.

“We land in forty-five,” he says, voice cool again, like it hadn’t just spent the last hour commanding your body into oblivion. “Fix your shirt.”

You swallow hard, nodding because it’s all you know how to do. Your fingers are clumsy on the buttons, fumbling through the half-open blouse you never managed to fully remove. He straightens your collar like it’s part of the routine. Like you didn’t just ride him through an orgasm so intense your vision went static at the edges.

He reaches into the briefcase beside him, pulls out a slim black folder, and places it gently in your lap (As if you’re composed enough to read.)

“You’ve got a briefing packet to review,” he orders, thumb brushing your jaw, then gone. “Be ready when we land.”

You blink and try to remember where you are, who you are beneath the wreckage of everything he just did to you.

All you can muster up is a nod.

As the jet hums quietly beneath you, your body still split open around him, you realize you do know how this happened. You’ve always known. It’s him. And you’re still not sure what’s more dangerous: being thirty thousand feet in the air, or the way you’ll always let him touch you like this.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

note ; i am qualifying this as a blurb because calling it a fic would imply there’s plot, character development, or literally anything else. there is not.

thank you all for flying xoxo

[norristrii]

MORNING AFTER.

You thought your one night stand is just some no name, but Monaco is full of surprises and you find out who he really is.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. mention of sexual activities(not directly tho) reader is a student (so she’s like 21), not proofread.

babs’ notes. Thank you so much for all the support! I just started and the likes are INSANE. Btw race in 4 days how are we feelin? ily guys 🤍

LUCKY YOU, being born into one of the wealthy families of France meant you always got everything you wanted and never missed out on anything. The world was at your fingertips, and luxury was your norm. Lavish parties, exclusive events, and private tutors were all part of your upbringing.

However, as you grew older, you started to feel the weight of your family's name and expectations. You didn't want to be just another member of the elite Parisian society, so you made a bold decision to study at Monaco University, away from the familiar streets of Paris and your family's influence.

Your initial plan was simple: focus on your studies and return to Paris during holidays. But life had other plans. You fell in love with Monaco's charm and beauty. The azure waters of the Mediterranean, the picturesque landscapes, and the vibrant culture captivated your heart. Before you knew it, you had decided to make Monaco your permanent home.

You found an apartment with your best friend, and together, you embarked on a new life. The city offered a lifestyle that suited you perfectly. The night life in Monaco became your favorite thing. Yacht hangouts with your rich friends, glamorous parties, and exclusive events filled your evenings. The city's blend of sophistication and excitement was intoxicating, and you couldn't get enough of it.

Living in Monaco allowed you to forge your own identity, away from the shadows of your family's legacy. You embraced the freedom to live life on your own terms, creating unforgettable memories with your friends and immersing yourself in the luxuries the city had to offer. Your life was a blend of elegance, adventure, and independence, and you cherished every moment of it.

Your long-awaited summer had finally arrived, and you were determined to enjoy every second of it. The nights were filled with endless parties, yacht hangouts, and night visits to the luxurious homes of rich boys your age. The excitement and freedom of the season were intoxicating, and you embraced it all with open arms.

This time was no different. You woke up to the sun shining through the window of a not-so-familiar apartment. The light streamed in, casting a warm glow on the room. As you turned around, you saw the bare back of a man whose name you could hardly remember. The events of the previous night were a blur, a whirlwind of laughter, dancing, and fleeting moments.

You got up from the cozy bed, scanning the boy on the bed. He was actually quite hot, with messy curls falling all around his face. The sight of him brought a mix of emotions—curiosity, attraction, and a hint of regret. But staying wasn’t in your guts. You quickly gathered your clothes, which were scattered all around the room, a testament to the mess you two had caused with your night activities.

You took one last look around the apartment, your eyes landing on the many racing helmets displayed around the room. He is definitely a big fan, you said to yourself with a smile, appreciating the dedication and passion evident in the collection. The sight of the helmets brought a sense of curiosity and intrigue, adding another layer to the mystery of the man you had spent the night with.

With a final glance, you closed the door and began walking through the fancy apartment building, the elegance of the surroundings contrasting sharply with your disheveled appearance. As you checked your phone, you noticed it was already lunch time, and multiple texts and missed calls from your best friend filled your notifications.

Monaco was already bustling with activity. Elder women with Birkin bags were walking their dogs, people were rushing around to their various appointments, and the city was alive with the hum of daily life. Amidst the sophistication and glamour, you felt like a stark contrast. Your hair was tangled in a messy bun, your t-shirt was inside out, and your overall appearance was far from the polished image Monaco was known for.

The sight of everyone going about their day with such poise made you acutely aware of your own disarray. You hurried through the streets, weaving through the crowds, determined to make it back to your apartment and put yourself together.

You finally managed to get to the familiar door of your apartment, barely able to take off your shoes. The exhaustion from the night was evident in every step you took. As you entered, your best friend's voice called out from the kitchen, “I thought you were dead!”

You followed her voice to the kitchen, where she stood, cooking your favorite pasta. The comforting aroma filled the room, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her presence. “Well, I’m alive,” you said, your voice tired and strained. “Hardly,” you added, feeling the ache in your body from the night's adventures.

“Why so?” she asked, giving you a judgmental look as she stirred the pasta.

You leaned against the counter, ready to spill the details about the previous night. “Girl, we were like animals,” you said with a smile, biting your lip as you remembered the wild moments.

Your best friend rolled her eyes, raising an eyebrow in amusement. She knew you well enough to expect such stories, but it never ceased to amaze her. “I can’t remember much, but gosh, he was so amazing,” you sighed, the mix of excitement and frustration in your voice palpable. The physical attraction and chemistry had been undeniable, and the thrill of the night still lingered. “What a pity I don’t remember his name, though.”

She raised an eyebrow again, curiosity piqued. "Do you have a photo? I want to see that chosen one of yours," she said with a mischievous smile. The anticipation in her voice was evident, and you quickly remembered you had taken a few drunken pictures with him. The hazy memories of the night flashed through your mind as you opened your gallery, scrolling through the blurry images until you found one where his face was still somewhat visible. The excitement and anxiety mingled as you held your breath, showing the picture to your best friend.

Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth slightly agape. "No way," she murmured under her breath, clearly stunned by what she saw. The surprise in her expression was enough to make your heart race with curiosity.

You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion. "What?" you asked, but she remained in shock, unable to tear her eyes away from the photo. The tension in the room grew as you waited for her to explain. "What's wrong?" you asked again, your voice tinged with concern and impatience.

"That's Lando Norris," she finally said, pointing at the photo. The name didn't ring any bells for you, but the seriousness in her tone made you realize the importance. "He's, umm, a Formula One driver," she explained, her excitement barely contained. Suddenly, the racing helmets you had seen in the apartment made sense, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

"He's a really big name in the F1 world," she continued, her voice filled with awe and admiration. Your best friend was a huge fan of Formula One, always following the latest races and drivers, but you had never paid much attention to it. Now, the significance of your encounter was becoming clear. You had spent the night with someone who was not just another wealthy boy but a renowned athlete.

"Just search him on Instagram," your best friend suggested, her curiosity evident. You nodded and quickly grabbed your phone, typing his name into the search bar. His account popped up first, boasting an impressive 9.4 million followers. Wow, you thought to yourself, that’s a really big name.

You began scrolling through his feed, captivated by the photos of him in team merch, intense training sessions, and those unforgettable eyes that had left a mark on you. Each image painted a picture of his life, giving you a glimpse into the world of a renowned Formula One driver. The realization of just how well-known he was added a layer of complexity to the situation, making your encounter feel even more surreal.

"I can’t wait until you appear on gossip pages as the mysterious rumored girlfriend," she joked, her tone light-hearted. The idea of being thrust into the public eye sent a shiver down your spine. The thought of your private life becoming a topic of speculation was probably your worst nightmare, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety.

"Should I text him?" you asked, looking at her for guidance. The uncertainty in your voice was palpable, and you hoped she would provide the clarity you needed. "I mean, I can see it becoming something more." The weight of your emotions hung heavily in the air, and you were torn between taking a leap of faith and protecting yourself from potential heartache.

"It's your one-night stand," she shrugged, her tone casual. "So deal with it," she added with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. The idea of it being more than just a one-night stand was thrilling, and you couldn't help but hope for something more. The possibilities seemed endless, and you found yourself daydreaming about what could be.

© norristrii 2025

[avocado-writing]

if you are taking short fic requests for wade n logan, how about one where typically sunshine!reader comes home sad and while the both of them have that frenemy thing going, they agree on fucking up whoever made reader unhappy :o btw i love your work ❣️

You fill the apartment with laughter and light and life. You: all parts sunshine and joy, making things a bit brighter even when the world feels so dark. You’re a bit of levity at the end of a day which is usually bathed in blood. A reminder of what’s worth fighting for. 

So when you walk in that night with your jaw grit tight and eyes watery, it’s pretty damn noticeable. 

“Hey. You okay?” asks Logan, voice gruff but full of concern. He’s on the couch, patching himself up from no doubt getting the shit beaten out of him, hopefully not staining the new throw blanket you bought. You head to the fridge wordlessly, grabbing a beer and getting annoyed when you can’t immediately find a bottle opener. He holds his hand out silently, and you give in, allowing him to use one of his claws to help. 

“Long day,” you manage, trying to bite back tears. You hear the bathroom door open and Wade sticks his head out, the sound of conversation irresistible to him. 

“Hey sunshine! How’s my favourite—?” he starts, but trails off when he sees the state you’re in. He goes to jump over the back of the sofa to get to you but immediately falls on his face because he’s missing half a leg. Despite everything a laugh bubbles up from you, inescapable. 

