#but like......even when it's not boring it's still kind of. bland

[scorndotexe]

midnight mass should have been weirder and bolder and it would have been better for it

[lesbianyosano]

i will never be able to draw dazai the way i actually think he looks like not bc of lack of skill but bc it’d be sooo boring

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time He Sabotaged My Date”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: yandere(ish)!Sukuna, fluff but he’s kinda very toxic, stalking, fem implied reader (wearing a dress and heels), brief mention of a bomb (there aren’t any bombs present), narration is from Sukuna’s POV

Word Count: 1.78k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Whoever decided this dingy shithole is a decent place to take you on a date should be fucking shot.

Maybe it was wrong of Sukuna to eavesdrop on your private conversation this morning, but in his defense you were talking on the phone loud as hell in the middle of the living room. Should’ve been quieter when you were telling your friend about the date you had planned for tonight.

And maybe it’s weird that Sukuna secretly followed you here to keep an eye on you, but it’s not like he has nefarious intentions. He’s heard of this place and one, it’s fucking gross, and two, it’s got one hell of a reputation to say the least. Definitely the kind of place for someone to get murdered, he’s just watching out for your safety!

Oh christs sake, who is he fooling? No, he followed you here because he’ll be damned if you get a boyfriend.

He feels like a creep, sitting at the bar behind your table in a black hoodie and an old baseball cap, eyes fixed on the back of your head. The guy sitting across from you is so bland, yet for some reason you’re still giggling and twirling your hair around your finger as if you don’t know that you can do so much better.

There was no need for you to doll yourself up for this fuckin’ loser; you’ve got on a pretty red dress and stiletto heels, probably anticipating him to take you somewhere nice, decent, at least. But he brought you to some run down shithole restaurant that hasn’t been renovated since the 70’s and is definitely bearing several health code violations. It’s honestly embarrassing, Sukuna would take you somewhere so much nicer than this, he knows what you deserve.

He’s been sitting at the bar sipping on his drink for the last half hour, watching the way you prop your elbow onto the table, cross your legs in your seat, tap your heel against the leg of your chair, listening to you laugh and chat about your job. Meanwhile, mister nobody in front of you is chewing with his mouth open like some kind of ape, not realizing how much of a privilege he has by being able to treat you to dinner. Un-fucking-believable.

Finally the moment he’s been waiting for happens. Bland And Boring stands up from his seat and leaves you at the table to go use the restroom, so now it’s time for Sukuna to get this fool away from you. His eyes follow the man as he walks past the bar, not even trying to be discreet. He gives Sukuna a quick glance and nods his head politely, making his way towards the bathrooms near the front of the restaurant.

There’s no time to waste.

Sukuna stands from his seat at the bar, trailing behind your date and following him into the bathroom. As the door clicks shut behind him he realizes that it’s just the two of them. Perfect, no interruptions.

He walks up behind the man, watching him through the large mirror above the sinks. Now that he’s up close he can really see how pathetic this guy is, nervously looking up towards Sukuna as he absolutely towers above him, his stature menacing and the look in his eyes bordering on deadly.

“D-do you need some-”

“You should leave.” Your date jumps at the sound of Sukuna’s voice; dark, deep, and serious.

“Um… why?” His eyes flicker around the room, definitely praying to whatever god he believes in to come save him.

Sukuna is surprised he isn’t immediately obeying. Has he grown soft? Surely not, this guy just needs a little extra push.

So Sukuna says the first thing that comes into mind.

“I have a bomb.”

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but god damn does it do the trick. The guy looks like he’s about to fucking piss himself, eyes widening in terror as he quickly nods his head and runs out of the restaurant.

Sukuna keeps a keen eye on him through the windows, watching him nearly leap into his car and hearing the tires screech as he speeds out of the parking lot. It seems you also had an eye on your date, your jaw nearly dropping to the floor as you assumed that he just ditched you with the bill.

Now’s his time to shine.

He stuffs his hat into the front pocket of his hoodie and strides up behind you to your table, bending down to be eye level with you in the booth and putting on his best mildly surprised and kind of amused expression, “Well look at that.”

“Ugh, god.” You bury your face into your hands, “And here I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.”

He can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. It is his fault you’re in this situation, but I mean come on, that guy was no good for you anyway. “You sample the whole fuckin’ menu or something?”

You groan and roll your eyes, perfect, you took the bait, “I just got dine and dashed, asshole.”

Sukuna lets out a laugh as he flops down into the seat across from you, god if only you knew. A man would have to be a real idiot to stand you up, but he has to try and keep his act together, “Yeah? Guys are fuckin’ assholes, surprise.”

The pout on your face is too sweet, makes it hard for him to really feel bad, “I was really liking him too.”

Oh, he definitely doesn’t feel bad now. He pulls his card out of his wallet as the waitress approaches the table, handing it off to her nonchalantly as he continues the conversation, “Don’t know why you bother going on dates with these guys.”

You try to interject the waitress but she walks away before you can stop her, a defeated frown pulling down your lips, “What are you doing here anyway?”

He plops his elbow onto the table, shrugging his shoulders casually, “What? Am I not allowed to go to my favorite shitty restaurant?”

You perk up slightly, “Right? I saw a roach on the way in, I can’t believe he recommended this place.”

The waitress comes back and hands Sukuna his card, he quickly scribbles his signature on the receipt and stands from his seat at the booth, “Let’s get you out of here before you get ringworm or some shit, nasty fuckin’ place.”

Finally a smile creeps onto your face, lighting up the dreary atmosphere. You adjust your dress as you stand up and he can’t help but smirk at how good you look all dolled up, dark red dress hugging your figure as if you wore it for him. He leads you out of the restaurant, making sure to hold the door open for you since he noticed that your loser date let it slam in your face on your way in.

Droplets of rain were starting to sprinkle down, which is pretty unlucky considering it’s a ten minute walk back to the apartment. But that’s not a problem for Sukuna, if anything it’s a perfect opportunity. He catches the frown curling down your pouty lips as you fix your fingers through your nicely styled hair, probably trying to keep it from getting messed up, and without missing a beat he pulls his hoodie off, sliding it over your head and down your arms.

“I’m sure you spent hours dolling yourself up, would hate to ruin it.” His voice is smooth as butter, leaning down to eye level with you as he adjusts the hood to make sure your hair is covered.

A blush creeps onto your face, mumbling a quiet “Thank you” as you pull your arms through the sleeves. It honestly looks like you’re drowning in his massive hoodie, the sleeves too long for your arms that your fingers can’t even peek out and the hem at the bottom falling at your upper thighs.

Sukuna thought you looked good in that red dress, but god damn you look heavenly wearing his clothes. Why didn’t he do this sooner?

You both start to walk down the sidewalk to the apartment, the evening is quiet save for the muffled sounds of music and chatter coming from the bars and restaurants that you pass by. You’re walking right up against his side, your arm occasionally brushing against his and he can’t help but wonder if you’re getting closer on purpose.

Sukuna breaks the peaceful silence, “So was the food good at least?”

You look up towards him quizzically, squinting your eyes in a way that’s too fucking cute for him to handle, “Shouldn’t you be the expert?”

“Why t’fuck would I know? Never been there.”

“I thought that was your favorite shitty restaurant?”

Oops.

He got way too distracted looking into your pretty eyes. Lucky for him, he didn’t need to come up with an excuse to cover him because a loud snap rings through the air as you stumble forward. His arm quickly wraps around your waist to steady you before you can fall, holding you flush against him.

You look down at your feet and let out a loud groan of frustration, “Fucks sake, really?” You lift your foot up to inspect your shoe, your stiletto heel barely dangling by a thread as it snapped off from the sole.

Sukuna didn’t mean to laugh, but there was no containing it. You look up at him with an adorable angry face, cheeks burning red as you curse him out and it only makes him smile more. You’re just too damn cute when you’re pissed off.

“It’s not funny! These were expensive!”

“Yeah yeah, c’mere.” His arm stays wrapped around your waist as he leans down and hooks his other arm behind your knees, lifting you off the ground with ease as you squeal in surprise and wrap your arms around his neck to cling onto him.

Now he could bet that other guy wouldn’t do this for you, not just was he scrawny as all hell but he wouldn’t be nearly enough of a gentleman. Your arms tighten around the back of Sukuna’s neck as he starts walking to the apartment again, your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder as you slowly relax into his hold. He’s actually liking this a lot, silently considering purposely taking a wrong turn on the way home so he can hold you longer.

Hopefully after this you’ll stop going on stupid dates with worthless men, you’ve already got everything you could ever want right at home after all. Soon enough you’ll realize that you don’t need anyone but him.

A/N: This was SO FUN to write!! I love him he’s such an asshole askakksksk, I rlly liked the idea of doing a light hearted yandere part (even tho NOBODY asked for this skaksksk) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

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[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 7 ] || [ Chapter 9 ]

Pairing: Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.1K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: ghost is making a move.

Chapter 8: Awooga?

Surprisingly, your one-night stand with John last night did wonders for you. You felt energized all day and made it a point to clean everything instead of moping about like you have tended to do since your break-up with Ethan.

There were days when you considered texting him, neck deep in feelings you couldn’t quite move past, trying your best to stay afloat. Four years by his side couldn’t be forgotten in the blink of an eye, even if neither of you wanted anything to do with the other and had each other blocked on every platform imaginable.

It’s 4 P.M. on Saturday and you’re laying about in your living room wearing lounge clothes, your legs spread over your coffee table, eyes lazily locked on the TV as you fiddle with your phone, twirling it in your hand.

Eventually, you find yourself getting bored… So you decide to open Tinder one last time. You got what you wanted out of it. John scratched that itch… There’s no need to keep it. But it’s still funny enough to judge the men on that app even if you’re no longer doing anything with them.

You start Left Swiping on every profile that comes onto your screen, silently judging each one and murmuring to yourself. You get about 15 profiles in before you find yourself bored of even that.

Sighing and getting peckish, you decide to order yourself something good for dinner from a delivery app. Then, while waiting for the notification that your driver is on his way, you return to Tinder.

You open the DM tab, finding dozens of new DMs from guys and skim through them, none of them catching your eye. If you were in the mood, you’d maybe engage in convo with one of them, maybe annoy them a little… But they all seem so… bland.

Then you find Simon’s chat lost in the influx. You click on it for a moment, smiling a bit as you spot his politeness and excess professionalism for someone that’s on a dating app looking to get laid.

Biting your lip, your fingers glide across the keyboard as you shoot him a quick message.

you: so… are you thinking of ever uploading a new pic of yourself?

The Read indicator popped up under your DM almos instantly, and the bubbles indicating Simon was typing soon followed.

Simon: Look who it is. Simon: Hello to you too. Simon: No, I don’t intend to do that. you: hi, sorry. x you: why not? Simon: I don’t take this app seriously enough to want to show off what I look like. you: was that a dig at me for having a whole gallery? Simon: No. Simon: Unless you want it to be. 😉 you: 😱😱 you: SIMON DID YOU JUST USE AN EMOJI? Simon: I regret doing it now. you: NOOOO pls don’t! you: it was fun!!!! Simon: Alright then. Simon: How are you feeling today?

You’re genuinely shocked by his question and you find yourself smiling a bit.

you: i’m okay hru? Simon: Just okay? I’m fine thanks. you: yeah! feeling lazy. Simon: You had me worried you weren’t feeling well after last night.

Your cheeks warm up so quickly that you even sputter and sit up on the couch with a start.

you: you know?? Simon: Of course I know. Simon: John’s my captain.  you: he told you??????? Simon: No. John’s old school. No kiss and tell. Simon: But we were all expecting he’d go home with you. Simon: Kind of an open secret. you: oh Simon: Does that bother you? you: i don’t think so? you: i guess i should’ve expected you would realize it Simon: I’m sorry. Simon: To be fair, I can tell you that you did a great job, he’s in a much better mood. you: that is not the praise you think it is 😭 Simon: I’m not used to giving praise, cut me some slack alright? you: right. i can see that. you: the whole - my team would say i push them - thing Simon: I stand by that. Simon: I’m not very good at talking. Simon: But I’m not a liar. you: i’ve noticed you: you tend to hate being called that. Simon: Lie enough on the job. Simon: When I’m talking to people outside of that, I like being as honest as I can be. you: i see you: sooo does that mean i can ask you things and you’ll be honest in the answers? Simon: About? you: you Simon: Within reason. you: what do you look like Simon: 6ft4, blonde, brown eyes. you: that’s it? Simon: I said ‘Within reason’. That means I won’t give you more than I think I should. you: infuriating 😤 Simon: That’s life.