“I’m glad my dismemberment is just a slapstick routine to you, cupcake,” he pouts up at you from the floor. You wipe your eyes furiously with your sleeve and go to help him up, settling him into an armchair - and giving him the opportunity to sweep you into his lap. 

“What’s the matter, honey? Seriously. Who do we need to kill?” he asks. “Is it Deborah? Tell me it’s her. She’s been asking for a knife in the kidney ever since she swiped your lunch two months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t done it yourself, you know we’d help you hide the body.”

“You’re sweet,” you sigh, “but it’s not her, actually. I just had a lot to do today and nobody was cutting me any slack, you know? It got too much.”

“If you need us to talk to anyone,” says Logan, fixing Wade with a look which suggests murdering your colleagues will probably create more problems than solve them, “we’ll do it.”

“Yes! Good-boyfriend, bad-boyfriend routine. Oh, or charismatic-boyfriend, grumpy-but-sexy boyfriend. Or even, slut-boyfriend, slut-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet boyfriend. Maybe that one’s better suited for tonight though…”

Logan growls a warning but Wade just grins, blasé. You giggle. 

“Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be a lot more bored and horny,” Wade muses, as Logan mutters “hmph. Apartment would be quieter…”

You drink your beer and smile.  

taglist: : @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse

[no-144444]

kisses- a.albon

꩜summary: you're finally home

꩜pairing: alex albon x fem! reader

꩜a/n: lowkey suggestive btw, but no smut or anything just heavy making out :) (also in a time where there is no Mercedes seat shitstorm like there is rn)

All he wanted was a moment of quiet. All the shit in Williams, all of the expectations, all of the repeated questions, it was all too much. He’d debated heavily, and the offers from the top teams just kept rolling in. If McLaren wanted him, yeah, he’d take that. But they didn’t. They side-stepped the conversation. Mercedes finally wanted him now, hell, everywhere seemed to want him. RedBull was calling again. Aston was offering him a seat. Part of him just wanted to hang up his racing suit and go to WRC or WEC. Maybe try out Le Mans, just not bother with the decision making and stay out. Fuck, he just wanted to drive. 

But he didn’t. He loved it. He loved the speed. He loved the challenge. He loved being the best in the world. 

Training had gone how it always did, tiring, boring, mindless. The Monaco sun belted down on his back as he ran around the harbour, his head down as he tried to quiet his mind. He reached his apartment, stepping into the air conditioning and a smell of freshness he wasn’t exactly used to. 

You were home. A week-long work trip had held you away from him as Silverstone came and went, though your support was felt from the other side of the world. He thought you’d still be gone until Friday. He spotted you in the kitchen, tidying plates and cups away as you silently danced to whatever music was in your headphones. For the first time in a week, he smiled properly, the tension in his shoulders easing with every step he took to get closer to you. 

“You’re home,” he breathed out as he wrapped his arms around you, despite the sweat. You ignored that and just smiled, turning to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It always started like that, him coming back from training tired with his mind full. Just needing to wash away those thoughts that didn’t seem to understand his ideal of a healthy work-life balance. Just a small peck was enough to leave him wanting more. Much more. 

“Someone’s needy,” you teased, pulling back, but he just pulled you right back in, his hands squeezing your waist and pulling you closer as he took what he needed from you, though his cheeks heated. His grip only tightened when you opened your mouth against his, welcoming his tongue. “You like this?” you whispered against his lips, sending a shiver down his spine as you wrapped your arms around his neck. If F1 didn’t drive him crazy, certainly you would. He let out one of those tiny whimpers as you climbed up onto the counter, parting your legs so that he could fit between them, his mouth never leaving yours. The noises he was making were so cute you giggled in the kiss, as he hummed against your lips, those thoughts he’d been plagued by for days, finally melting away with just a swipe of your tongue. You pulled back for some air and caught a glimpse of his blown out pupils and glossy eyes, looking so gone for you. Like you were the single thought on his mind, just you, you, you, constantly. You smiled. “You alright?”

He gulped, nodding. “Fine,” he explained. “Just missed you.” He admitted, squeezing your waist again, trying to focus on your eyes as everything in him screamed for him to just kiss you again. You leaned in and pressed a cautious kiss on his neck, waiting for him to let out that classic breath, the one that told you he was completely giving up his fight and just letting you do whatever. It came, and he leaned his head back as you began your attack on his neck. Fuck, he was irresistable. You let one of your hands travel lower, resting against his abs as he tensed under you. He groaned against your lips as you chuckled. 

“Calm down,” you chuckled, pulling back and cupping his face with your other hand. 

“Can’t,” he breathed out before kissing you again.

navigation for my blog :)

williams & merc masterlist

[skinnyhmhas]

deserved ᮫࣭﹆ֹ b.e

fluff & iheart radio awards btw guys i haven't written anything in a long time so sorry if it's horrible

you could spend all afternoon writing about what your girlfriend's last album had done emotionally to everyone, but you'd never be able to finish. from the moment they told you that you would be able to present her with the award for album of the year, you could do nothing but try to keep your mouth shut and not say a word to billie.

you wrote your words to present to her in an old notebook, which you knew billie wouldn't see. it took you an entire night; it was so difficult to put all that majesty into simple words.

on the day of the ceremony you wore a simple black dress, with a chain elegantly decorating your neck. your girlfriend, on the other hand, wore the complete opposite, baggy and comfortable clothing, yet she wore a small suit to sing.

"you're going to do fantastic!" you exclaimed to her, excited to hear her sing wildflower.

billie's performance was fantastic, it was a true demonstration that no matter if she took home an award or not, nothing would change the fact that this woman touched souls deeply. she kissed your lips, standing on her tiptoes as she left the stage and you grabbed her hand to run off and get to her dressing room.

"how can you run in heels!?" she raised her voice so you could hear her, you both laughed.

"i have superpowers, baby."

you joked. you and billie entered the dressing room, quickly changing billie's clothes as they paused and named other winners. you two left the room kissing, returning to the event. you two sat next to maggie, patrick, claudia, and finneas. the table was filled with compliments for billie and finneas, emphasizing how talented they were. a member of the event staff came to you; it was your turn to speak.

"wait, babe! where are you going?" your girlfriend asked quickly, almost standing to follow you.

"i'll be right back, bils. stay here." you smiled reassuringly.

billie let go of your hand and you walked backstage. there were only two minutes left until you came out and announced the winner of album of the year.

"okay, go." said a robust man, guiding you to the stage.

you stood there, the lights came on, and you noticed billie's surprised look. you smiled with foreknowledge. the applause rose when they saw your recognized figure.

"f'me hit me hard and soft is more than just an album. is the album of the year, the one of the best created in the entired history of music. it moves you like nothing else ever done, it resonates in your soul and helps you heal it. it's a work of art that doesn't usually receive the praise it deserves because there are no words to describe the wonderful majesty it offers, it is ineffable."

everyone listens to your words, some people nodding, others with their hands on their chest, eyes full of tears and smiles of confirmation.

but billie's eyes were glued to your body, listening to every word you said. the words traveled through her veins, reaching her heart and piercing her soul. her eyes became teary. her lips pouted, turning to look at finneas and holding his hand.

"and i have the good luck to know the two people who made this album possible. a talented young man who adds color to everything he touches, finneas." everyone applauded once more. "and also to the most perfectly real and human soul, the most beautiful girl in the world billie eilish."

billie's trembling hands made her let go of finneas's hands, biting her lip to keep her tears from falling.

"thank you for making our album of the year: hit me hard and soft."

now they stood up from their seats, the award in their hands, and thousands of people cheering all over the place. they came to the stage, still not believing what was happening. finneas was the first to hug you, whispering a small "thank you."

now your girlfriend, whimpering a little at your kind words, hugged you by the waist, burying her head in your chest, jumping with excitement.

"you made me cry like a fucking bitch." you both laughed. "i love you, mama."

"i love you more, love." it was the last thing you said to billie, now in front of the microphone and with eyes full of tears, she thanked all the people who were in the process of making the album along with finneas.

you stood to the side of the stage, admiring how beautiful billie looked, as always, and you couldn't wipe the smile off your face.

"and you!" she turned around, looking at you with a smile. "you're like fucking amazing, you're beautiful, and i can't believe i'm with you—it's like, whoa. you know?"

the whole place laughed at billie's nervousness, her cheeks red and her words escaping her lips.

"okay, sorry. i love you. i love you all, bye!"

she came back to your side, hugging you very excited. finneas joined in the hug, and the three of you happily walked off the stage.

after a few moments and when you were all in your places at the table, everyone was congratulating billie, but she kept a hand on yours, squeezing it whenever she needed to relax. on the way home, in her car, she couldn't help but look at you when the traffic light turned red.

"did you really write all that for me and finn?" her voice was soft, almost unwilling to get her hopes up.

she turned to look at you once more, placing her hand on your lap, looking at you with those eyes that expressed love and gratitude.

"yes, of course baby." you responded instantly.

"you're so gorgeous, my girl." she kissed your shoulder.

"yours." you whispered.

and the traffic light was now green.

[fatherbrat]

cw. vampire!nanami, blood-sucking, murder & death, self-harm mention, melancholy, other vampire-y things. 1k words.

nanami would be the perfect vampire to turn you btw

you know it’s his nature to snare you, so you try your damnedest to resist. but it feels impossible. a blond devil who wears glasses and three-piece suits and spoils you with every luxury under the moon. and he wants needs you to be his. how could you tell him no?

he tries to ignore the urge to become your maker for four awfully long months. it would be a wicked thing to do, to turn you and keep you for eternity. he’d be tearing you away from your family, your friends, your career. stripping your life from you for his own selfish wants. 

but he’s not the gentleman he once was.

the night he turns you is unceremonious. it’s not the way he planned, but perhaps it’s better not to celebrate. death is rarely kind. your death is particularly excruciating. 

nanami, bless his unbeating heart, is unsure if he’ll be able to stop himself before he bleeds you dry. he prepares himself, of course, engorging himself on the blood of six others before he comes to you, trying to ensure he won’t drain you out of hunger. now all he’ll have to fight is his desire. 

he holds your jaw with one hand, gingerly, resting his thumb in your mouth so you can bite down when he does. he tells himself that the feeling of your teeth threatening to puncture his skin will keep him grounded. he tells himself that when your grip on his thumb starts to loosen, it will signal him to stop. he tells himself that he will stop. 

he tells you that teeth clenching is a side effect of the process, and he doesn’t want you to chip a tooth.

his teeth are colder than you expect. it feels like two frozen ice picks have stabbed you in the neck. you gasp and push at him instinctively, only to melt against him when he starts to suck and the bliss settles over you.

you’re not sure when you stop biting down on his thumb, or when start feeling silly and dizzy, like you're floating. all you know is that your brain feels like it’s swimming in your skull, and that nanami has cut himself and is making you suck on the wound.

he looks you in the eyes while you do it, watches how you swallow down his blood in a frenzy, as if you haven’t had anything to drink in weeks. it’s strangely intimate, more than when his mouth was on your neck, but you can hardly consider that now. the bliss is gone, replaced with a burn that sears you from the inside out. nanami just keeps watching. there’s nothing he can do for you at this point. no magic salve that’ll soothe the feeling of having your life force ripped away from you and then replaced with something dark and heavy and macabre. the experience is hellish. nanami wishes he could tell you it’s the worst part.

it takes a long time for you to adjust. you aren’t sad to leave your job, but it’s unbearable to leave your family, more so to leave your friends. you regret everything. you long for when you were warm and your heart was beating. you hate nanami. you wound yourself too many times trying to bathe in sunlight—three times by accident and three times in rebellion. he boards up the windows when he realizes you're burning yourself on purpose.

it hurts kento to see you hurt. during the first few months, that’s all you do: hurt yourself to hurt him. refusing meals and hunts and comfort. snubbing the decanters full of blood he leaves outside your bedroom door. you sleep all day and all night, going against your new brutish instincts everytime the sun sets. 

one night, you wake up from a restless sleep feverish and hysterical and desperate for something to drink. you have little memory of leaving your bedroom, or even of leaving the house. you drain an entire family in your delirious state, their bodies strewn about their property like children’s toys. it looks like a massacre. (it was.) 

nanami finds you not long after, sated and wrought with guilt. there’s a pity in his eyes when he scoops you up, holding you against his chest like you’re made of porcelain.

you appreciate that he doesn’t reprimand you even though you deserve to be. instead, takes you home and puts you in the bathtub. he tells you the story of how he nearly died not even three weeks after he was turned, the consequence of trying to feed on an animal he thought couldn’t kill him. it’s funny to think about: a version of nanami from a hundred years ago, brimming with an unknown strength, nearly taken out by an elk that was too shrewd for him.

“could you do it now?” you ask him, tilting your head back so he can wash the dried blood from your neck. 

“do what, my love?”

“kill the elk.”

he snorts. “of course. i did kill him back then. just with some…difficulty.”

a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. you lower your head, wanting to see his face when you ask him the next question. “do you think i could kill one?”

you can see him mulling over the question, his mouth set in a straight line as he scrubs your arm with too much concentration. you’re expecting him to say no. maybe he’s thinking so long because he’s trying to figure out how to let you down easy. 

“yes,” he finally answers, meeting your gaze so you can see the certainty in his eyes. “i think you could.”

you don’t ask him what’ll become of the family you slaughtered. you trust that he’ll take care of it, just as he took care of you, even when you didn’t want it.

you become resigned to your fate, hating kento less and less and letting him remind you of why you let him turn you in the first place. he teaches you how to hunt without leaving a mess, how to make the most of the night, how to not hate sleeping through the daytime. he’s nurturing in a way that humanizes him. you ask him questions and he answers. you ask for gifts and he delivers.

it occurs to you that there are worse people to be tied to forever. at least nanami looks after you. you feel a little like frankenstein’s monster, but less doomed and vengeful and more determined to adjust. it’s a good sign, you think, having the desire to adjust. it’s really a blessing that you have kento with you. this is likely the best case scenario.

(and he’s relieved you’re finally starting to see it that way.)

( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

[moonqz]

YOU PROMISED ME : Nam-Gyu x reader

pairing : Nam-Gyu x fem!reader

genre : angst, with hints of smut and slight fluff?

description : As Nam-Gyu's ex before the games, you each held a grudge when you see each other in the games. With a mixture of hatred, toxic love, yearning, desperation as well as all the events of the games, Nam-Gyu's actions cause him to lose the most important person in his life. As much as he hated to admit it aloud.

warnings / contents : MDNI - I am not responsible for the media you consume - heavy angst, canon violence, dark themes, slight gore, death, drugs and withdrawal, threatening, toxic both-sided relationship, smut (fingering, degrading, semi-public - no one sees -)

- requested by anon! thank you so much for the request, this is very very long btw, i really enjoyed sorting it if you couldn’t tell 🥲

After a weird conversation with a guy in a suit and a suitcase full of cash, the last thing you expected was to be practically kidnapped to an overly bright and gigantic building full of random people and ugly tracksuits.

But as you and 455 other ‘players’ as they called you, walked to the first game, all of you lined up to take photos like it’s the first day of school and you’re taking class photos.

Your name is gone. You’re Player 067 now.

“What the hell is this…”

A ripple of unease, bordom and fear moves throughout the room. Everyone begins filing out. You glance around, noting faces. Some young. Some far too old to be here. A girl sobs silently behind her sleeve. A man mutters prayers. Others twirl their hair and look too casual for their own good.

You stood in one of the lines, doing your best to blend into the crowd, which wasn’t difficult confiding how many people were here.

The lines slowly got shorter, and as around ten people freaked out over someone you could only presume to be famous, you heard his voice. Low, familiar. Tainted with reminiscence.

He stood there, his hair longer then the last time you saw him, stood next to the purple haired guy you had met a couple times at Club Pentagon. The place Nam-Gyu promoted.

Nam-Gyu merely glanced at you for not even a second, before turning back to the group, as if your presence hadn’t completely brought back everything he had worked for the past year you hadn’t seen him. As if seeing your face wasn’t a slap to the face.

Tall. Calm. Emotionless, like always. But it’s him. That same profile. That same sharp jaw. Same cold, unreadable eyes.

Your stomach lurches. You haven’t seen him in almost a year. Not since he left you with unanswered messages, a final fight, and a wound that never healed. Your body stiffens instinctively, and your hands curl into fists.

But you notice the very slight tension in his jaw. But that could also be from the lack of drugs in his system for the past however long it had been. It’s not like he had them here.

The moment passes, but it stays lodged in your chest like shrapnel.

Nam Gyu doesn’t try to approach you. He doesn’t need to, his presence presses against your skin like a bruise anyway. You can feel the weight of his stare even as you’re ushered into a hallway with the other players. The guards line the walls like statues, guiding you forward without words.

Each step down the corridor feels like sinking deeper into something you can’t escape.

You’re not sure what’s worse, the fear of what’s ahead or the fact that he’s behind you, just close enough for his footsteps to match yours.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s looking straight ahead, face unreadable, but you know that expression too well.

Calculated. Focused. Cold.

Like he’s already figured out how to survive this place.

Of course he has. He always did think three moves ahead. In life. In love. In leaving. But so did you.

And once you’re met with fresh air, you can’t bask in the slight feeling of freedom before taking notice of the massive, creepy as hell doll in front of you.

Some whisper, some laugh, but once you get told the rules. The same rules every person in here was familiar with from their childhood, the sense of nostalgia meeting anxiety curls in your stomach.

The first thirty seconds are spent carelessly, no one fully caring whether or not they lost. Yet.

A man you half thought was crazy at first was screaming at the players to freeze, as if they didn’t already know the objective of the game. Choosing to ignore it, the game went along, until you saw that Nam-Gyu was barely ten feet away from you.

When a gunshot rang out through the room, you stilled. Others scrambled, fear taking over every other sensation or feeling in their body whilst yours went into a strange calm.

Not a calm where you’re relaxed. But the kind where you sorta face what’s going to happen, and realise there’s nothing you can do.

A familiar pattern stroke out, shorter people hiding behind talkers to not get seen by the motion of the dolls camera.

Eventually people started playing normal again, well as normal as you can be after that. But Nam-Gyu was now closer to you the next time ‘red light’ was called out.

As soon as the next green light was emerged from the annoying dolls voice, Nam-Gyu’s hand gripped your wrist in a lock and pulled you behind him.

You didn’t question anything. Not yet. How could you question his help in a game of survival?

The slight twitch in his grip though was enough for you to know he was going through withdrawal already.

When you were near the end line, and noticed he was starting to be reckless with his movements, your voice called out, “Nam-Gyu”

“Just shut the fuck up, I’m saving you here” He quietly, but unmistakably spoke. You weren’t shocked at his words. Just disappointed. A mere scoff left you, before he dragged you over the finish line properly.

He didn’t speak to you after that. Just walked over to Thanos and laughed over the blood that on his cheek from some girl who died first or something.

Eventually, you were all sent back to the dormitory room. Or what was left of you all. The prize money was insane but you couldn’t ignore the nagging in your brain to leave. Get out, don’t come back.

So when Nam-Gyu saw the red poll go up instead of the blue, his blood boiled. He could’ve killed you in that moment.

Was you that selfish? He needed the money. You knew he did. So why were you trying to leave? Escape it? Escape him.