Just as you’re about to answer, your doorbell rings. You were so absorbed in Simon’s chat that you didn’t notice your delivery driver arrived.

You slip on some shoes quickly and dash downstairs to the front door of the building to receive your food.

Once upstairs, you set your food on the table and unwrap everything, beginning to eat your Nando’s chicken as you try to resume texting Simon one-handed.

That’s when you spot the message he sent you while you were busy.

Simon: Added some new pics. Simon: Don’t say I never did anything for you. Simon: But I’ll take them down in 2 minutes so you better hurry up.

Eyebrows raised, you quickly click on his profile and rush to tap through to the new pictures.

The first one makes you chuckle. Of course, it’s him wearing a hoodie and a stupid mask… But the second one? Your jaw drops open and you find yourself swallowing dryly.

“Awooga…” You quip to yourself and giggle, amused at your own silliness as your eyes trail over every inch of exposed skin in Simon’s chest. Even if that’s not him, even if that’s just some… bloke he found online, it’s still a bloody fine picture.

Returning to the chat, you type a quick reply.

you: not bad Simon: Answered your questions? you: raised a couple more. Simon: Good. Simon: You keep them in your mind for later. you: why does it feel like you’re leaving?? Simon: Because I am. Duty calls. Simon: I’ll tell John you said 'Hi'. you: okay... you: be careful!

As soon as you sent that message you found yourself facepalming. Why do you sound like a concerned partner? You don’t even know this man. Any of them really. Even if you had one of them inside of you less than 24 hours ago.

You don't dwell too much on it because soon there's a message from Simon on the screen.

Simon: Always am. Don’t miss us too much.

Shaking your head, you set down your phone, locking the screen, and turning back to your peri-peri chicken and chips, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation.

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

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[helenazbmrskai]

Mating Act (m)

Title [Mating Act]

Pairing [Alien! Yoongi x Human Slave! Reader]

Genre [Alien AU, Sci-fi, Smut, Angst, Fluff]

Summary [You make two choices that change your life entirely. First, you make a choice when you decide to save a family and get kidnapped instead of them, the second you make is when you force imprinting on an alien that takes one wife in his life which you decide will be only you.]

Words [5,2k]

Warnings [General warnings: slavery, bad treatment, dystopia setting, human trafficking, Sexual content: playful neck grabbing, teasing, sexual tension, first-time sex, dirty talk, manhandling, mention of human and wife a lot, alien anatomy (black ink, coldness and a very hard, big and cold dick also magic saliva), fingering, oral (f and m), unprotected sex, belly bulge, size kink, positions (cock riding, doggy, missionary), y/n cries that is how good she feels, overstimulation, buckets of cum, creampie(s), begging, blow job, possessive alien yoongi]

Rating [+18]

A/N: I’m very excited to share this with you guys since I think this would be a great successor to my previous work that many of you liked called “Mating Season” It’s kind of the same but entirely different. This story is in the same universe but it takes place before mating season!

Masterlist //

Your scrunched eyes open slowly, first, you only see a blinding light your ears focus on the cracking sound of neon. It’s cold and you’re not wearing enough clothes for the cool temperature. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and then you can fixate on your surroundings, it’s outdoors and midday as you see the sun going up high in the purplish blue sky.

It seemed that by the time you were unconscious, you arrived at the slave trading planet. The light grey iron bars are cold to the touch and it’s extremely noisy out there. Different species roam the cells it might be hundreds if not thousands of cells lined up for sale, and you’re one of them: a rare find, a human.

Your introduction is displayed for the buyers in numerous languages. There are a few that you speak so you can read it with ease: female human, breedable, young. You hate how the aliens size you up some even get threateningly close until you back up. They openly talk about you thinking that you can’t understand a single thing. Humans are stupid and weak. You’re a race that is almost at extinction. Only a few of you are left and your life expectancy is around eighty years old, it’s short compared to others but all too long for you humans. You managed to survive this long which is a miracle on its own. How pathetic of you to get caught in international body trafficking because you decided to save someone. At least you hope that the family you tried to protect is safe somewhere else you don’t have anything left to protect so you accept your faith.

Deep in your thoughts, you thought you lost all faith in survival. You don’t have anything to go back to but you’re still unable to give up.

You still don’t want to die.

Your defiant gaze meets with a young male. Shorter than his friends he has bland black hair with the same eyes that almost look human. You know that he’s not one of your own though he speaks a different language with his friends and has weird marking on his skin that looks exotic in your eyes.

“Do you like her?” A man next to him stops to read your description. They almost look sorry for you as they see you behind the cell.

“No.” Black hair says without giving it a second. His eyes bore into yours and when he decides to stop looking at you you make a second split decision. You’re going to choose him. Your hands grip the bars as you get as close to him as you can. It’s been a long time since you used that language but you have to try.

“Take me.” They can clearly understand your words, you speak their language. You point at the black-haired man.

“Oh, it seems to like you Yoongi.” A friendly voice slaps him on the shoulders. They talk animatedly among each other finding you intriguing. Books say that the human race is stupid and weak but you look none of those things. His friends encourage Yoongi to get closer to you and for once you don’t step back as he approaches after a little push in your direction. His hands grab onto the bars before he can regain his posture and you use that opportunity to put your hands on his. His hand is cold to the touch the cold blue veins on his hands are in contrast to his pale white skin.

“Yoongi.” You call out the word you heard them say that you think might be his name.

“We’re running out of time. Let’s take her and leave.” A man speaks up his eyes fixated on the holo panel that shows the time and some kind of message. He has some weird-looking glass in his eyes, you think he might be the captain of the ship. You’ve seen that type of accessory somewhere before.

“I didn’t say I will buy it.” Yoongi pulls his hand away like you dirtied him. You rack your brain on how to make him take you with him. Black hair and black eyes, cool skin and vine-like black ink make you think of a race. You loved to read books this is how you taught yourself a few of those languages and you remember reading about his species once. This decision might take you closer to your end but it will be better than rotting in this place so you grab his clothes and smash your lips on his through the tiny gap between the bars.

A race that takes one wife in his lifetime. You’re going to bet on that.

Your tongue forcefully enters his mouth using his surprise against him to successfully imprint your taste on him. After his mind catches up he pushes you away so hard that you land on your butt. His eyes almost look feral as he watches you, he’s very angry but closes his eyes to push the feeling down.

“Get up.” You haul yourself up from the floor getting close to him despite his hard gaze on you. You don’t flinch when he grabs your hair and pulls you close so that your faces are inches away from each other.

“You want to come, then come.” It’s not a calm and collected sentence that he whispers so close to you. It sounds like a threat but you smile and nod. Even if he hates you he has an obligation to you. With that kiss you sealed your fate with his, you’re his. His one and only human wife for all eternity.

Your back collides with the wall behind you as soon as you see your kidnapper his torture that you had to endure is replaying in the forefront of your mind as he fiddles with the cell keys your hostility is not lost on the young men that wait for your release. Yoongi paid for you in digital cash don’t have more time to waste.

He intends to take you with him so he asks for the ownership process to be sped up.

The kidnapper yanks you out of the cell not caring about how you almost land on your face through the force he uses. Yoongi catches you easily lifting you in his arms. You forced him into accepting you but he still does his job of protecting you. His glare is not meant for you this time as he looks displeased by your idle treatment right in front of him. His big hands are curled around you in pretence protection. You must be crazy because you actually relax in his secure hold.

“Hi.” One of his friends gets your attention as he waves. He looks at you with curious eyes he seems like he has a lot of questions for you.

“Hello.” You reply in a hoarse voice. You don’t remember the last time you ate or drank something.

“What’s your name? I’m Hoseok.” He points at you and then at himself. It’s nice of him to talk slowly so you have time to interpret his words. No one else speaks to you as you go. Probably on their way to their ship since one of them implied some important business. Yoongi doesn’t look at you but his hands are firm around you.

“Y/N.”

“Your name is weird.” Hoseok slaps his friend but you don’t take it in the wrong way. Of course, for them, a human name will sound weird.

“You’re being rude Taehyung.” Hoseok scolds the other guy before he turns back to you swaying in Yoongi’s arms. “I think your name is pretty and you speak our language pretty well. How did you learn it? On Earth?”

You shake your head. If you think about your home planet your heart starts aching. “No. I taught myself reading books.”

Now his other friend looks interested in the conversation. The one who has that weird-looking glass.

“Fascinating, to find a smart human like you. I want to run some tests.” Hearing that crazy scientist talk again brings back bad memories as your face becomes uncomfortable and your relaxed figure goes rigid inside Yoongi’s arms. He could feel you tense up in fear and he reacted by holding you more firmly to his chest.

“You’re scaring her. Stop it.” This is the first thing he says after he bought you. Namjoon looks sheepish and apologises and even Hoseok reassures you that he’s just not good with words and you won’t be a lab rat at all.

You accept their apology. You think they mean well and are quite friendly to your utter surprise. They seem like good guys. You feel like it’s a good time to reveal some of your thoughts.

“Just because you read my description doesn’t mean you know anything about me. I wouldn’t reveal anything that would put me at a disadvantage. This is how I could survive until now.” The words taste sour in your mind and you think about all the things you had to do and endure just to be here. Was it worth it? This life. You have thought about it more times than you would have liked to admit.

“It must have been hard for you.” Hoseok shows you empathy and you give him a smile back in silent thanks.

“Why did you choose Yoongi?” A younger male looks at you with curious eyes. They don’t show it but this is the question they all were curious about all along. Even Yoongi perks up when he thinks you’re not looking.

“My instinct told me to trust him.” As for why, you don’t know either. You saw countless men and women walk in front of your cage but you only wanted him to buy you. The moment his eyes unknowingly lingered on you you decided to go with him. He must have felt something too. You saw him before he saw you. He never looked at anyone else but you. If you ask him he will probably deny it but you’re sure of it.

You probably looked desperate. Now that you replay your impulsive behaviour in your mind colour blooms on your cheeks in embarrassment. You learned how to kiss from a book it didn’t occur to you before but what if you were a bad kisser? You started spiralling until your surroundings faded and you locked yourself inside your head. You didn’t register when you arrived on board or when he carried you to his room.

You shiver when he puts you down on his bed. The temperature of his room is colder than you’re used to.

You panic when he tugs your clothes without a word. You grab his cold hands and look into his eyes with widened ones. He looks back at you with predatory. You once read that humans had a ceremony to be pronounced wife and husband. You never experienced it as a human but it sounded romantic.

Thinking back on what you read.

Yoongi is an alien. His species only takes one wife and their ritual is different from yours. The road to becoming his wife is simple enough.

“Look at you being surprised. As if you didn’t know what you did when you kissed me first.” You didn’t know, you just acted impulsively without thinking. You wanted to say that to him but only a gasp left your lips as he pushed you down on his large bed. He won’t listen to any of your pathetic excuses now.

“You forced my hands. Even if you don’t want it anymore you have no other choice but to be mine.” You gulp down the saliva that accumulated in your mouth, his fierce eyes pin you to the spot lying helplessly under him. His hand is so cold as he wraps it around your neck gently he can feel your heartbeat accelerate under his palm. He studies your features taking in every inch of you from head to toe. Committing everything about you to memory. Yoongi curls a few locks of your long hair around his fingers inhaling your scent his nose rubs against your pulse point. Your hands hold onto his waist digging your fingers onto his side but he doesn’t care about it as he kisses the skin on your neck.

You’re dirty and dishevelled in appearance your captor was not kind to his prisoners and you look like a shell of yourself after everything that you’ve been through. Your average beauty doesn’t matter to Yoongi. He’s going to take you regardless of how beautiful you look in other's eyes or not. The kiss already sealed your fate as his bride. Imprinting your taste on him means that he can’t escape you. While Yoongi wants to take you right then and there he realises that you need to be in a better shape to undertake the ritual. He did get a reaction rise out of you. So amusingly innocent.

“Take a shower, you reak.” You awkwardly look to the side unable to meet with his confident smirk. He likes to watch your face turn red. He pulls away from you and you take in a long-needed breath of fresh air. The coldness seeping back into your body makes you sober up and you scurry to his joined bathroom. Yoongi laughs as he sees you hide behind the door he makes sure you can operate the shower before he goes out to get some food for you. You don’t have any clothes to wear but you’re at least clean.

You find a clean cloth to wrap around your body in makeshift clothes it’s better than nothing as you need something to shield you from the cold.

Yoongi comes back before you can organize your thoughts. You could barely calm your heart as your mind kept replaying his soft lips on your neck and his body weight on you not to talk about those alluring black eyes. You could still see your reflection in them as you lock gazes. You look away when he puts the tray down in front of you full of food that you don’t know the name of. It’s not too bad once you take a bite but it’s bland the more you consume. It meets the purpose of filling you up as you no longer feel that gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach.

You jolt up when you feel his hand pull your wet hair to the other side making his way to your neck. He takes a long whiff of air finally smelling your natural scent that was previously masked by the dirt and sweat. He takes the opportunity to cover you in his scent rubbing his nose up and down your throat.

You can’t concentrate on eating anymore.

“Eat. You will need it.” As if he could read your mind he halts all movements simply deciding on laying his head on your shoulder. You pick up more food and try to ignore how his possessive touch engulfs your body in a backhug. You remember how angry he became once you forcibly kissed him he even pushed you hard enough to lose your footing. The way he accepted you is too sudden.

“Are you going to …” Unable to say the words you stop in the middle.

“Am I going to fuck you? Yes, I will.” You gulp.

“Don’t you hate me for kissing you?” You close your eyes when Yoongi wraps his fingers around your neck again this time with more force but gentle enough that you’re not choking on air he just pulls you against his chest holding you by the neck as his nose rubs against your left cheek.

“I am angry. You selfishly decided this on your own. I bet you don’t realise half of the mess you got yourself into. I don’t hate you though. There’s something about you that caught my eye.”

It’s only a small peck on your cheek but your hands tighten around the tray. You take in a much-needed breath when you realise he doesn’t hate you. It makes you feel better knowing that it’s not entirely your imagination. He did look at you.

“I admit I don’t know much.” You sheepishly reply confirming his words. You read some things about his species but there’s no proof that everything is accurate.

“It doesn’t matter as you will be mine anyway.” His hand pulls you close his fingers splayed over your stomach. You only have a thin cloth over your naked body while Yoongi is fully clothed.

“Put down the tray.” You follow his order bending down slightly to put the tray down onto the floor. You let out a surprised yelp when his hands find your ass under the thin material, your backside is on full display for his hungry eyes. Your fingers have a deadly grip on the edge of the bed as he kneads the soft flesh.

“Your smell comes strongly from here.” His thumb parts your folds some wetness is gathered there that sticks to his finger when he pulls back. “I read a few books about you too, enough to know that this means you like the idea of me fucking you.”

Yoongi hates how he can’t see you acting coy biting your lip so he forcibly pulls you back against his chest and pulls your face to the side. You land on his lap your legs dangling on either side of his thighs. He runs his finger up and down your wetness watching your expression turn hazy and your mouth open to let out a silent moan.

“You like this don’t you? Having your human pussy touched by me.” Yoongi finds your clit quickly finding out how your moans increase in volume when he rubs circles over it. You’re gushing over his fingers.

The black ink on his arms moves to stain your body with blackness until it circles over your thigh in two pretty hoops. Your body is getting overheated as his touches devour your body. Fingers dance around your folds, your hips. The black hoops around your ankles and thighs are a reminder of what you started. You’re going to become Yoongi’s and no one can stop that from happening.

Feeling overwhelmed you reach up to kiss him and he does with a growl. He doesn’t push you away like when you stole his first kiss. No. He pulls you closer turning you around until you’re chest to chest.

Your hand rests against his shoulders your fingernails digging into his skin as you feel one of his fingers enter you without warning. Yoongi swallows your sounds with his mouth pushing his finger in and out of your pussy until your essence is running down his wrist. He adds another one and another one stretching your walls as he devours your mouth your hips moving along without you noticing. Getting into the rhythm of riding his fingers. You need to pull back to get some air in between the kisses. His hungry expression manages to steal your last remaining string of sanity. The cloth around you barely covers you anymore and Yoongi goes to remove it and leave you entirely naked before him.

His attention goes to your perky nipples both hands grabbing a handful and pepper kisses around the mound.

So far he doesn’t look strange. Not that you have any experience of what you should see in a situation like this. You conclude that your newly formed tattoos are one of the few things that are specific to his race.

His tongue is cold it makes you shiver when he sucks on one of your nipples. He’s so cold but his coolness is welcomed by your feverish body.

“Lay down.” You do as he tells you. Eagerly and shamelessly open your legs and welcome him between them. This is really happening you realise when he takes off his clothes. His pale skin is pretty and cool against you. Even his cock lined with cold blue veins is pretty and cold when he rubs it between your folds. It’s big and hard like a rock against you. Yoongi can see how you tense up after seeing his size.

“It won’t hurt if you do as I tell you.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb kissing you surprisingly sweetly.

“O-okay.” You nod. You wanted this. You can’t back down now. This is your only chance to live a life without hardships. You’re going to take everything that he gives you.

“This will make it feel better.” Yoongi licks his finger and when it comes into contact with your clit you feel an overwhelming pleasure bloom inside you. His saliva is heightening your pleasure having some kind of chemical in it that helps you feel kind of high. It blocks the pain when his veiny head pushes through the tight rim of your muscle. You and Yoongi watch how his long cock disappears in you inch by inch. It doesn’t hurt at all as he keeps his thumb on your clit, only making you feel full.

“Too much.” You put your hand on your stomach and feel him sitting inside. He makes way no matter how much your body tries to constrict around the intrusion. He reaches your deepest part shaping you into his size.

“There. All in.” Yoongi chuckles when he sees you struggle. You want to stay still and move at the same time. It feels good and strange but too good. You want him to move but on the other hand, you need time to get accustomed to this fullness. Yoongi can see the outline of his cock bulge out of your tummy and he experimentally pushes against your skin. Your pussy pulse around him and get tighter as he massages your lower belly. “How does it feel my little human? Do you feel good?”

You nod kissing him back with passion as your tongues rub together. He continues his descent down your body kissing your neck and breasts. Filling your body with pretty black ink. You pulse and throb around him as he remains unmoving inside you. Not enough you roll your hips trying to show him you want him to move.

“Answer me. Does my cock make you feel good?” At first, he only pulls out a little before he thrusts back testing the waters before he pulls out more as he uses a steady pace to rock into you.

“Yes. Yes. So good please don’t stop. Fuck me harder.” Yoongi wonders how his wife learned how to say such dirty words in his language but he’s thankful for it as his cock appreciates the compliments. Just like you asked he fucks you harder hitting that spot inside you with more deep thrusts.

“Yoongi. Yoongi.” The way you moan his name spurs him on, grabbing your ankles he sinks the remaining inch inside you.

“Ah. Y/N.” He responds with your own name. Grabbing your hips he pumps his cock in and out of you at a fast pace until you can remember his shape. This is the first time he says your name and your walls constrict around him hearing him moaning it. He’s growing addicted to the feel of you. He can hear and smell and see you. The way your pussy swallows him in your tight and wet heat ruined every expectation he had before.

You feel way better than he imagined.

Your tits bounce with each thrust and your moans never cease to slip from your dry throat as he buries his shaft to the hilt.

“Yoongi, I feel weird.” You grab his hand need something to hold onto as you feel this weird tightness in your belly. Yoongi could sense you were almost there tripping over the edge of bliss you became tighter around him. You’re growing sensitive.

“I know. Hold onto me, my sweet wife.” You hold his hand as he twists it behind your back the position is uncomfortable but the minute his cock slips back inside your heat you forget about it as it reaches new places inside you. Your back is arched one hand is firmly holding you and the other is placed on your hips.

This position allows him to hit even deeper the tip of his cock curves around a spot that has you see stars. You’re panting with your face nearly suffocating against the bed. Unable to move or hold yourself up you’re entirely kept in place by the help of Yoongi. The tightness in your chest explodes as you cream around Yoongi’s cock. He doesn’t stop there he fucks you through overstimulation keeping up with his ruthless pace you tear through the bedsheets. His long fat cock claims your pussy as his with a heavy load of cum. The tattoos on your body all settle down as he finishes with a few sloppy thrusts into your buttered hole.

Once he pulls out you can feel his thick cum pour out and his fingers trace your tattoos painting your body with his whiteness until everything about you is covered in him. He doesn’t stop there, he pries your shaking legs open and latches onto your sensitive bud. Yoongi pushes his cum back with two of his fingers as his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s too much and you try to push his face away but he doesn’t budge. He holds both of your hands in his tight grip on your stomach as he continues to feast on your pussy.

“Yoongi. Oh, uh.” You squirm but you can’t escape his hold. “Please. Stop, i-it’s too much.” Tears start to roll down your cheeks the next orgasm you experience hurts so bad but you can’t deny how it feels incredible at the same time. More intense than the previous one you had you let go with a cry of his name and cum around his fingers.

“No. More.” Yoongi looks up after registering your hiccup and goes up to soothe you. His tongue licks your tears away showering your neck and face with kisses until your crying subsides.

Yoongi looks you over and while he finds you utterly appealing covered in his cum he has a concerned look in his eyes. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He pulls you close to his chest but after your senses come back one by one you start to feel his sticky cum all over you. Some still gush out of your hole as he hugs you to his body.

“No.” You shake your head reassuring him with a kiss. You don’t want to admit you cried because he felt so good.

This is the first time you experienced something like this. You’re in no way an expert but you know that his dick is not like any human males you’ve encountered in your books. They shouldn’t be so cold and big and the small ridges that kept rubbing your insides felt weird but incredibly good at the same time.

Even when he’s not aroused he’s so big. You want to touch it. “Can I?” Asking for permission you reach for his cock that rests against your leg but you don’t touch it until you get the green light for it.

“Sure.” Yoongi chuckles at your curiosity. It hasn’t been a hot minute that his dick was inside you but you want to touch it.

“It’s cold.” You muse, it’s slick with both of your cum so you could drag it up and down easily. Yoongi’s gasp catches in his throat it’s still sensitive but he lets you pump it until it’s hard again. You grow curious about how it tastes so you lick around the head as your hand moves up and down in slow motion. It doesn’t really taste like anything to you. Easy to swallow. You take your place in between his legs to get comfortable. Yoongi shivers when he feels your hot mouth around his most sensitive cockhead. You dip your tongue into the slit earning a loud groan from Yoongi his hand rests on top of your head only moving to get the hair out of his view of you sucking his cock.

“Do you like it?” You wonder if it feels good for him. This is the first time you’re doing this.

“Y-Yes, keep going.” You take more of him into your mouth encouraged by his hooded eyes that watch you. “Your mouth is very warm. It feels incredible.” You hum around a mouthful of cock he’s too big for you to get even half of him into your mouth. You stroke the skin that you can’t lick and you focus on his head instead of trying to choke on his cock. Even though you don’t think he wouldn’t like to see you choke on his length trying to fit everything. He reassures you that he likes everything you do to him. He doesn’t try to push your head down and you appreciate his thoughtfulness with an enthusiastic bob of your head up and down his length. He fills your mouth so much that it’s hard for you to swallow around it.

He's throbbing between your lips as you kiss the tip. He shows you how much he’s enjoying it with his lewd moans and sweet touches on your face and the back of your head. Contemplating what you should do with yourself you decide to give in to the desire once more. You want to have him again that it outweighs your concern to be able to take him after such a short time but it doesn’t deter you as you climb on his lap.

“Help me?” You ask shyly rubbing on his fully hard cock.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies with a smirk he can see how needy you are and he won’t deny his pretty wife anything. He kisses your lips sucking on your tongue as he guides your hips to hover over his cockhead.