That night when you came back from the bathroom with a heavy heart of fear, Nam-Gyu was already outside the door, grabbing your wrist and dragging you towards his bed.

“What are you doing?” You protest, attempting to free yourself from his grip, but he just pulled you further, running a hand through his slightly knotted hair before stopping by the seemingly terrified young man on the bed next to his own.

“Move” He commented. His voice wasn’t harsh. Nor was it gentle. An all too casual stance, given the circumstances.

“Why would I move?” The man asked, his voice not showing fear, but his eyes betrayed him. Little doll eyes as Nam-Gyu would call it. He used to say you had them eyes.

“Because I said move” Your ex spoke, his grip on your wrist pressing against your pulse in an timely to clam him down, like it used to.

The younger man scoffed quietly and muttered something under his breath as he moved, picking up his shoes to find another bed.

Nam-Gyu forced you to sit on the bed before sitting on his own. He didn’t say a word after that. Neither did you. He just laid down, on his back and went to sleep begrudgingly.

That pissed you off. Why would he drag you over here and just go to sleep without a word. You knew he wasn’t asleep yet either. No way he was handling the withdrawal this well.

Choosing to ignore it however, you rolled over and went to sleep yourself. Anxiety pooling in your chest at the mere thought of today. You could still see the taints of blood staining your shoes and tracksuit from other players. You could still see them. How they got shot. How you survived. How? Fuck knows.

The second game rolled around the next day. Whether it was too slow for your liking or too fast you don’t know.

Everyone was told, well ordered to join into groups of five. Nam-Gyu has already made you join his group. Or the ‘Thanos world’.

Honestly if it weren’t for Nam-Gyu’s annoying voice and the fact you were dying for a shower and fresh air, you didn’t mind the group.

Min-Su was adorably innocent, but the fear evident on his face that he failed to mask was slightly worrying to you. Would he chicken out? Surely not. He seems like he wants to survive.

Se-Mi was cool. She didn’t back down to Thanos and Nam-Gyu which was a fresh perspective, considering no one other then her did that before.

Thanos was high as fuck. It was too obvious, and if the gaurd caught wind of it, who knows what would happen.

What scared you more though, was when Nam-Gyu asked Thanos for pills. Sure it wasn’t too much of a shock. But when he lifted his sleeve and revealed his scars from needles. There was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t explain.

Those weren’t there before. Not while you were in the picture. Which meant this must have started in the last year. As far as you were aware.

Nam-Gyu was slowly feeling the effects of his high, overall concerning you more and more. If Thanos runs out of them pretty colorful pills, which at this rate would be likely, the two were fucked.

Left with no other choice you took ddakji, Semi flying stone, Min-Su gonggi, Nam-Gyu spinning top, and Thanos jagi.

“One, two, one, two, one two” they all repeated like a mantra with every step you guys took. You didn’t though. You just kept in time with their words.

Thanos and Nam-Gyu were too happy and calm. It freaked you out how they were treating it like death wasn’t on the line.

Whilst you flipped the ddakji, first try, the group erupted into over dramatic cheers. Nam-Gyu yelled something about ‘my girl’.

Se-Mi made flying stone without much of a problem, luckily first try so you didn’t have to bother going to get the stone and coming back.

Min-Su was surprisingly good at gonggi, which you weren’t sure whether or not you should be surprised. He just seemed happy that Thanos and Nam-Gyu weren’t trying to kill him.

You and Nam-Gyu played spinning top once, at club pentagon, and he was shockingly decent at it, luckily for you guys. Plus Thanos used to play soccer so Jegi wasn’t a problem. Maybe this ‘team’ wasn’t so bad?

Nam-Gyu practically ran to you when you got untied from the ropes that linked you all together, his face close to yours.

“You’re gonna vote O this time right?” He spoke, as if winning this game easily was gonna change your mind. You knew it wouldn’t have been this simple the whole time.

“Nam-Gyu are you crazy, i’m not voting O?” You responded, voice quiet but laced with a small recoil of fear and frustration mixing.

“You are” He simply spoke before walking back with a smile on his face, making an O with his hands.

Lights out came not long after meal time, and Nam-Gyu had woke you up. Not that you were having much of a peaceful sleep anyway but it was uncalled for.

“Come with me” He said, not that quite, which urged you to shush him in case others woke up. You were already weary of this place more then anything.

After you shook your head no and rolled back over, he practically ripped the thin safety net of the blanket off you, and tugged at the sleeves of your jacket.

“Jesus fucking christ Gyu, what are you doing?” You whispered, begrudgingly getting up and following him after his annoying act.

Once again he stayed quiet. That pissed you off. Again. Why does he think he can boss you a round, tell you where to go and not say a word about it.

Knocking obnoxiously loud on the door, a small ray of light broke through the room when the gaurd with its stupid circle mask opened the small peeking hole in the door.

“My girl needs to piss”

“Access to the bathroom is restricted at this time” The guard responded plainly. His voice was annoying you beyond belief. The fake as, casual voice as if they don’t just shoot people without a second thought.

“Dude if you don’t let her go to the bathroom there’s gonna be blood everywhere, and not the blood we’ve already seen today” Nam-Gyu explained. That wasn’t true obviously and you fought the urge to gag, hit him, or both.

The guard stilled for a moment, seemingly contemplating his life choices. You were too. Was it worse standing there after Nam-Gyu said all that excruciatingly crude information that wasn’t even true, or being in a building where dozens of people are getting shot in front of you, and you can still see the dried blood of other players on your tracksuit you had no choice but to endure.

The door opened a moment later, with Nam-Gyu ushering you in, but he got stopped by the gaurd.

“Moral support dude” He shrugged, before following after you, a little skip in his step, clearly still feeling the effects of whatever he took earlier.

In the bathroom, the door shut and you immediately spoke up, “What the fuck was that for?”

“What would you rather me tell them, I can’t tell them i’m bleeding, it doesn’t work like that”

“Not just that, why’d you drag me here?”

He took a step closer, breathing out a small laugh, his shaky hand pointing at the X patch on your jacket, pushing you backwards towards the wall,

“You’re gonna fucking vote O okay?” He smiled cruelly. The stench of bleach in the bathroom filled your senses.

“Nam-Gyu I’m not voting O, you’re just high, why do you want to stay here?” Your voice cut through, trying to be slightly quiet considering you knew guards were near.

He pushed you towards the wall, his presence pinning you against it, not harshly but aware. “Because you think that sorry little cash is gonna be enough for me huh?”

“And how do you know they’re even gonna give you the money huh? How do you know that you could win this whole thing and they just keep the money for themselves and kill you anyway for knowing too much?”

Your words didn’t affect him. Once Nam-Gyu was set on something, he was set on it, no changing his mind.

“You’re voting O, okay? Then we can be together again yeah?”

“What you trying to convince me by using our failed relationship?”

“I’m saying if you vote X again i’ll fucking kill you. But if you vote O i can get my girl back”

“Are you fucking crazy?” You didn’t know whether or not trust his word or not. Did you miss him? Undecided. Was he capable of killing you? Undecided. Sure he was very unpredictable, often did some crazy shit but killing?

“Let me convince you. Huh baby? Give me my girl back” He whined like a kicked puppy. Pathetic.

His hand hovered over your waist, contrasting to his words he was timid with how he approached you. He did care for you, as much as he failed and refused to admit. He didn’t wanna scare you off completely.

You didn’t say anything. Instead opting to grab the collar of his stained jacket and pull towards you, but he stopped himself. “No girl, say okay”

“Fuck- okay Nam-Gyu” you gave in, finally giving him that stupid proud smirk on his face.

“Good fucking girl” he giggled, his lips moving to your exposed neck, refusing to kiss your lips. He deemed himself unworthy of that yet.

The sudden action caused your breath to hitl for a moment before your hand went to his hair. The long, dark hair that was slightly knotted together from blood that didn’t belong to him.

Your heart raced in your chest, the all too familiar and nostalgic feeling of his lips and hands on you was hypnotising to say the least.

He pulled away slightly just to press his lips against your cheek speaking, “I missed you. You miss me?”

You nodded, almost weakly, you had missed him. You hated to admit it. But you did.

“Nuh uh, say it. Say you missed me”

“I missed you Gyu” your voice caused a crack in his facade. His hand that’s as gripping your hip previously, dips down to the waist band of your tracksuit.

“Can I? Show you how much I missed you yeah?”

“Yes Gyu-“

Your words made his hand immediately disappear under both layers of the tracksuit and the udnerwear you wore causing a small gasp to emit from you.

His hand made teasing circles over you, a small whimper leaving you when he laughed against your cheek, mockingly, dark.

“Such a mess already, haven’t even done anything”

You rolled your eyes at his words, but the stagger in your legs was enough to tell him the effect it had on you.

“More- just- ‘s not enough”

“What if I don’t wanna give you more huh? Fucking greedy girl” His voice, rough sent shivers down your spine, and your arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep yourself up when his fingers dipped lower, pushing through your entrance with no mercy.

A whine left your lips when he covered your mouth with his other hand. “The fucking guards are outside. You don’t want them to see huh, my angel”

The contrast in his words sent you almost dizzy, leaning into him for support when his fingers reached the spot inside of you that drove you crazy.

“There we go, right there huh?” He chuckled again, his movements showing no halt, and the rough ministrations along with his words and the fact you could be caught any second now by guys with guns terrified you in the same way it did thrill you.

Working you closer and closer to the edge, his thumb moved to your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it again with a precision making your thighs tremble lightly against his hand.

When you finally reached your release, it was mind blowing. Something you’d denied yourself of feeling for the last year you haven’t been together. He was like no other. Not even yourself.

Once you rode out your high, his hand left you, before he licked the excess release off his own hand.