He touches and kisses every mark and tattoo that appears on your skin.

You sink slowly at your own pace feeling full but you overcome the stretch of your body remembering his shape makes it easier for you to bury it fully into you. He’s big and hard as a rock inside you.

You need him to help you move but he’s more than eager to lift you and have you bounce on his cock. He’s wound up from your previous actions he had no idea he would be this turned on by seeing your small hands and mouth wrapped around his dick. You smell delicious he can’t help but kiss every inch he can reach as he guides you through the motions. You bounce on his cock your expression entirely clouded by pleasure as he hits the best spots inside your spongy walls. Yoongi kneads your ass pulling them apart to watch his cock disappear inside your small pussy. Your body might be coated in his cum but his cock is entirely coated in your arousal and cum until he shoots a fresh load inside your spent hole.

The others don’t see you the next couple of days only catch the back of Yoongi as he carries fresh food for you.

[cranberrv]

enchanted

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston falls for the new girl

( a/n : i love this request sm!! reader is fem by the way, also not proofread also ooc! still cute tho! )

not many people wanted to move to tulsa, but for some people, it was their only option. that was the first similarity spotted between you and dallas.

of course, you and dallas were on different sides of the track, different chapters in a novel. you moved to tulsa for your fathers work, you were perfectly happy back at your old city, but you didn’t have a choice. dallas moved to tulsa to escape from the new york police.

you thought tulsa was bland. it was only your first week here, your first week emerced with all the other teenagers at school, but everyone here was grey. especially the east-side kids, the greasers. they were all broke and it looked like all the life was sucked out of them.

you, on the other hand, were fresh from los angeles, with a feminine flare to yourself and a genuine kindness that was rare in tulsa. even the rich kids were rude, but you were anything but.

it was the start of your second week of school, and your least favourite class was science. not because of the subject, it was just that the people in your class gave you dirty looks and the teacher had a voice that could put you to sleep. and your lab partner in the seat next to you had been away the entire time, leaving you to do projects alone.

today was supposed to be the exact same as usual. at the start of class, you walk in and sit down alone. the teacher does the attendance, and marks your mystery lab partner absent. today is independent work, finishing up a lab report and then doing a worksheet on protons and electrons. you want to fall asleep, it’s so boring. you’re listening to every silent conversation and looking out the window for a source of entertainment. you got your wish soon enough, as the door creaks open.

“hello,” your teacher greets to the boy that enters the room. “you are?”

“dallas winston,” he answers, throwing his burnt-out cigarette in the trash.

your teacher nods her head. “ah, you’re dallas winston,” the voice is slow as she pieces it together. you wonder why the words are said in such distaste.

you’ve given up on your work, watching dallas winston. he looks like an east-side kid, his hair is a bit messy and he radiates confidence. he certainly puts out an energy unlike anyone in this school.

they talk for a bit longer, the teacher obviously telling him it’s not okay to skip class. dallas tries to argue back for a little bit, but eventually gives up and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. the teacher takes a breath then points to you, giving him a worksheet and telling him to go sit next to you. he follows the teachers finger, and he tilts his head when he looks at you, trying to figure out if he knows you or not. his eyes light up a bit when you make eye contact with him. you like the way he looks at you.

dallas walks over, and sits next to you. there’s a few moments of silence as he gets himself settled. spitting out his gum, taking off his leather jacket, and finally landing his eyes on his sheet. he reads over the questions, and realizes has no idea how to do any of this. “you got a pencil?” he asks you.

“yeah, in my pencil case, help yourself,” you answer, and he grabs your pencil case and sifts through it to find one.

he takes one out and hands it back. you say thank you, and he thinks it was unnecessary to be polite about a simple thing but doesn’t say anything. “mechanical, huh?” he says about the pencil, pushing on the bottom to get the lead out. “expensive. what, you a soc or somethin’?”

you look from your worksheet up at him. he has a nice jawline, you notice. “a what?” you ask. an innocent question in your eyes, but one that has a lot more meaning for dallas.

who the hell doesn’t know what a soc is? he stares at you for a second, eyebrows furrowing. not out of annoyance, but out of genuine confusion about why you don’t know about the class-status that built up the entire reputation of tulsa. you know what a greaser is, but not a soc. and you barely know what a greaser is, anyway. you’ve just been told to stay away.

“you know, a rich-kid. a west-side kid.” you still look confused, and he comes to the conclusion that you’re not from here. so when he notices the confused look in your eye, he changes the subject. “where ya from, sugar?”

“i just moved from los angeles,” you tell him. his eyes drift down to your cute lace pink top. he thinks it’s totally something that someone from LA would wear. there’s a speck of silence as he analyzes you, and you feel the need to break it.

“i shoulda guessed,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. you don’t know if he’s being mean or not. you hope he’s not mean.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you look like you’re from hollywood or somethin’, with all the lace and the flashy bows and shit..” he’s poking at the lace lining your top. you can see him thinking about something while he’s looking at your lace. “christ, your lingerie collection must be insane, huh?”

there’s a blink of silence and a look of slight disbelief on your face. “what?”

“i’m messin’ with ya, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“oh,” you say softly, cheeks going a bit hot.

“so,” he starts, switching the topic to a different note. “why’d ya move to fuckin’ tulsa?”

“my dad got a job here,” you explain, fiddling with your pencil in your hands. “why?”

“just curious,” he shrugs. “you know, most people don’t move to this hellhole.”

“you did,” you say, and he tilts his head. you think he’s looking at you because you’re just assuming things, and you’re probably wrong, so he’s judging you. “did you not?”

he cracks a smile. he wasn’t judging you, simply curious as to how you guessed he wasn’t from here. “yeah, i did, sugar,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “how’d ya know?”

“your accent,” you explain. “very new yorker.”

“yeah? you like it?”

you mirror his smile. “yeah, i do.”

the class falls silent as the teacher insists everyone quiets down and focuses. dally's voice drops to a whisper when he responds, playfully pushing you away. “alright, miss hollywood, go do your work,” he teases. “gonna tell the teacher you’re distracting me,” he threatens, obviously playing around because he knows that he’s the one distracting you.

you smile and turn your head back to your sheet to finish it up. you begin peacefully working. dallas can’t help but stare at you as you do so. nibbling at your pencil while you’re thinking, constantly adjusting your top, brushing your hair out of your face every now and then, he notices it all. he can’t help it, he thinks you’re the sweetest person he’s ever seen.

you look up at him, feeling his intense gaze on you. you make eye contact and instantly turn away again, cheeks going pink like a tulip. why is he looking at you? do you have something on your face? you don’t know. you subconsiously wipe your cheek to make sure, and adjust your top again.

dallas finally looks away, and you take a breath and relax your shoulders. as much as he was acting sweet towards you, you could tell he had this rough edge that you should be worried about. but what truly worried you is the fact that his edge didn’t worry you. if anything, it lured you in. you wanted to learn everything about him. he was like the ocean, he was calm and beautiful but you had to swim out far and dive deep down to find out everything about him. and it felt like no one had, yet. he was a mystery. you liked that.

as you’re working, you hear the rip of lined paper beside you, then the scratch of a pencil. a few moments later, dallas hands you a piece of paper with a note on it.

“how do you do question 1?“ it reads.

you read the note and look up at him, smiling. you write down your answer, saying that he needs a calculator. you hand him yours, assuming correctly that he doesn’t own one.

he slides you another note a few seconds later. “it keeps saying weird shit on the calculator”

“what does it say?” you write back.

he takes longer than usual to write. you wait in anticipation. after what feels like forever (but was probably 15 seconds) he hands you another note. you read the numbers. you don’t understand how he got that answer. you read over it again, and then it clicks. it’s his phone number.

he’s looking at you as you read it. you look up at him and gently nod, putting his number in your pocket. you rip another piece of paper and write down, “i’ll call you.”

he reads it and writes back, and is about to hand it to you, until he quickly takes it back and adds something. then he hands it to you.

“good. (p.s. your little lace top is kinda cute)”

you read his little p.s. and smile to yourself, then to him. you mouth thank you to him. he mouths “anytime” back.

you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you and dallas winston say hello to each other in science class.

[anystalker707]

Healing

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: Reader seems burnt out, so Sanji does his best to help his partner feel better Tags: Boyfriend material Sanji (the usual / lots of fluff a/n: i need him carnally

MASTERLIST

          Sanji looked at the door of the galley the moment you walked in, blinking in curiosity as he observed you walk past him and right to the cabinets, all in feigned casualty. Once you closed the door to the cabinet, and he saw what you had in hand, Sanji rolled his eyes and grabbed you by the collar before you could walk away.

“Sanji…” You clicked your tongue, turning around with a sigh.

“No, no,” Sanji scoffed. “Go put it back, dear! I already told you not to eat those! I use them, and they’re hard to find!” He put his hands on his hips, brows low as he looked at you.

“But Sanji…” You recurred to pouting; it was not new that he would get soft way too easily when it came to you. “I need to munch on something! Anything!”

Sanji pointed to the cabinet, face unchanging. “Put it back, dear. Come on.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you put the jar back into the cabinet, then turned to him, still with a pout and also slumping a little now. “Why can’t I have it? No love for (y/n)? You don’t love me?” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head in disappointment.

“Quit being dramatic, you know I love you very much!” He cupped both of your cheeks and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He smiled softly, observing you for a solid minute. “What’s wrong, hm? I’ve seen you come in here a little too much today. That or the way you simply spent all day long in the quarters, like yesterday, with no in-between. What’s going on, sweetheart? I didn’t even see you work out or train for a while, and you seemed very hyped up about it.” His thumbs ran across both your cheeks, caressing them gently.

You frowned a little bit. Was it that noticeable? Maybe it wasn’t just something as pointless as you thought it’d be. The past few days had been a little too monotonous. Too long without any interesting island, summed up with the nonstop training after the last battle—which you lost terribly—, left you in that terrible state. It slowly crept in after you took the first proper break when Sanji asked you to help him in the kitchen one day.

“Don’t overthink,” Sanji said as if he could read your thoughts, playing lightly with your hair. “Just tell me, sweetheart.”

Those blue eyes looking into yours with so much worry and care… Your heart fluttered as you looked back at him for a second before averting your gaze away.

“I’m not sure,” you said with a soft sigh, wrapping your hands around his wrists and caressing them gently. “I’m kind of bored of everything. Tired, even if I’m barely doing anything. I mean, I did try to do something else, but…” You shrugged.

On the previous days, you’d helped Nami with organizing her maps and clothes and also hung out with Usopp to listen to his stories while watching him construct stuff. Luffy was showing you the beetles he’d found around the ship as well. Even with all the laughing and good time you’d spent with them, you still had the same feeling afterward. It all was so bland. You just felt the urge to do something different from the usual and to lie down all day long at the same time.

Sanji furrowed his eyebrows. “Sounds like you’re burnt out, dear. Do you think that’s it?”

Burnt out… It made sense, honestly. “Hm, maybe,” you mumbled in defeat.

“Okay, at least we already have an idea of what’s going on,” he said as he ran his fingers through your hair and kissed your cheek, pecking your lips after. “I’ll finish what I’m doing and be back in a second, okay?” He smiled before he walked away to finish the dishes he’d been preparing.

You took a seat at the dining table in the meantime, silently observing Sanji cook. Sanji was so pretty and also so caring… It made your heart flutter in your chest while your cheeks heated up. At the same time that you didn’t want to bother Sanji, you also liked it a lot when he took care of you, so you didn’t really argue. He put some platters in the fridge and others in the oven before he started cleaning everything. The only thing he neglected was drying the dishes to put them back into the cabinets, but it was for a good reason.

“I’m all yours now,” Sanji said as he took his apron off and hung it before walking over, offering you a hand. “Come on, let’s do something relaxing, my dear.”

For a moment, you observed his hand. Would his touch be overwhelming? It was a fact Sanji could be quite touchy, even more so if you already started by giving him the freedom to, hence you needed to take a moment to decide whether you wanted it. It’s not that Sanji didn’t know boundaries—he did, and he made sure to respect each one of them very so carefully—, but it was more about how hard it was to let Sanji know about them or push him away.

Holding back a sigh was difficult. You slowly slipped your hand in his and stood up, quietly following Sanji out of the galley. As much as holding his hand and being with him was nice, everything felt so bland.

The shadow cast over the back part of the upper deck, near the tangerine trees, so Sanji took you there. There was just an unending sea to be seen, so you weren’t exactly excited while leaning against the railing to observe it. Some clouds littered the sky, but not that many.

As you turned your head to the side to look for Sanji, he showed up right in front of you, pressing his lips to yours immediately. The kiss was sweet and very gentle; he was treating you as if you were made out of thin glass, placing a hand on your hip with a light touch and another on the railing as he held the kiss. Sanji pulled away only for a brief moment, kissing you once more right after. The position wasn’t the best, with your head to the side like that, but the kiss was so loving. It made you feel so loved.

Eventually, the kiss was over. Sanji’s arms wrapped around you in a hug from behind, settling themselves around your waist. He kissed your shoulder through your clothes, then rested his chin on it. His touch was so comforting.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” His voice was soft next to your ear. “But I don’t think it’s as beautiful as you. Well, I don’t think anything is as beautiful as you.” And there he went with his cheesiness again, but you wouldn’t complain about it. As pathetic as it could be, it never failed to make you all fuzzy inside.

You hummed softly in response, leaning back against him.

“Sorry for neglecting you,” Sanji whispered. “Maybe if I’d given you more attention, this wouldn’t have gotten to this point.”

“It’s my fault,” you mumbled. “Maybe I pushed myself too much.” The way you’d been so immersed in your goals only became clear now, unfortunately, but trying to get it off your head never made you feel any lighter as it should’ve.

“If I had noticed, I’m sure things would’ve been different.” He sighed softly, hugging you tighter and burying his face into the crook of your neck. It tickled a little, but it was also so nice; you could barely hold back the smile that tugged on your lips. “But I’m helping you feel better, that’s for sure.” He kissed your shoulder again, slowly loosening his grip.

Your hand reached back to Sanji’s hair, stroking it lightly. “Don’t blame yourself!”

“But—”

“Sanji,” you groaned, making him click his tongue.

“Damn it,” he whispered with an air of playfulness in his sharp tone, making you chuckle.

“If you keep blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens to me, you’ll go crazy,” you said, turning your head to kiss the side of his face.

Only silence came from Sanji for a moment until he finally moved, kissing the side of your neck a couple of times. “Can’t help it,” he sighed and straightened his posture, but kept holding you. “Let’s talk about something else, though, pardon for bringing it up, my love.” He kissed your temple.

All the little touches were making you feel fuzzy. The worries you’d had about Sanji’s touches making you overwhelmed slowly faded away—you actually wanted to melt into his arms and spend the rest of the day there. He probably noticed how you felt, nuzzling your hair gently.

For a few minutes, Sanji let the silence hang between the two of you. He just held you there while the two of you observed the sea, getting lost in thoughts for a moment. Eventually, you snapped back to reality with a deep sigh, rolling your shoulders a little.

“Sanji,” you mumbled, “can we sit down or go somewhere else? My legs are kinda tired already.”

“Of course!” Sanji let go of you with a sigh. “Let me think about something else we can do, my dear.”

Sanji’s hand wrapped around yours, taking you with him as he walked down the stairs to the main deck again. He’d left you there for a moment before coming back with a blanket, which he extended over the ground, on a spot under the shadow, before he sat down. He set a pillow over his crossed legs.

You raised an eyebrow before lying down with your head on the pillow. “We could’ve done this inside,” you mumbled, looking up at him.

“Maybe.” Sanji shrugged. “But you’ve spent way too long in the quarters already. Breathe some fresh air. Do something different.” His fingers ran through your hair, sometimes gently massaging your scalp as he played with your strands. It was weirdly relaxing, even if you weren’t in the most comfortable place. Being with Sanji itself was comfortable.

You didn’t really know at what point it happened, but the next thing you knew was that you were waking up with Sanji gently tapping your shoulder. The afternoon sun seemed to be excusing itself already, giving place to the stars. The shade of blue that took over the sky was different from the one you remembered. For how long did you sleep?

“My love,” Sanji said softly, caressing your cheek. “I need to go get dinner ready. Do you want me to carry you back to the quarters?”

A soft groan escaped your lips as you stretched, your back aching a little from lying on the floor. “Can I help you with it?” You didn’t feel like leaving Sanji’s side just yet. Even if you couldn’t feel direct improvement in your burn-out state—at least yet—, being with Sanji felt so much better than anything else. You feared it’d all get even worse if you left him now.

Sanji smiled. “Of course. Get up so I can put these away.”

You felt a little light-headed when you stood up, groaning softly. Honestly, you could feel like you’d either have a headache or just be unable to sleep later on, but it wasn’t much different from what was going on the previous days. The fact Sanji was now helping you gave you some hope, though. Some comfort.

Sanji returned before you could notice, a hand on your lower back as he smiled softly and nodded to the galley, heading there with you.

At least, your mind was empty. There weren’t many thoughts bothering you now that you helped Sanji out with preparing the dinner—practically just assembling and heating up the stuff he’d started preparing earlier. All you focused on was getting everything done, making sure it was all perfect. You weren’t exactly inexperienced when it came to the kitchen; being around Sanji for so long did give you some practice that you could rely on.

A sense of pride and accomplishment took over you as you observed the table all set now. Sanji probably felt the same thing, but not only for the cooking. He wrapped an arm around your waist, enjoying the last few moments you had alone before dinner, and pressed his lips to yours softly.

“I’m here for you, okay?” He smiled.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: zb1 when you're sick

a/n: i love writing stuff like this, mostly because i think how someone takes care of u when ur sick means a lot :)) it’s very endearing to me!

notes: yujin is not included due to his age! just assume y/n has a nasty case of the flu or something lol, i didn't proofread so sorry for any typos!

wc | 2.8k

 from worst to best at taking care of you

gyuvin

i don’t think he’d necessarily be bad at it per say

like gyuvin’s definitely the type of guy to treat you a little bit like a baby when you’re sick

he feels really bad, and he doesn’t like seeing you all upset and unhappy :(

so for the first couple of days he’s good at supplying you with medicine and water, and he does his best to make you meals (most of them are bland convenience store soups and noodles put into bowls but it’s okay)

he also spends a lot of time with you, and, by extension, cheers you up a lot

he will amp his funny meter up like 97% because he wants to see you smile and laugh

even though you can barely laugh because you’re sick and your throat hurts

he also will be very loving when you’re sick which is nice because i don’t see him being extremely touchy when you’re going about your daily life

so you get lots of hugs and kisses even though you keep telling him not to because he will get sick

and that’s where everything goes wrong

the thing is. on day 3 he will wake up sick

no matter what, when you get sick, he will be sick within 72 hours

it’s because he’s clingy and annoying and will nap with you, get ready for bed with you, and eat food with you so there’s virtually no protection from your illness

and as much as he would love to keep taking care of you while he’s sick, he feels just as bad so now you’re BOTH rotting away while whatever sickness you have runs its course

you end up having to call hanbin over because neither of you want to do anything but lay there

so like

enjoy the two days of a very loving and doting boyfriend (more so than usual)

and make sure to tell hanbin when you get sick so he can be prepared to clear his schedule lol

under gyuvin’s (technically hanbin’s) care, it takes about a week to fully get better!

ricky

so sorry to the 04s for this slander

again i don’t think he’d be bad at it he’d just be a little clueless

i think when he gets really stressed out about something he shuts down a little bit too so when your fever is pushing 102 he’s kind of like a sim that can’t figure out how to get past a desk (if that makes sense)

you’ll be like “ugh my head hurts” and he’ll be like oh okay … then twenty minutes later he finally returns with advil and a cup of water

or like you’ll be napping and he’ll suddenly remember that you need to take more dayquil (he’s about an hour late)

and at the end of the day he will get done what he needs to get done just like give him a minute

ricky somehow makes a really good chicken noodle soup (it’s just canned soup) and you always ask him about it and how he makes it!! he tells you it’s a secret (he just slightly modifies canned soup)

i think he’s also pretty good at making sure he doesn’t get sick from taking care of you, too

like as much as he loves you and not being able to hold your hand makes him want to die, he doesn’t want to be like gyuvin and force hanbin to take care of both of you lol

so he’ll wear a mask and wash his hands pretty regularly, but he makes sure to reassure you that he’s taking the necessary precautions so that he can successfully nurse you back to health, and that he still loves you even if he can’t get too close right now :)

i think his main strength in this area is keeping you entertained, though

like he’ll make sure there’s always a movie playing or something, even if you’re asleep

he doesn’t want you to be bored and feel bad

also has an intrinsic belief that not being bored will distract you from the icky feelings

under ricky’s care, it takes a little over a week to get better!

matthew

same with ricky, i think matthew’s not necessarily bad at it, but he kind of shuts down when he finds out

he goes from like doting, loving boyfriend to oh god oh my god oh no oh god

if you give him a bit of time to gather himself he goes from panic mode to question mode

matthew will NOT leave you alone while you’re sick!!! he’s halfway convinced you’re living out your last days!!!! he has to make sure you don’t die!!!!

he also asks you 70 questions an hour

“do you need anything?” “do you want something to eat?” “do you need more water?” “do you want a massage?”

of the 70 questions, maybe about 3 or 4 of them yield the answer “yes” but that’s not 0 so he’s going to keep it up

he’s like baymax or something idk he’s just so stressed out the entire time

he’s like nigh unrecognizable the entire time

you are absolutely aware of the fact that sometimes he leaves the room to call his mom and ask for advice but you pretend that you don’t know for the sake of his dignity

although his constant stream of questions can be somewhat overwhelming at times, you’re very appreciative of his dedication because when you’re sick, you will get anything you need

he will also make any meal you desire even if he’s never made it before, and he really adores the way it makes you smile so then he’s all smiley afterwards <;/3

if he needs to go out to the store to get you something, he will either enlist somebody else to do it or have someone stay with you while he’s gone

so you’ll get a lot of well wishes from jiwoong, hao, and hanbin while you’re not feeling well

when you get better it’s the best day of matthew’s life i’m pretty sure

he remembers what it feels like to not be terribly worried 24/7 so you watch him deflate like a balloon

and then he naps for like four hours

under matthew’s care, it takes 6-ish days to get better!

taerae

taerae’s pretty middle of the road in my opinion

like we learned during boys’ planet, he’s the youngest kid so he received a lot of affection and love when he was growing up

so, when you’re sick, he gives you a LOT of affection

you could be rotting away in bed and taerae will be like “you are the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen” with heart eyes

i think the thing that gives taerae a real leg up though is that his first thought is “oh let’s go see a doctor” and he can drive so you go pretty much immediately

that way, you get flu-specific medicine and get better quicker than you would’ve without

after that, taerae’s sick care is pretty run of the mill

i don’t think he’s too panicked about it because people get sick all the time, and so, unless you’re really, really sick he’s not going to be doting on you 24/7 like matthew would

he’ll still run errands and he won’t cancel plans unless you straight up ask him to (and if you ask he will without thinking about it!!!)

and he makes sure you’re taking your meds, drinking water, and eating three times a day

but life doesn’t stop, you know??

it’s nice because when you’re sick, sometimes all you want is to be left alone for a bit and that’s exactly what taerae does for you :)

also, because he’s continuing on with his life, he won’t get sick from you so you won’t have any of that guilt on your shoulders

one special thing taerae does when you’re sick though is sing you to sleep

sure, when you’re not sick, he’ll do it from time to time but he’s very consistent when you’re not feeling well!! he’ll get the guitar out and sing you a lullaby or two

he will also sing you awake </3 and he wakes you up to eat!!! so it’ll be a cute little made up jingle about it being breakfast time … it’s very heartwarming

under taerae’s care, you get better in 5 days!