“Sweet as before” he whispered, finally pressing his lips against yours. Now that he seemed himself somewhat worthy.

Pulling away he sighed, forehead against yours. “My girl again now okay? Fucking stay with me, you vote O and we’ll win the money together. One more game sweetheart. I promise”

You nodded. Mistake One.

The next game rolled around. You and Nam-Gyu being on decent terms again, with no label did nothing to calm your fucked up nerves.

‘round and round’

The stupid song replayed in your head even when the music stopped and dozens of more people were dead.

‘round and round’

You voted X though. You went against Nam-Gyu after you told him you wouldn’t. Technically, you didn’t say anything about voting O. But in his eyes it was a betrayal.

Your team, X, planned against lights out, opting to not fight, and instead go for the guards. What this would achieve you had no idea. Surely the guards aren’t that dumb?

From afar, you watched Nam-Gyu. He looked half thrilled, have tired. His friend just died? Even though you weren’t particularly close to Thanos his death did effect you, in turn Nam-Gyu must be feeling it ten times worse.

Min-Su and Se-Mi had also voted X. The three of you sorta stuck together after that. You spoke to Nam-Gyu after that. The adrenaline and fear that overwashed was immense.

“You fucking told me you would vote O”

“I never outwardly said that Gyu”

“That’s such a bullshit way to draw around the lines”

That was the last you heard of him.

The power cuts out with a bang, plunging the room into blackness. Screams erupt barely thirty seconds later. The sound of metal scraping against metal, fists slamming, bones crunching. It’s a war zone in pitch dark.

Nam Gyu moves through it like a shadow, efficient, unreadable. He doesn’t flinch when someone begs for mercy. He’s already decided who lives, who doesn’t.

He’s focused on a threat two bunks over, a man from Team X, fast and smart, who’s been gunning for him all day. He ducks a punch, swings the rusted pipe he stole from the washroom, and slams it into the man’s ribs, hears the crack. A knife flashes. Nam Gyu steps in, shoves his own blade deep into the man’s abdomen. One clean twist.

No sound. Just a grunt.

The body slumps.

Nam Gyu exhales.

One more obstacle gone. One step closer.

“Hey Semi Noona”

Nam-Gyu laughs under his breath. Low, wild. His pupils are blown wide, his pulse sharp and jittery in his neck. Whatever pill he took earlier, to stay awake, stay sharp, or maybe feel nothing, is riding high now.

The world is slowed. Glowing. Muffled. Like a video game turned inside out.

He sees colors where there aren’t any. Trails of light following every motion. Every heartbeat sounds like thunder.

He feels untouchable.

He moves through the blackness like a phantom, Nam-Gyu grins and stabs the girl through the ribs. Quick. Clean. Beautiful.

“Easy,” he mutters. “Too easy.”

He steps over the body like it’s furniture.

Across the room, two men are grappling. Team X. One of them is his next mark, fast, young, twitchy. The kind that makes mistakes when they’re scared.

Nam-Gyu launches at him without hesitation. They slam into a bunk. He laughs again, wild, breathless, as he pins the guy down and punches his face in until the fork stops twitching in the youngers hand. Blood coats Nam-Gyu’s fists.

“You should’ve stayed quiet,” he whispers. “Too loud. Too slow.”

Everything feels sharp. Triumphant.

And then-

Something off.

A ripple.

A quiet absence in the noise.

He blinks. Something tugs at the edge of him. A thought, a chill, a breath he forgot to take.

He turns his head.

Across the room, through the flickering shadows… a pair of feet. Still. Alone. Slumped.

He moves toward them, at first curiously, swaying slightly from the drug’s haze. Not cautious. Not fast.

Just strangely detached.

And then he sees the curve of her shoulder.

His breath catches.

No.

No, no, no.

The adrenaline rush clears like fog burned off by fire. She’s on the floor. Curled in on herself. Not screaming. Not moving.

Blood soaks the ground beneath her. It glistens black under the emergency light flickering above.

She’s too still.

Nam-Gyu drops to his knees. His fingers hover, frozen, before finally reaching out, almost unsure he’s real.

“Y/N…”

Her eyes flutter open at his voice, barely. No recognition. No anger. Just a slow, glassy blink.

She’d already accepted he wouldn’t come.

She’s so pale. Her breathing is wet. Ragged. The fork still embedded somewhere near her ribs, no time to pull it out, no time to stop the bleeding.

And she didn’t even call out for him.

Not once.

He touches her cheek. She doesn’t lean into it.

“Why didn’t you scream?” His voice breaks, raw, distant.

She blinks again. Tries to speak. Her lips part, crack. Blood glistens at the corner of her mouth.

“Didn’t think it’d matter.”

Her voice is paper-thin. Not angry, just… done.

Nam-Gyu shakes his head, frantic now, pulling her closer, pressing his hands against the wound, against anything, even though it’s all pointless.

“I didn’t see baby- I didn’t know-“

“You promised me,” she murmurs.

Not accusing. Not cruel. Just fact.

“You always look past me when you want to win.”

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

He wants to scream. He wants to die with her. But he doesn’t. He lives. Like he always does.

She coughs, once. A soft sound, like something leaving.

And when her breathing started slowing, and her eyes were hazed over, he’s shaking her nearly lifeless body,

“No, stop playing with me, get the fuck up” He gritted through his teeth. When the girl didn’t move, his actions just worsened,

“Stupid fucking bitch get up, you can’t leave me, get up”

“Y/N get up, don’t mess with me right now”

“Y/N stop being selfish, get up” Now, silent tears were falling from his face, falling onto the girl who’s skin paled and her doll eyes looked broken.

The lights turned back on, guards guns blowing throughout the room. And when Y/N didn’t flinch he knew it was over. That his life was gone. Not physically. But it might as well be.

His girl was gone. He should blame himself. Should’ve stuck with her. Stood by his own word. He sworn to one more game. And his own greed overtook him. Now he lost his friends and the only thing in his life he thought was forever. Sure they had been broken up.

But he was just waiting for her to realise how fucking stupid she was being, and crawl back to him.

The last thing he saw before his vision blurred, as well as the other players was the cold, broken eyes of the girl he loved.

A couple weeks later. Nam-Gyu was in a constant battle of denial and acceptance. Some days better than others. One day he won’t leave his bed, screaming at himself for letting his life fade away in front of him.

The other, is spent normal, at club pentagon not a problem in the world, as if he forgot all about the girl who’s body was still on that fucking island he’ll never be able to find.

The money was enough. And he should’ve done why every other player did. Use it to sort their life out finally. Not Nam-Gyu. More drugs flew in, stupid investments. He didn’t care. His life was only worth living when he had someone to live for.

[wisteriaiswriting]

Reader That Can Bake

Words: 1757

Includes: Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford, Wendy, Gideon, Pacifica and Bill

Honestly, he doesn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but being young he still craves them a bit.

Knows the basics about baking in general but only with box sets, so he’ll stay out of your way in the kitchen.

Won't ever decline anything you give him, opting to either eat them right then and there, or hide them for later. (And away, safe from Mabel.)

Normally whenever he heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen, assuming it was Mabel, he would walk the other way immediately. But now that you’re spending more time in there he’ll take the gamble of peeking in, hoping it was you baking and not Mabel ready to drag him in.

This time he was lucky, finding you washing up all your used dishes and putting away the leftover ingredients. Standing in the doorway until you noticed, waving him over. “Dipper, you’re just in time!” Hopping on the spot as you stepped out of the way, revealing a whole bunch of cooled cookies.

“I tried some different flavours this time,” Grabbing one of each to shove into his hands, which he almost dropped. “There's classic chocolate chip, white chocolate, uhh… What else?” As you rambled and thought he took a bite of each, silently ranking them favourite to least favourite, not that he’d ever tell you.

“And oh! Hazelnuts, oreos and s'mores!” “You made s’more cookies?” “Yeah, this one was a small batch, I’ll get more stuff tomorrow.”

While yes, she bakes pretty often, you’ll always be the better chef around! (And she’s not afraid to admit it, sometimes.)

This girl will never shut up about ‘How good these are!’ ‘Even Waddles loves them!’ (It’s true, you have found him scarfing down a whole pile of your baked goods.)

Occasionally (And if you let her) she’ll join you, while she enjoys baking just spending time together is enough for her.

As soon as the door opened Mabel ran off, skidding into the doorframe. Smelling something very familiar and delicious. “ARE YOU BAKING AGAIN!” Your only response was to laugh, of course she would notice, really, you’d be an idiot thinking she wouldn’t.

“Yeah, they’re in the oven right now, so I’m just cleaning up.” “I’LL HELP!” God, she was excited about your baking. “Why don’t you pile up the dirty dishes while I start the sink.” In no time you had finished the dishes, everything was clean, dried and put away.

Reaching for a hanging cabinet, but this one was just out of reach. Stretching to your limit but unable to grasp the handle, about to turn around and ask Mabel for help only to be jolted upwards. Looking down to find Mabel's toothy grin looking right back atcha.

“Whatcha grabbing? More dishes? Decorations? Is it the icing? SPRINKLES!?” Laughing once again as you grabbed, as you could guess (And Mabel.) the icing and sprinkles. Being dropped back down when you had the items. “I think they’re ready for the toppings.”

Stan doesn’t go around flaunting his love for baked goods, but he doesn’t really hide it either.

But he does openly compliment anything you make, even if it’s not his favourite, he’ll make it positive.

He may not like to spend a lot of money on anything really, but he’ll throw you a wad of cash to buy whatever you need. (As long as he gets the first taste test.)

“Where ya going toots?” Arms wrapped around your waist, his head sitting on your head. One of your hands held your car keys, well, they were Stans but he’s given you permission to take the ‘Stanmobile’ out. “Gotta buy some more ingredients.”

His body pulled away from yours, hands digging into his suit pockets before pulling out a decent wad of cash. Grabbing a few notes (Which were 100s btw) and passing them over to you, “Make me my favourite later.” “Oh I will~”

He’ll scarf down plates full of your stuff, he hasn’t eaten anything this good in years! (And no he is not exaggerating, thank you!)

Always takes something with him on every adventure he goes on. (At first he was nervous to ask, but now he’ll try to ‘bribe’ you for anything. (Both of you know he doesn’t need to.))

Part of him is curious about how well supernatural ingredients would go, he would never force you to do it, but that means he would. So at least watch over him. (But by gods, don’t let him eat anything he makes. Who knows what would happen, and you don’t want to know.)

Hearing the front door slam open you peeked out of the living room, only to find Ford stumbling by, into the kitchen with a large box. After gently shutting the door (With this amount of abuse you don’t think it’ll last much longer.) you followed him, watching him pull and lay out plenty of things on the counter.

“Hope you were going to clean up after yourself?” “AH!” Throwing something between his hands for a few seconds before calming down, “Oh! Y/N, I was, don't you worry.” “With everything you brought in here? I will.”

Quietly laughing to himself, “I don’t blame you, but how well would these bake?” “Ford, honey, I just bake, you’re the one who knows about these guys.” Gesturing to the box, “I guess you’re right.”

Very similar to Stan in the sense, she won’t go out of her way to admit her love for sweeter things but will if asked.

If you’re willing to make more she’ll take a bunch for her friends. (They all love them, even if some won’t admit it.)

Brings some to work with her, which makes her shifts actually bearable.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Lifting her hand as a quick wave before turning to leave, “Wendy!” Looking back to find Lee rushing towards her, skidding to stop just before hitting her. Throwing her a now empty container, which surprisingly enough, was still in one piece. “You gotta bring more of those snacks, they were amazing!”

“I’ll let them know.” Now that she was finally able to leave the group, she started her tract home. Pulling out her phone to send you a quick message, nothing much really. (It was a whole paragraph.) Watching you respond, pause then send the message, along with a picture. ‘Already ahead of you!’

Tapping into the image to find you back in the kitchen, flour covered every surface. There were other ingredients on the floor and everything, really. She couldn’t stop her laughter, taking a pause in her steps to catch her breath. ‘I’m on my way, don’t make a bigger mess.’

Luckily she wasn’t that far from home, and it was also a good thing that her family loved you. (They wouldn’t let you live down that image.) Letting her spend the night to help you clean and finish baking.

Absolutely will not go anywhere near the kitchen when you’re in there. (He may love you, but he also loves being clean.)

This doesn’t stop him from rushing in the second everything is cleaned up, impatiently waiting until the food is finished. (You will have to stop him from eating them hot, because he will whine about being burned.)

Will never share them with anyone else, the only exception is at the Tent of Telepathy.

Placing the hot tray onto a cooling rack before shutting the oven door, it’s been hours since you started baking. As Gideon wanted some baked goods to hand out to anyone who comes by the Tent of Telepathy, and that meant you had to bake it all.

Although he made sure to pay you for it, so it wasn’t a complete loss. But that's when you heard a door slam open and footsteps running down the hall, watching as Gideon entered the room. His first stop was the currently cooling tray of cookies, not the others that were cool and in containers.

“Gideon do–” It was too late, his hand touched the tray first. “OW!” Guiding the hand under some running water as he complained, “Why were they hot?” “I just pulled them out from the oven, those ones,” Pointing at multiple containers put to the side, “Are for you.”

Huffing as he removes his hand from the water to dry it off, grabbing the containers before leaving the room.

Honestly, she never thought about baking in general really. (There’s always been butlers or chefs, or whatever to do it for her.)

Doesn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but will eat any of your less sweet items. (It better not be messy, otherwise she’ll (lovingly) wipe it on you.)

Sometimes she’ll sit around and watch you bake, she secretly finds it interesting but it’s highly likely she won’t join you for a while.

“What did you make this time?” Even as her face showed disinterest her tone gave her away, “This one is funfetti!” Handing over the cupcake, watching as she made her way through the wrapper. Trying to avoid the icing, although she wasn’t successful, a small chunk smeared over her fingers.

Clearly unhappy with it, the fact you were waiting next to her and no tissues or anything nearby. Reaching over to ‘subtly’ wipe the icing onto your shirt. “HEY!” “These aren’t that bad.” “Don’t ignore me!” You tried to stand in front of her, except that she kept turning as well.

“Pacifica!” “You should probably check on the other ones.” Oh yeah, you probably should.

Sometimes you forget that he can actually eat as he doesn’t do it much. (That’s until you watch him eat some deer teeth. Which is so disturbing…)

There have been so many times where he comes to bother you for some food, then just leaves with it. (You have no clue what he does with them but you can only assume someone else* is eatting them. (*Ford))

He will try to bake on his own with ‘non-human’ ingredients even if you try to stop him. (They end up inedible, even to other demons. Like fuck, he’s terrible.)

It was fucking comical how Bill entered the room, floating through the window towards the tray of cookies. Staying afloat for a few extra seconds before dropping to sit on the counter, batting his eyelashes at you. “No Bill, they’re still hot.” “WHO CARES?” Grabbing a handful (Which was like 2.) before shoving it into his mouth (Eye? Honestly man, you have no idea anymore.). “Are they good at least?” “HMM, THEY'RE ALRIGHT. COULD DO WITH SOME ꀤꈤꁅꌃꀭꀸꈤꍟꊼ.” “What.”

[guiltyandashamed]

THIS IS SP VAGUE BUT maybe MC who only ever wears skirts? You can ignore this if you want, btw I love your writing soooo much! 💗

headcannons: MC who wears skirts

(thx! this is such a cute idea thanks for giving me creative liberty)

You're a fashion-forward MC who wears skirts regularly, favoring shorter styles but always dressing with intentionality and flair. Whether it’s a casual mini, pleated tennis skirt, or a tailored high-waist piece that ties the outfit together, you make it work and make it look good. Your style is confident, expressive, and sometimes a little flirty without needing to explain itself. This is how the brothers react:

Lucifer

Lucifer is the type to notice everything, but he’s also impeccably restrained. He doesn’t show it, but he notices the way the fabric of your skirts sways with every step you take, how they highlight your legs in a way that makes him momentarily lose his train of thought. He’s a little protective, especially in public situations where he feels you might attract unwanted attention. If anyone dares comment on your outfit in a negative light, they’ll find themselves dealing with his cold glare. He won’t voice it, but he likes seeing you in skirts, it suits you, and there’s something about the way you carry yourself that makes the outfit look refined rather than overly flirtatious. Behind closed doors, he may even make a comment about how “those skirts seem to attract a lot of unwanted eyes." But it’s clear he’s protective in his own quiet way.

Mammon

Leviathan

You're killing him. Full stop. Every time you walk past in one of those short skirts, he’s internally combusting. His eyes dart, his brain short-circuits “D-don’t bend over like that, human! You tryin’ to give me a heart attack?!” He’s obsessed with your style and insists he’s just “lookin’ out for ya,” but let’s be real: he’s mesmerized. Jealous of the wind, even. He’ll end up buying you more skirts, too, under the excuse of “Ya looked cute in that last one so… here, whatever.” He’s mesmerized by how effortlessly confident you look, especially when you spin or twirl in a skirt. There’s something about the way you wear it that makes him feel both proud and possessive. If you wear a particularly flirty one, he may try to joke about it. “Gotta be careful with that one, yeah? Or I’ll be carrying you around all day to keep those other demons from looking.” As much as he likes the view, he’s also keen on making sure no one else gets too close

Levi’s not okay. He’s so used to fantasy characters wearing short skirts and now here you are, real-life, looking like an anime protagonist and walking next to him. He stares, then gets flustered, then tries not to stare. It’s a loop. He won’t say anything at first, but when you catch him sneaking glances, he practically folds in on himself. “Y-you’re seriously just gonna wear that? Like it’s n-no big deal?!” He lowkey loves it though, he just doesn’t know how to survive it. He’s embarrassed but can’t stop looking. He tries to distract himself by playing a new game or binge-watching anime, but no matter what, his eyes wander to the way your skirt fits. He tries to hide behind his computer screen or his manga, but the truth is, he’s a little in awe. The idea of you wearing skirts seems to match perfectly with his image of you as someone from a world that’s somehow more perfect than reality. He’ll ask if your willing to cosplay as some of his favorite skirt-wearing characters, and if you do, his brain blows a fuse.

Satan

Satan’s reactions are more subtle, but he’s definitely not immune to the way you carry yourself in a skirt. He watches you from across the room, admiring the way you can move freely, the skirts adding a graceful and almost playful quality to your every step. Satan’s the type to compliment the structure, the color coordination, the tailoring. But if your skirt’s especially short one day and you’re reaching for something on a high shelf? Yeah, he’s quietly gripping his book a little tighter. He won’t make crude comments, but he will murmur something like, “You enjoy turning heads, don’t you?” with that faint smirk of his. He’s far too composed to be obvious, but that doesn’t mean he’s unaffected. Sometimes, he’ll find himself absentmindedly running his fingers over the fabric if you sit near him, but he quickly catches himself. There’s no doubt that Satan finds it attractive and irresistible.

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Asmo is all about skirts. He’s completely enchanted by the way they highlight your legs, and he's got no problem vocalizing it. "Darling, those skirts are a look—and it’s not just the fabric I'm noticing," he teases, his voice dripping with flirtation. If you wear skirts frequently, he’ll be ecstatic, constantly complimenting your outfit and suggesting even more glamorous ones he thinks would look perfect on you. But Asmo’s mischievous side kicks in, he'll “borrow” or “swap” your skirts for ones he deems a better fit. “You’re never going to wear that skirt again, darling,” he’ll say as he gives you something more revealing or sparkly. He’s a little sneaky with his admiration but always makes sure you know how divine you look. In fact, he might ask you to model them for him, just so he can see you twirl in the most attention-grabbing outfit possible.