jiwoong

i think he’s very similar to taerae in this respect, so he’s also in the middle (but a little bit higher up)

jiwoong is older and more experienced with stuff like this so he’s very businessy about it

when you wake up with a fever, you’ll head to the doctor and get your tamiflu or whatever

from then on it’s just a waiting game i think

the main difference between taerae and jiwoong though is strictly experience

he’s very routine when it comes to taking care of you

you eat breakfast, he gives you dayquil, goes out to get anything you ask for…it continues

jiwoong is also really good at knowing when you want him around and when you want him to leave you alone

but he’s always generally around, and will cancel plans (without telling you) so that he can make sure he’s available if anything goes wrong

he’s good at planning for the worst case scenario without being worried about it, too, so he’ll have a backup plan in place if you (for some reason) start getting worse rather than getting better

jiwoong is great to have around when you’re sick because he’s good at cooking, too

he will bring you the most delicious soup you’ve ever had in your life and will literally juice oranges so that you can have fresh orange juice

he doesn’t tell you but he’s a little manic about what you’re consuming when you’re sick because he doesn’t want you to throw up or get sicker because of what you’re eating

he also gives really good bear hugs when you’re sick

like the best bear hug of your life

when you trudge out of the bedroom in the morning to eat breakfast and open your arms for a hug he will gladly envelope you into the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in weeks

they’re obviously no different from his hugs when you’re not sick but for some reason they’re just so much better than when you’re not feeling well

under jiwoong’s care, you get better in 4-5 days

zhang hao

TOP 3!!

hao is so lovely to be around when everything is normal, so when you’re sick he’s like a saving grace almost

he actually notices you’re sick before you do

he wakes up one morning, looks over at you, and notices that your cheeks are flushed and you’re making a kind of unhappy face

he takes your temperature and is like >:0 oh no

so you literally wake up to him holding a gatorade and a bowl of rice and you’re like ??? what

“you’re sick”

“i am???”

and then a couple of hours the symptoms really kick in and you’re like “how are you a genius…” but he’s just observant lol

while you’re sick, he dials up the zhang hao charm like 7000% and makes sure that you know he loves you more than anything and that he will do/get anything you need until you get better

and he will ensure that you don’t feel guilty that he’s taking time off of his everyday life to dote on you

i think, in general, hao is so good at catching your illness before it’s really able to set in that your symptoms tend to be fairly mild throughout the time that you’re sick (thus, you get better faster)

and he’s good at making sure you’re staying clean too

he knows how awful it is when you get sick and you don’t have anyone to help you out, so you just end up feeling gross and disgusting all the time

so he makes sure you’re doing your skincare (he will literally do it for you if you need him to) and that you’re showering when you need to yk

and he gets “anonymous deliveries” of little treats throughout the time that you’re sick (he asks hanbin to pick some things up and put them at the door lol)

when you get better, hao will take you on a date to celebrate (and he lets you pay so you’ll truly crush any guilt you felt for interrupting his daily life)

under hao’s care, you get better in 4 days!

gunwook

this might be a hot take but i think gunwook would be so nice to have around when you’re sick

i also think, like hao, he picks up on it before it even happens idk

he’ll see that one of your friends got sick after you hung out and he just knows

he will preemptively make you take theraflu, and you think he’s being stupid but then you wake up with a fever

he’s like “i told you”

gunwook would be panicked in a way that you have no clue, so it’s out of sight and out of mind

but in all actuality he’s blowing up the zb1 gc like wtf do i DO!!!

everyone’s first recommendation is to make sure you don’t end up like gyuvin (sick and unhappy) LOL

but half the things he does are recommendations from jiwoong, hao, and hanbin so make sure to thank them at some point!!

because he takes tips from the pros he ends up being a pro you know

and he finds out ricky’s super secret (canned) soup recipe so he’s got that on lock too

essentially gunwook is the product of the rest of the group’s experience … like the answer to one big equation lol

the one thing he doesn’t listen to is everyone telling him to like not be constantly close to you

i’m a believer that gunwook rarely gets sick (his immune system is like on steroids) so he spends the entirety of this period hanging out with you

naps with you, goes to bed at the same time as you, watches whatever you’re watching, etc

obviously he’s washing his hands pretty often but he’s still hanging out with you, which makes you feel very happy and loved :)

afterwards, you’re very thankful and appreciative and gunwook will take all the credit for the techniques other people supplied him with

at some point you’ll probably catch on but you won’t say anything lol

if he’s happy, you’re happy!

under gunwook’s care, you get better in 3-4 days!

hanbin

i feel like this was obvious

this man is literally a mother

you feel like your mom is taking care of you the entire time you’re sick

when you wake up and tell him you aren’t feeling well he does the mom thing (puts his hand on your forehead) and can actually conclude you have a fever by doing that

and then he’ll tell you to go lay down while he makes breakfast lol

it’s seriously like your mom is taking care of you, i cannot overstate this

he’s giving you cold washcloths and handing you cough drops every 2-3 business hours

he asks what your symptoms are and goes “hmm” before disappearing from the room and returning with the exact remedy you need

hanbin quite literally hates the idea that you’re nothing less than happy, so he will do everything in his power to make sure you’re getting better while honoring your wishes at the same time

so if all you want to do is sleep, he’ll let you sleep

or if you want to try and still be productive, he’ll let you help with the dishes or do your own laundry if need be

being sick under hanbin’s care is so nice because you don’t feel like the world has stopped just because you’re sick, you know

the way he takes care of you keeps you feeling strong enough to do something other than lay about all day

and you don’t really get to the point where you feel like death is imminent (i assume this is a universal experience for everyone)

and he’s not too worried about you being sick as he’s worried about you getting better and not having any residual symptoms you know

also makes yummy and delicious food for you so that’s a big plus LOL

you get better so fast that it’s barely a bump in the road

you think god accidentally gave hanbin special powers and you’re glad you get to be the main benefactor of them

under hanbin’s care, you get better in 3 days!

thank you for reading!

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

people gotta stop saying sunlow is good or well written. sure, it was thought out prior to the poison jungle, and yeah, its healthy (..i think? idk its jus.. there). i like healthy relationships. theyre awesome.

just er. you, you guys realize that willow has like.. no personality, right? shes literally so bland. we, we know NOTHING about her besides ooo she killed hawthorn and ooo she has a pet. shes a blank slate who only serves as a way to introduce us to the sapwings.

she doesnt really add anything to sundew, besides like.. i dont know, making her .. kind? she atleast has someone to be herself around.. but dude jus. im not invested in willow. i literally had to quit tpj because its SO boring. willow has no traits at all and shes only around to be "sundews girlfriend". like, yeah! i love queer rep. im a gay guy myself. but its just.. so boring dude. im not asking for abusive or unhealthy relationships, i just want the characters to be seperate people aside from the relationship.

like.. fuck, you really had to make up this new character that adds practically nothing? and really, shes only used to move the story along. like, what else does she do??? sure, she kills a bad guy. moves the story along, just like i said. she doesnt add anything to the characters around here, and her only trait is that shes sundews girlfriend.

again! im happy this series has queer rep and it allows children to explore queer relationships, but acting like sunlow is the best thing to come out of arc 3 is jus.. wrong to me.

see, i think they shouldve made hazel be sundews partner. DO YOU GET MY VISION???? SHES LITERALLY THE PERFECT DRAGON FOR HER!!!!!!!! and before you say cobra lily, just gonna say it while im here, she is NOT awesome!!! sure, sundew gets along with her, but YOURE SAYING SHE NEARLY KILLED SOMEONE OVER.. INSULTING HER FAMILY???? jfc dude! and, in one scene of tdg, she talks about sundew being queen, even when sundew explicitly says she prefers hazel and that she doesnt want that role. sorry, but hazel x sundew is a perfect option to me.

1, hazel is literally a relative of sequoia. DO YOU KNOW HOW INTERESTING IT WOULDVE BEEN, TO REALIZE THAT SUNDEW, BELLADONNAS DAUGHTER, IS DATING A RELATIVE OF THE SAPWING QUEEN????? THATS SO FUCKING COOL!!! IT RAMPS UP THE DRAMA!!! IT ACTUALLY ADDS SOMETHING TO THE RELATIONSHIP, UNLIKE THE BLAND FASTEST BURN POSSIBLE THAT SUNLOW HAD!!!!! PLUS we'd STILL get the sapwing introduction.

2, hazel has personality. shes her own character, she has traits, and she is able to get along with sundew. its not hard to make a character with an actual personality! i can list off things off the top of my head about hazel! she loves reading to the point she strains her eyes, shes carefree, she loves to bind books together! willow is jus.. happy and sundews girlfriend. thats all she is. sure, maybe add courageous to the mix? but again shes just.. not interesting. she doesnt have any passion. shes just there.

lmao. this turned out waaayyyy longer than i expected. yeah idk i think ill get flamed for this? i know a lot of people say this for the most basic opinions but sunlow is REALLYYYY loved and err. thats exactly why im goin on anon. have a good day.

.

[eggyrocks]

rot: h. iwaizumi

chapter two -> a call

word count: 6.2k

(masterlist ; written content ; taglist)

now playing: loud bark by mannequin pussy

The video store fired her. Apparently, it’s not good optics to tell customers to go fuck themselves.

She’s better suited to her new job, anyways. The Higurashi CD Store has better air conditioning, and she gets paid about 3% more, which is 3% less overtime she has to work. Not to mention the clientele (pretentious, university boys who are uppity about their taste in music) seem to appreciate her lack of customer service skills. They think it’s cool when she’s unhelpful, and even cooler when she ignores them.

She leans up against the front counter, behind the register, and stares at her phone. Her thumb is frantically pressing down the buttons, so hard it leaves an imprint on her thumb: right up right down left up left down right up. Her front teeth bite down on the tip of her tongue. She’s about to break her high score in Snake.

There’s a customer standing at the counter. She doesn’t notice them. “Hey,” he says, and he stops to wait for a response. She doesn’t give him one. Right down left up. Her eyes narrow at the screen. “Where can I find the Melt-Banana section?” the customer asks, and she can feel him lean in closer.

“Probably with all the other ‘M’ bands,” she replies, curtly and hardly opening her mouth as she does so. The words come out rough and mumbled.

From her peripherals, she can see him push off the counter, and he’s either grinning or grimacing. She doesn’t really care either way. Her pressing of the keys gets more aggressive. The score climbs, and she figures she’s about two seconds away from breaking her high score when she’s interrupted by a text.

One new unread text message.

She stares. She forgot phones got text messages. At this point she just sort of thought they were just for Snake and deleting voicemails from your father.

Down, down. Select.  

FROM: UNKNOWN CALLER

hey. its iwa. u busy tonite?

Delete.

Are you sure you want to delete this message?

No.

Her fingers snap the phone shut, and she’s quick to pocket it.

Iwaizumi Hajime (neighbor, likely gunrunner, newfound admirer) has not left her alone. She cannot make up her mind on whether or not this is a bad thing.

She’s not sure what it is about her that he’s taken such an interest in. It’s not quite in line with the way she views herself (bland, boring, a bit rude, fairly plain, and uninteresting). She kind of figured that, once the cops gave up on trying to catch him for whatever it was that he did, that he would go back to mostly ignoring her.

He has not.

In the mornings, he brings her a coffee. The first time, the knocking on the door woke her. She groaned as the sound of it stirred her from her sleep, hoping that either she was imagining it or whoever it was would go away, if she ignored them for long enough.

But Iwaizumi Hajime has an irritating sort of persistence that cannot be ignored. He knocked again.

She groaned as her bare feet hit the cold ground and she didn’t bother taming the wild knots in her hair or wiping the sleep from her eyes. She just waddled towards the door, in the same t-shirt she wore the day before and an old pair of boxers. That morning, she didn’t bother checking who was on the other side before she undid her locks and flung the door open. She was too tired to use proper judgement.

Iwaizumi was on the other side. Eyes bright and black hood pulled over his head. Her attention was drawn to the split in his bottom lip. She didn’t notice the cup of hot coffee until he held it up to her. “Got you this.”

She tilted her head to the side, eyelids still drooping. “A coffee?” she questioned, sounding sort of dumb, her voice still thick with sleep.

He nodded. She looked down at his lip again. It looked fresh, the cut. “I didn’t know what you’d normally order, so I guessed.”

Hesitantly, her fingers wrapped around the Styrofoam cup, and she took it from him, watching as a drop of blood trickled down his chin. Iwaizumi didn’t seem to notice. She wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but didn’t. Instead, her free hand rose to her own lip, pointer finger tapping against the flesh and dragging it down. He watched. “You’re bleeding,” she remarked.

Iwaizumi shrugged but used the back of his sleeve to wipe away the spilled blood. “It’ll be fine.”

He would know better than her, she figured. It was not the first time she’d seen Iwaizumi with blood on him. She raised the cup and took a small, careful sip. The flavor flooded her mouth at once. Burnt, syrupy sugar and thick milk. Her nose scrunched involuntarily. “What is this?”

“Not a caramel person?” he questioned, and chuckled at the way her disgust was made clear in the twisting of her face. “I thought you would like sweet things. Don’t tell me your order, though. I wanna get it right on my own.”

Iwaizumi left after that, and she realized she forgot to say thanks.

He continued showing up at her door, knocking against the wood until she rose from her death-like sleep. He’s done it enough to fuck with her sleep schedule, and now she wakes up at eight in the goddamn morning daily, always just a few minutes before he arrives.

It’s just a part of both of their routines, now. He hands her a coffee she would never drink on her own, (an iced Americano, a chai latte, a cortado, other bullshit she's never even heard of), and leaves without saying much. Once he’s gone, she drinks the whole thing.

On the fourth day, she took a sip, shook her head, and said, “You know, you don’t have to feel indebted to me.”

Flat white. Wrong, again. Iwaizumi smiled at her. “I don’t feel indebted to you.”

At night, he’s a little less consistent. But she figures his work schedule requires flexibility, so it makes sense.

His excuses for knocking on her door are less consistent at night, too. It ranges from ‘hey, sorry for the noise last night,’ to, ‘I found this CD you might like,’ and, most alarmingly, ‘I kinda just wanted to talk to you.’

She doesn’t really know if it’s a good thing or not, all of his attention. She likes it. She likes when there’s a knock on her front door and it makes her heartbeat uptick in pace for just a second. She likes the way that he grins and the timber of his voice and she likes that he’s just around.

A lot of her life has been lived alone. Days at a time without speaking. Days at a time without seeing another living person. It got worse when she buried her brother. There were some days when she felt like she could slip below the surface of the earth and never emerge again, and not one living soul would notice.

Now that Iwaizumi has slipped her into his routine, it’s a little harder to think like that.

Still, his occupation makes her uneasy. She’s gotten this far in life by strictly adhering to one, single rule: mind your own business. There was already too much of Iwaizumi Hajime she noticed before, but now that he has become a consistent visitor to her doorstep, it’s even harder to ignore the injuries, the noises, the neatly packed boxes and wads of cash going in and out of his pocket.

And if he keeps it up, she’s worried her façade of obliviousness can only hold up for so long. She doesn’t want to get wrapped up in it.

She marks the text as unread and goes back to Snake. It freezes, and then crashes, previous high score untouched.

The text burns in her back pocket for the rest of her shift. As she rings people up and restocks and pretends to clean, she writes out responses in her head. She’s trying to draft the cleverest, most casual response but the only thing she can think of saying to him is, ‘no, I never am,’ which is not even close to clever and so self-deprecating it’s almost pathetic.

Texting is sort of hell, for her. It gives her so much time to overthink and overanalyze everything she could possibly say, finding faults in every sentence structure and word choice. At least in person she’s awkward and blunt without hesitation.

By time she’s done with her shift and is locking the store doors behind her, the text still sits in her pocket, unread. If the past however many months of anecdotal evidence are enough, Iwaizumi will be sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette by the time she gets home. She can respond to him then if he still wants an answer.

She feels stupid when she’s surprised to see him there. Or at least, her body feels surprised, if the way her mouth dries up and heat rushes to her head are any indication. It seems like the more and more she comes face to face with Iwaizumi, the less prepared she is for it each time.

He’s on his phone when she approaches, rapidly pressing his fingers against the keys, so he almost doesn’t notice her when she passes. And with the harsh look of irritated concentration he has etched into his expression, she’s not about to interrupt him.

But as she tries to step past him, his head shoots up, like her presence ripped his attention back into reality. And before she can get any further, his hand shoots up to grab at the end of her sleeve. “Hey,” he says, and she freezes, head turned to look down at him. He lightly tugs at the end of her sleeve. “Sit with me, for a second.”

Without really thinking about it, she’s does as she’s told, sinking down to step on the step beside him, ensuring that there’s a healthy few inches between them.

Iwaizumi pockets his phone and squishes the cherried tip of his cigarette out against the concrete beneath him. “Get my text?” he asks, voice easy.

“Yeah,” she answers, eyes not on him but on the smoking pile of ash he had just created. “’M not busy tonight.”

He grins, bright and bold and any trace of irritation has melted away. “Good. I wanna take you for a drive.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Iwaizumi’s car sucks. For as well-kept as it is, its age shines through. It is old and deteriorating and occasionally it makes a noise that sounds like it needs immediate addressing. She’s not sure why she was expecting anything different. He lives in the same cheap apartment building as her, and people who live in apartment buildings like that do not drive luxury cars. Or even just okay cars. People who live in apartments like that are lucky to have any car.

It must not be as profitable as she thought, all the trafficking.

He has the window rolled down as he drives. The wind isn’t too bad, and the spring air is pleasantly wet and warm. It smells fresh, and it washes out the smell of nicotine that has settled into the fabric of the car seats.

Pretty blatantly, she’s looking at Iwaizumi. He is looking at the road, and she is looking at him. The veins in his neck and how they connect to his sharp jaw. The slant of his nose and the shape of his profile. His hair, spiky and slightly messy from the way the wind runs through it. Dusk has settled but the streetlights cut through it and highlight the sharpness of his features. The shadows deepen his bruises.

Everything about Iwaizumi is sharp. From the look in his eyes and the way words fall from his mouth. It’s sort of intimidating, in a way. Or it should be. It must be, to others. She finds it almost sort of endearing, the way he’s all prickly edges, even when he smiles.

His eyes flick over to her, and then back towards the road, a soft pink lightly dusting his cheeks. “You starin’ at me?” he asks, corner of his lip tugging upwards.

She lets her gaze fall back down to her lap. “You’re pretty,” she admits to him, crossing her arms over her chest and settling back further into the seat. She means it, but she doesn’t know why she says it. It comes out without any thought, like there’s nothing there to filter her thoughts out of her tongue.

Iwaizumi laughs. The roads are getting narrower the further he takes them from the densely populated area of the city in which they reside. She doesn’t know where he’s taking her. She didn’t bother to ask. “Y’know, I thought you were shy at first. But you just say whatever you want.”

She can’t help but flinch. Shy. Her father always called her that. Maybe Iwaizumi didn’t mean to be an insult but that’s the only way she’s ever heard it. Shyness was just one of the many faults in her that her father was eager to correct. “I’m not shy,” she asserts. “I just don’t talk unless I feel like there’s something I need to say.”

It’s partially true, at least (and the reason she’s so horrific at any and all small talk). That explanation conveniently leaves out the fact that she’s never really had anyone to say anything to.

Iwaizumi looks at her over his shoulder, tearing his attention off of the road in front of him for just a second to flash her a smug sort of grin. “And you felt the need to tell me I’m pretty?”

“You are,” she shrugs. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, she figures, but the way he keeps turning to look at her like he just can’t help it makes her gut feel upended. “Nothing wrong with pointing it out.”

Iwaizumi hums, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the top of his thigh, fingers tapping against the denim of his jeans. “Nah,” he agrees. “You can point it out as much as you’d like.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Iwaizumi brings her to a grassy riverbank under a bridge. It’s dark, and the streetlights are flickering. Cars only pass over the bridge every five minutes or so. If he was going to kill her, it’d be here. She doesn’t think he’s going to, but she still has the thought.

She sits on the slightly damp grass, knees pulled up to her chest and watching the slow flow of the river. It’s so loud, where she lives. She never really realized it until now, surrounded by the absence of noise. It’s just the soft, trickling of water and the buzz of hidden insects.

The town that hugs the river is small, and it makes her feel small, to be there. The air feels fresher here, by the river. The smell of it is familiar. It’s like her brother. She inhales deeply, and lets the air fill up her lungs.

He sits beside her, Iwaizumi, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees. Iwaizumi’s hunched forward, staring at the same flow of water as her. “I come out here sometimes when I miss home,” he tells her. “It’s not exactly the same, but it’s enough to remind me.”

Her fingers tangle in the grass below her, and she carefully and slowly uproots it. Iwaizumi drives an hour to find a small, isolated spot that reminds him, even a little, of his home. She sees her home in everything, like a kind of curse she can’t escape. She chews on the inside of her cheek. It seems cruel. “I don’t like being reminded of home,” she confesses, rolling the ripped-up grass between her fingers.

Iwaizumi studies the side of her face. “Where’d you grow up?” he asks.

“Nowhere special,” she shrugs. “Just your average suburb. You find one just like it every twenty minutes.”

“What was so awful about it?” he questions, not looking away from her.

Her tongue twists in her mouth, and she tilts her head back to look up at the dark, empty sky. “My dad,” she answers eventually, voice level. Her head rolls back forward, and her hands knot together under her knees. “He was sort of an asshole.”

“Ah, one of those.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

“Me too.”

She sighs, feeling a bit fidgety. She adjusts the way she sits and then does it again and then does it again until she’s mimicking Iwaizumi’s position. “Why’d you bring me out here?” she asks.

“I dunno. I like it here,” he says. “And I like you. Made sense to me.”

His words put some kind of contracting pressure on her chest and it makes her want to squeeze into a tight ball, becoming smaller. Iwaizumi won’t stop looking at her and it’s not really helping, exactly. “Yeah, I don’t really get that.”

“Get what?”

“You liking me,” she explains. “I know that you do. I don’t get why.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You don’t really know me.”

“I want to.”

Between them, a cricket buzzes. A car passes on the bridge above them, headlights casting a light over them. She turns to look at Iwaizumi and sees him already looking at her, his stare fixed and intense and she likes the way he looks at her. She wonders what he sees when she looks at him under the illumination of the headlights.

She nods. “Okay.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

She’s surprised the first time she sees Iwaizumi’s apartment. She’s not sure why she expected to see something different than her own, but it’s pretty much exactly the same place. Except it’s not an absolute fucking shithole, like hers is.

She’s noticed a certain pride with the way Iwaizumi is, how he does things, the way things are upkept. If things are old and deteriorating, he breathes new life into them, takes care of them, makes them as like new as possible. He cares for his space. He keeps it neat. He maintains.

He’s different from her, in that way. She’s content to just let everything rot away around her.

The shiny, metal pot on his stovetop boils and steams, rattling the lid that covers it. She bites down on her lip. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Iwaizumi stands with his back to her in front of the stove. He’s got a wooden spoon in one hand and the other is apprehensively poking at a smoking pan with (likely burnt) chicken. “Yeah,” he tells her without looking back at her. “I’m a great cook.”

Forty minutes later, they’re seated at his couch, coffee table pulled up close, an open box of pizza between the two of them. She has a slice pinched between her fingers, and a napkin bunched up in her hand to catch the drops of grease that drip out of it.

“Don’t feel too bad,” she says, teeth ripping into her slice, eyes on his television as Death Note plays. He gets better cable than her. “”S probably better. I’m not convinced I would’ve been impressed by your cooking,” she teases lightly.

Iwaizumi nudges his elbow into her side. “Yeah? And who says I was trying to impress you?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Were you?”

Before he can answer, his phone rings. A generic, loud, irritating ringtone that demands attention. Iwaizumi groans and pulls a phone out of his back pocket. It’s not a phone she’s ever seen before. It’s not the one he texts her from, not the one he uses on their front steps. His brow furrows. “I’m sorry,” he says to her, “I gotta take this.”

He stands then, going all the way around his coffee table and straight out the door. She sits there dumbly, staring after him, pizza falling limp in her hand.

It was easy to forget. The more time she spent with him, the more she forgot. His odd behaviors and unusual habits were easy to lose track of, the more she knew him. She’s not to bothered by his abrupt walk-out; she figures it’s good to have the reminder, every now and then, of what exactly it is that he does.

Not that it bothers her, really. But it does make her nervous. The more she knows him, the more his bruises work their way under her skin.