Belphegor

Beel doesn’t say much, but he notices. Especially when you're walking ahead of him. He’ll glance down, tilt his head slightly, then snap his eyes forward like a gentleman. He’s protective without being overbearing, walking on the outside of the street, standing behind you in crowds. When others stare, he narrows his eyes. He doesn’t mind that you wear skirts; he minds that other people forget how to behave when you do. Still, when you ask him if it looks good, he’ll blink and say, “It looks really good on you,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. If you're ever a bit uncomfortable, or frequently pulling your skirt down in public, without a word he'll take his jacket off and wrap it around your shoulders. It's chivalry you'll willingly accept.

He teases you, of course. “Another skirt today? Trying to distract me from my naps?” But he’s a fan, even if he pretends not to be. When you wear something especially cute, he’ll tug you onto the bed and bury his face in your lap, mumbling, “Comfy and pretty. Nice.” He’s the one who’ll idly play with the hem while the two of you lounge together, eyes half-lidded, watching you from under long lashes. He likes how you express yourself, even if he pretends he’s too sleepy to care. He enjoys watching you move around the house, your skirts flowing with your every motion. If you catch him looking, he’ll roll his eyes, but there’s a flicker of admiration in his gaze. If he ever feels jealous or protective, he’ll only show it in the most passive-aggressive way, something like, “You really should change out of that before someone else starts staring, don’t you think?” But when he says it, you know it's his form of caring.

[chockmatsu]

"static" by flavor foley is about osomatsu-kun/san.

i've been completely obsessed with this song in the last week. just gonna copy and paste this huge comment i wrote about it. ALSO SORRY IF SOMEONE HAS ALREADY WRITTEN ABOUT THIS LOL i know the song's been out a whole month already

i was taken aback by some japanese comments that i initially wrote off as crackpot conspiracy headcanons theorizing this song/mv (absolute banger btw i'm obsessed) is subtly about osomatsu-san/kun. which as the certified yumejoshi CEO of karamatsu brainrot even i thought was reaching, like no way. and then i rewatched this with the japanese captions on and holy shit. THIS ABSOLUTELY IS 100% REFERENCING OSOMATSU-KUN/SAN, the kid's anime from the 60s (and 80s) about 6 mischievous identical kid brothers that got rebooted in 2016 except now they had grown up and are completely washed adult jobless virgin losers living with their parents. IT WAS POSTED ON THEIR BIRTHDAY FOR A REASON I GUESS. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU SHITTY NEETS you got an incredible earworm of a vocaloid song

here's the list of observations i put together, mostly from the japanese comment thread started by @夏山蜜柑 that when viewed altogether can't be a coincidence.

japanese captions "glitching" to spell out the names of all 6 of the matsuno brothers: oso, kara, choro, ichi, jyushi, todo. it's so deliberate that they're even bolded and italicized lmfao. "don't be scared", or OSOranaide, becoming 恐れないで, "wired in the the CRT"/buraunkan ni KARAmatta ego -> ブラウン管に絡まったエゴ, "never seems to take it slow"/CHOROchoro to sewashiku -> ちょろちょろとせわしく (which is particularly noteworthy because it should normally be written in katakana, which is also how choromatsu's name is spelled, but they deliberately glitched FROM katakana to hiragana), "in studio seats"/ICHI ni tsuitara -> 位置についたら, "out-manic"/JYUSHou no soujou -> 重症な躁状, and "we'll stay another day"/mou ichinichi TODOmaruyo -> もう一日留まるよ. these are the ONLY characters that get glitched. and most of them are not even standalone nouns just chunks of kana that in and of themselves don't have meaning… outside of osomatsu san that is!!!!! already pretty damning evidence. BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE

the background colors in the chorus literally cycle through the 6 matsuno bros colors. IN THE CORRECT ORDER. red, cyan (blue), green, indigo (purple), yellow, pink. it'd be one thing if it was just the colors, but it being in the correct order is too coincidental

ricedeity from flavor foley, literally the composer and lyricist of the song AND the animator of the video, IS A KNOWN OSOMATSU SAN FAN (i know what you are….. /pos). they have re-animated MULTIPLE osomatsusan skits crossed over with vocaloid over the years, so yeah i could definitely see them doing this

the visual style fits the original 60s/80s children show osomatsu-kun closely, same eras (we get both b/w and 80s era color). also miku's outfit literally looks like the classic osomatsu-kun suit jackets down to the same big bowtie and big buttons. there's also a moment (2:28) where miku is drawn as a full grown adult in a more detailed style. a dichotomy just like the matsu blobs vs their F6 bishounen bodies.

the recurring phrase "this is how it should be", or "これでいいのだ", is a VERY iconic catchphrase from bakabon, a different series by the same author of osomatsu-kun, and there was a lot of crossover. when i say it's iconic i mean it's like the showa era equivalent of homer simpson's "d'oh" lol. tbh even when i first listened to static i noticed this repetition and made the connection to bakabon too even without the japanese captions, but i just thought it was a funny coincidence. boy do i look like an idiot now! lmao

miku splits into 6 in the chorus. sextuplets. it'd be a complete coincidence if it weren't for everything else

the overall theme, story, and message of the song, of miku being desperate to keep you watching, parallels the pilot plot of osomatsu-san (the 2016 reboot) really closely, in which the 6 bros as kids from the black and white showa era osomatsu-kun anime are like "wait we got rebooted? it's 2016? what the hell do we do to keep people watching??? we'll do ANYTHING to keep people watching us on TV! (including violate a lot. i mean a lot of franchise copyrights. to the point where they had to remove the episode from the blu ray release and pretend it never existed)". this desperation to do anything to keep viewers watching is a concept so built in to the show that they run it back as the season 2 first episode too lmao.

like i mentioned at the top, this was posted on the matsunos' birthday, may 24th

hell. there's probably even more that i missed. all of this is to say holy moly. what an incredible song and incredible tribute, and i bet most of the 11 million views didn't even think about this, at least not the english ones. i mean hell even with constant deep karamatsu brainrot that i have i didn't fully make the connection until i read the comments from jp viewers, they did get lots of hints though haha. but man, as if i couldn't love this song any more, now i find out it's all deeply entwined with ososan…. it's just so peak 😭 i desperately need to re-animate this as osomatsu-kun/san… i need to so bad……. FUCK IT'S JUST SO GENIUS! RICE! YOU'RE A GENIUS!!!!!!

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

that's the end of the comment i wrote on youtube (gimme thumbsy uppies btw pls or i'll cry). but seriously....

I'M DEFINITELY GONNA DO THIS ONCE I... once i have time... i just... i just need to move first... and do the work... and all the big events i have to run and trips in august... OUGH!!!! OUGH!!!!!!

PLEASE IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE MY MATSU BRAINROT STRUCK ME LIKE THIS! I NEED TO CREATE!! I NEED TO DO THIS BEFORE SOMEONE BEATS ME TO IT!!!!!! RAHHHHHHHHH

[bobbiereynolds]

Thunderbolts Preference: Finding Our You're Manic

Requested: ENNAAA THUNDERBOLTS ERA….. to kick it off (loved the other ones btw) could i request some preferences with the whole gang + reader struggling w/ mania?? wondering how they’d react, esp bob (yk because of sentry and all that..)bonus points if you can cram in some slips of mania/depression lapses 🤭 you always write them so beautifully i hope you like my vision ✨ - @vantasxstrider

A/N: Yesssssssssss!!!!!! Yes, yes, yes!!!! Omg ok I want to preface this with ya gurl only gets hypomanic, and mine looks/feels very different from the people in my family, so some stuff might be a lil odd lol but I'm also using my understanding/knowledge of full blown mania as well! Also! Here is a good overview for anyone curious about Bipolar Disorder 💕 I hope you like it my dude!!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Bucky is one of the first people to notice the change in you. Not just psychical (dilated pupils, fast talking, pacing and fidgeting more, telling him about your new ideas and plans for the future), but also mental. You had been depressed for a while and he hoped you were getting better, that it was finally going away. Slowly you started getting out of bed more, training with your teammates, attending meetings, etc. What he did not anticipate was that it would swing the other way and you'd become manic. You haven't slept in a few days and you're not the slightest bit tired. You have all these ideas and racing thoughts. He brings up the topic lightly, knowing you don't always recognize the symptoms until someone else points them out. He doesn't want you to be alone, so he stays up with you and makes sure you're doing everything you can to keep this in control.

Alexei is the last person to realize you're manic. He thinks you're just happier, more energetic, that you must've slept really well because you're so much more alive all of a sudden. You want to train with him and explore New York and watch every movie you've written down that includes some obscure actor you've never heard of and redecorate your room and talk to Valentina about the new designs you've made for your suit and, and, and. . . It isn't until Ava and Bucky, the "adults" of the team, tell him to keep an eye on you. He doesn't want to ask, he doesn't want to ruin the fun you're having, but it doesn't last forever. You're not having fun anymore. Your thoughts are so loud and they don't stop. It's constant, like bees buzzing, and though you try to focus, you can't. It's been days since you slept and Alexei's getting worried. That's when he takes their advice. He doesn't want you to hurt the way you are, he just wants you to be okay.

Yelena doesn't put it together at first. When you're manic, you get so paranoid. People watching you, stalking you, the whole world is out to get you. Little things too, like the dark, under the bed, in the closet. You know it's silly to be afraid of something, or someone, under your bed, but you ask her to check anyways. You can't get the idea out of your head and end up leaving your room all together. She asks how long it's been since you've slept and you admit it's been a while. Your room is too dark and you're too afraid to look out the windows. Someone could be watching you. She offers her room, saying she's checked and there is no one in there, no cameras, nothing. She stays up late to talk about other things you've been feeling. Your skin won't stop crawling no matter how many showers you take and your thoughts are racing. You have no appetite and, to cope, you've been drinking more than usual. She wants to help you, to make you feel better, so she reads up on how to help, what to do. In the meantime, she makes sure you rest, even if it's in her bed, and urges you to stop drinking, to take your meds instead.

Ava, like Bucky, is one of the first to notice you're manic. It's subtle things that give it away, things you don't recognize until she points it out to you. Talking faster, feeling energized by little sleep, spending hours in the training gym, eating less, etc. She never wants you to feel like you're some basket case they put up with and have to monitor. You're their friend, their teammate, before anything else. Ava hates that she has to ask this, but she wants to know if you've been taking your meds. You haven't. You stopped. You feel great, better than great, so you don't need them anymore. That is not what she wants to hear. No matter what you think or how you're feeling, you need to stay on them. She tells you this in a firm, but kind way, wanting you to know how important this is. Together you'd come up with a crisis plan on what to do if you ever went through an episode again. She sticks to it no matter how insistent you are that you don't need it. It's going to get worse before it gets better.

John is not the first person you would go to in this situation, but he's the only one up at three in the morning and you need someone to check in your bathroom if there are cameras. You swear you can see the little red dots that means they're on, that you can hear the small whirring of the cameras zooming in, but you also know, with Ava and Buckys help, that you're manic and it might not be real. Because they spoke to him beforehand, he doesn't come up with the jokes and quips he usually would. Instead he follows you to your room and checks the bathroom, genuinely looking around where you said they were and tells you there's nothing to worry about. he doesn't always understand what you and Bob go through, but he knows he could be better about in general. it is something that can take control and you are genuinely scared of someone watching you. If he can help in any way, he will. John offers to sit outside your bathroom door while you shower so you're not alone and, oddly, the idea brings you a lot of comfort. He never makes a big deal about him helping, it's the least he can do.

Bob understands 10000%. He hates that you're going through this, that you end up hurting yourself or others because your mind is too loud and your skin won't stop crawling and the world is brighter. You end up drinking more than you normally do to try to sleep, to calm your nerves, and that doesn't sit right with him. He cuts you off completely, knowing it's a slippery slope. He feels like he can do that, whereas the others might not, because he understands so well and because he can tell you stories of when he was in active addiction that he doesn't want you to repeat yourself. he stays up with you when you can't sleep, but does want you to lay down and at least rest. He talks to you when you're on your fifth shower of the day because it's the only thing that calms your skin, trying to make you laugh when the water burns. He's there for you in the highs and he'll be there for you when you crash and the depression comes back full force. You're grateful for one another. You don't have to explain anything to one another, you just get it.

[callme-holly]

Can I request 2 things? Maybe the gang with a S/O who just LOVES kissing them, touching them, just very physically affectionate. Second is the gang with a more curvy/full figured S/O who's shy about how they look in a dress, certain shirt or pants, ect.

Love your work btw :)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚/𝐧: i'll edit this tmr y'all i swear but im half asleep

Darry Curtis:

Darry notices immediately if you’re hesitant to wear something and will always step in with quiet reassurances. He’ll step up behind you in the mirror, placing his hands on your hips and resting his chin on your shoulder, mumbling about how perfect you are. He won’t leave any room for argument, and the way he looks at you when you’re dressed up speaks volumes. If you’re struggling with a specific item of clothing, he’ll help you adjust it, fixing a strap or straightening out the fabric with warm, steady hands.  “You don’t need to hide anything. You’re perfect.” 

Sodapop Curtis:

Soda is your biggest hype man. If he sees you looking even slightly uncomfortable with what you’re wearing, he’s showering you with compliments. He loves you in anything and everything, and if anyone even thinks about judging you, they’re receiving a sharp comment from him that could shut anyone down in a heartbeat.  “Baby, you could wear a potato sack and still look better than anyone else in Tulsa.” 

Ponyboy Curtis:

Pony isn’t the most outspoken person when it comes to giving compliments and can get a little flustered, but when it comes to you doubting yourself, He’s very quick to step in. He’ll notice the details you might dislike and point them out in the most endearing way possible.  If you’re feeling shy, he’ll gently encourage you, giving you sweet little compliments but not pushing you to wear something you’re not comfy in.  “That colour really brings out your eyes… It suits you.”

Johnny Cade:

Johnny is the most understanding of your shyness and can sometimes be a little insecure himself, so he knows how to handle your emotions very well. If he sees you looking unsettled, he’ll feed you quiet little compliments like there’s no tomorrow, telling you how amazing you look and redirecting your focus onto the positives of the outfit. When you catch him watching you with an awestruck expression, you can’t help but believe him when he says you’re perfect. “I think you look good. Honest.”

Dallas Winston:

Dally is never the type to sugarcoat things, but if he sees you doubting yourself, his whole demeanour changes, and he softens just a little. He hates seeing you putting yourself down, especially when he loves everything about your appearance and gets mildly frustrated when you put yourself down. He’s always showing you off to the point where you can’t help but feel confident in yourself, and he will go out of his way to make sure you know how good you look. “You’re killin’ me, doll. You look good. Really good.”

Steve Randle:

Steve is very blunt and unapologetic with his compliments. He will say it how it is, and he thinks you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever laid eyes on. If he thinks you look good in something, he’ll say it loud and proud. If you’re feeling insecure, he’ll drag you over to a mirror and will point out every little thing he loves about your appearance, making sure not to miss out on a single thing.  “You’re with me, babe. I want everyone to see just how lucky I am.”

Two-Bit Mathews:

Two is all about making you laugh and making you feel good about yourself. If you’re feeling shy about your outfit, he’s very open with his opinion, keeping the mood light-hearted. He’s surprisingly sincere when it counts, and if he catches you doubting yourself, he’ll come up behind you and show you everything that stands out about the outfit and why it’s so perfect on you. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re stunning, and anyone who says otherwise is blind.”

[yuukskillsworld]

Ronin w a nerdy and/or geeky (i don’t know the difference between them, sorry—) reader, who somehow turns everything into a reference? I feel like he’d start picking up on the jokes lol

Love ur writing btw !!!

"Reference Point" - Ronin x Nerdy!Reader

Shoutout to the absolute legend who requested this—Ronin falling for a reference-making nerd? Obsessed. Hope you enjoy, sweetie.<3

Genre: Fluff with some romantic tension

Word count: ~1,200

written by yuukskillsworld<3

WARNINGS: Mild suggestive humor, canon-typical mentions of violence (very subtle, no action or gore), swearing (mild — e.g., “hell”), Ronin being dangerously charming (yes, that counts)

Ronin wasn’t a man of many words—he didn’t need to be. Silence suited him better. It was useful, threatening when it needed to be, and seductive when he wanted it to be. Most people were unnerved by it.

Not you.

“Did you just Batman your way in here again?” you asked, barely looking up from your manga. “You’re like... one smoke bomb away from a full Gotham entrance.”

He leaned against the doorframe of your cluttered safehouse room, arms crossed over his chest. The flickering neon light from your anime posters painted pink and green lines over his scarred jaw. “If I knew what the hell that meant, Darlin’, maybe I’d be flattered.”

You grinned and tossed the volume aside. “I’ll take that as permission to explain. Batman. The guy who just appears and vanishes. Broody. Wears black. Daddy issues.”

Ronin chuckled, low and almost fond. “That you callin’ me broody?”

“I'm calling you a whole Christopher Nolan trilogy.”

He didn’t respond right away—just stepped in, slow like the air itself bent around him. You didn’t flinch when he reached out and plucked a Captain Levi keychain off your desk. Spun it between two fingers. His eyes narrowed. “This one reminds me of you. All short, snappy, and full of attitude.”

“Oh my God,” you gasped. “You know who Levi is.”

He gave a smug little shrug. “Picked it up. You don’t shut up about ‘em.”

You blinked. “...You listen?”

“I remember what matters.” He leaned in slightly. “And you always talk about the things you love like you’d die for ‘em. Gets my attention.”

Your heart stuttered. He was too good at that—getting under your skin without even trying. So you covered it with sarcasm, like always. “So what, next thing I know, you’ll be quoting Lord of the Rings mid-fight?”

“If I do, I expect a kiss for effort.”

“Ronin!”

“What?” he laughed. “Seems fair. I dive through blades for you and mutter somethin’ about walkin’ into Mordor—boom. Kiss.”

“You are Mordor,” you mumbled, turning away to hide the flush.

He stepped closer. Too close. “Then does that make you the hobbit, Darlin’? Always talkin’, stubborn as hell, and somehow surviving stuff you shouldn’t?”

You gave a lopsided smile. “You have been paying attention.”

“Told you. Couldn’t ignore you if I tried.” His voice dropped, silk and smoke. “You make the world louder, brighter. Hell, half the time I don’t know what you’re referencing, but I still find myself smilin’.”

Silence stretched between you, warm and almost fragile.

“...You gonna kiss me now or what?” he asked, eyes sharp but lips tilted.

You grinned, stepping up till your nose almost bumped his. “Only if you say ‘this is the way.’”

His groan was half-laugh, half-exasperated, but he leaned down anyway.

“This is the way, Darlin’.”

Thanks for the killer idea, sweet thing. Ronin approves—and so do I.

I hope that I fulfilled your request, dear! <3

Credits:

-> dividers: @dollywons

-> photo: Pinterest