When her mother left her father, she was young. Too young to remember the details of her face or the way her voice sounded. When she thinks of her mother, all she can imagine is a blurred, distorted face that eventually morphs and twists back into her father’s. She can remember, though, what she said when she left. Spat out viciously as she threw wrinkled clothes and wadded piles of cash into whatever loose bags she could find.

“Men like your father, they only care about one thing. And it’s not you and it’s not me.”

She wonders, just briefly, what else Iwaizumi and her father might have in common.

By the time he returns, she’s abandoned the dinner before her and has curled into the furthest corner of the couch, gaze fixed on the screen in front of her but not paying it any real attention at all. Her eyes follow Iwaizumi as he returns to sit beside her. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Just work stuff.”

She shrugs. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

The pros and cons of Iwaizumi Hajime.

She invested in a diary.

Okay.

She stole a diary.

It’s not her first choice in journal: it’s not even a little discreet, a bright pink, fuzzy leopard print that practically begs to be investigated. But it was the first one she could grab and stuff into her bag without being noticed. And at least it came with this glittery little gel pen that she’s writing with now. She taps it against the page now as she leans against the counter of the Higurashi CD Store.

This is her first entry.

Pros: don’t have to worry about what I say around him, easy to talk to, I like the way I feel when I’m around him, I like his smile and his laugh, treats me like a person, respectful, intriguing, pretty (like, really fucking pretty), nice arms, sweet to me

Cons: that thing that I actually cannot write down on paper, reminded me of my dad that one time

She bites down on the end of the glitter pen. She feels like a fucking twelve-year-old.

Iwaizumi brought her something simple this morning: medium roast with just a bit of cream and even less sugar. It’s room temperature now but she keeps it beside her, non-dominate hand wrapped around it and taking small sips of it every few minutes. She wanted to savor it, today, take her time with it. She removes the pen from her lips and takes another swig.

It’s been hard for her to think of anything but Iwaizumi lately. He’s the first person she talks to in the morning and the last person she sees before she goes to sleep. And on the nights were he’s too preoccupied to make an appearance, he sends her a text.

(Her personal favorites include things along the lines of: ‘sorry i can’t see u tonite, thinking abt u,’ and ‘what r u doing tonite? wtv it is i wish i was doing it w u instead of working’)

Even if she did have something else going on in her life (and she absolutely does not), she can’t imagine being able to focus on anything ever again that’s not him. The thought of him is pretty much all-consuming. And currently, she’s having a hard time deciding if that should be filed under the ‘pro’ or ‘con’ category.

Her hand moves towards the ‘pro’ section, and with slightly shaking hands, she writes out: I really want him to kiss me.

But when she looks down on the words on the page, it makes her cheeks heat up painfully. She’s quick to scribbled it out so harshly the pen leaves indentations on the next several pages.

A bell rings. Her head shoots up, and she sees someone step through the front door. Looks like another bored university student, with the same façade of disinterest and the general aura of I am way too good for everything around me that the rest of them have.

Still, she shuts her journal closed and shoves it under the counter, the atrocious fuzzy fabric completely hidden from sight. She opts in to watch the customer instead.

He seems to know exactly what he’s here for. Either that or he walks up to the first display he can find and grabs the closest CD to him, and then he’s making his way towards her. She studies him and his flat black hair and his bored expression and watches as he places the CD on the counter in front of her and slides it towards her. “I’d like to buy this, please.”

PCD by The Pussycat Dolls. She wouldn’t have pegged him for the type, but it’s not like it’s any of her business.

“Sure,” she remarks, a lingering heat still on her cheeks, hoping that it’s not noticeable enough to detract from her reputation as the stoic bitch who’s mean to you at the checkout. She scans the CD, and reads out the price in a flat, monotonous voice.

He pulls out his wallet. Black leather, which suits him more than PCD does. He pulls out a slim, red card and hands it to her. She looks at the name before she swipes it. Kageyama Tobio.

“You look familiar,” he says as she slides the card through the register, and she turns to give him a raised eyebrow. “I think I know you.”

The machine’s taking its sweet time, processing the payment. She taps her fingers against the counter, impatient. “Unlikely,” is her simply reply.

He shakes his head. “You’re Iwaizumi’s neighbor, aren’t you?” he presses. “Iwaizumi Hajime?”

She doesn’t like the question. She doesn’t like that she hasn’t seen him before and he’s right. The payment goes through, and her expression remains the same. “I dunno, maybe,” she says, and slides the CD into a thin plastic bag. “I don’t really know any of my neighbors. Want a receipt?”

Cardholder Kageyama Tobio eyes her carefully, like he’s waiting for a crack, of some sort. She stares blankly, waiting for a response. “No, thanks,” he says eventually, and then turns on his heel. “Have a good one.”

She stares after him long after he’s gone. She resolves to tell Iwaizumi about it, after her shift is over. But when she gets home, he’s not on the step, like he always is.

She decides not to read too much into it.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

When she was ten, school uniform covered in dirt and eye blackened, her father put a baseball bat in her hands. “You don’t let people disrespect you,” he told her, each word sharp. She flinched, small hands going tighter around the bat. “You make sure people know not to push you around. You protect yourself, cause no one else is going to, kid. And you,” he had said, turning to point a finger at her older brother. “What were you doing while these assholes were picking on your sister, huh? Just sitting there watching?”

There were tears in her eyes she was trying very hard to contain. She couldn’t see her brother’s expression as he spoke. “I’m in a different class,” he had defended. “I wasn’t even around when it happened.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no reason I didn’t get a call from your teacher telling me you beat the crap outta the kids that did this to her. You’re her brother, it’s your one job,” their father insisted, and then turned his attention back over to his youngest. “You, go out there and don’t come back until the shits that did that to your face are sorry.”

“I don’t wanna,” she had protested, quiet and meek, the things her father hated most about her. She didn’t lift her head. She didn’t look him in the eye.

There was a light shove to her shoulder. She stumbled backwards. “I don’t give a shit what you want, kid. Go out there and make them regret it.”

He was true to his word, at least, and did not let her back inside the house until she made them regret it.

When she was twelve, she started tending to her brother’s wounds.

He got them from a lot of things. Fights at school, fights after school, fights with their father. Each time he came out worse than before, lip busted, eye bruised shut, nose cracked and shifted.

She would pull up first aid videos on their home computer and make her brother sit in silence, ice pack pressed to his face, while she watched attentively, scribbling down notes for reference whenever the video buffered.

Over time, skills like cleaning wounds and snapping a nose back into place and, in extreme cases, weaving thread in between deep cuts with the sharpest needle she could find (thus creating the world’s shoddiest stitches).

Each time she did so, her brother would groan and hiss and snap at her in pain, cursing whenever her hand closed around his bent cartilage or poked the needle through his skin. “Stop complaining,” she would whisper on the floor of his bedroom. “It’s not as good as a real doctor but it’s better than nothing.”

When she was fifteen, she got kicked out of school.

It was the end of a long string of incidents: ditching classes, smoking on campus, and backtalking teachers were some of her more minor offenses. In her first year of high school, she was unable to go one month straight without getting into trouble (problem #6: rage issues, kind of a chronic thing for her). She was quiet, alone a lot of the time, and pretty much disliked by all of her teachers. It kinda made her seem like an easy target for someone to take their frustrations out on.

She can’t remember her name. The girl’s. She tries sometimes, whenever she thinks about it. But there’s just a blank space in her memory where the girl’s name used to be-can’t even really remember her face. The color of her eyes or the way she wore her hair. She just remembers, on day three of a dedicated, concentrated effort to get under her skin, she just snapped.

The insults were scathing, but they weren’t the worst thing she had ever heard. Just persistent and annoying. She can’t even remember exactly what it was that sent her over the edge. But as her classmate loomed over her desk, laughing and teasing, something inside of her chest burned up, and she stood, whipping the back of her hand across the girl’s cheek.

Her father had screamed at the vice principal, after the fact. He yelled so loudly and for so long that the police were almost called on him. (Fat load of good that would’ve done them). He told them that he was gonna pull his daughter out of that school, because he couldn’t fathom her being educated at an institution that did not allow her to defend herself.

It didn’t really matter, at that point, though. She was already expelled.

Her whole life has kind of been defined by violence, in one way or another. It’s been consistently pushed on her as an end all, be all type of solution. Something that, if you’re good enough at it, it can fix any issue that might pop up. It’s something that she’s always had to cope with, whether that be through dubious first aid methods or dealing with the blood elicited from her own hands.

She’s just sort of used to it, at this point. So when she is awoken in the middle of the night by the continuous ringing of her phone, to hear Iwaizumi’s voice on the other line say, “How good with first aid are you?” she’s not rattled.

Her answer is a confident and sleep-filled, “Pretty good.”

Still, she wasn’t really anticipating a full-on stab wound.

Matsukawa Issei was formally introduced to her as he lay bleeding out Iwaizumi’s couch, half-conscious and a little delirious from the pain. His eyes keep fluttering open and shut. She presses a dish rag against the bare skin of his shoulder, applying as much pressure as she can and thanking whatever named deity she can think of that it’s his shoulder and not his gut.

It’s chaos, and she feels underprepared. Iwaizumi is pacing, hands stained red, and yelling into the receiver of his phone, rage barely contained. There is also the familiar figure of Oikawa, who is kneeled by Matsukawa’s side, saying any and everything he can think of to keep him awake. And then there’s Makki, the one who is freest of blood stains, standing in the middle of the living room, frozen in panic.

He’ll have to do.

“You, Makki,” she barks, and he snaps his head in her direction, eyes wide and waiting for instruction. “Go to the closest convenience store and buy antibiotic ointment and as many bandages as you can. Okay?”

He nods, and without wasting a second on a response, he’s running past Iwaizumi and out the door.

The blood is soaking into the rag, rapidly. She doesn’t know enough to fix everything so neatly. She presses down harder. She did everything she remembered to do. Elevate the wound. Apply pressure. Do not stop applying pressure. Apply more pressure.

She needs the bleeding to stop a little before she can clean it and stitch it and wrap it. She presses down harder, and bites down on his lip. The little white box with the red cross she had brought sits open on the coffee table, too poorly stocked to be of any use.

“Fuck,” she mumbles under her breath, hovering over Matsukawa. The rag’s stopped absorbing the blood. “Fuck. Iwaizumi! I need another towel!”

She watches him move from the corner of her eye, phone still pressed against his ear as he steps into the bathroom for a second and returns with a heavy, black towel in his hand. He brings it over to her, saying cool into the receiver of his phone, “Tell him he’s fucking dead,” before he slams it shut.

Iwaizumi hovers for a second, rage still marring the details of his face. Though it does become slightly diluted by the horror that drains his skin of any color. “You need to press that against his wound,” she instructs. “I can’t take pressure off it for even a second right now, so you need hold it down.”

Sort of mechanically, he nods. She can’t help but notice the way his hands shake as he lowers the towel down over the wound, bunching and bundling it up. He holds in firmly in place over her hands. “Like this?”

“Press down harder,” she instructs. “Harder than you think you’d have to.”

Iwaizumi does as he’s told and leans more of his weight against the wound. Matsukawa groans, pain slipping out of his lips. “I know, I’m sorry man,” Iwaizumi says, leaning down harder. “I’m sorry.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

When the dust settles, she runs her hands under the hot water of her skin for five minutes. It doesn’t matter how much she scrubs at the skin of her hands with soap and the harsh edge of her fingernails. The faint blood stains don’t go away.

Iwaizumi’s exactly where she thought he would be, out on the front steps of their building, smoking a cigarette. She lights one of her own as she takes a seat behind him. The concrete is cool beneath her, and the tips of her fingers are appreciative of the warmth emitting from her lighter. Iwaizumi doesn’t look at her. He’s too fixed on the ground in front of him.

“I’m not a doctor or anything but, I think he’ll be okay,” she tells him, inhaling a puff of smoke. “Just have to makes sure it doesn’t get infected. Wash it a couple times a day, keep an eye on the stitches. I did okay with those, so.”

“I’m sorry I called you,” Iwaizumi says, head hung. There’s a roughness in his voice, an almost trembling as he speaks.

“Why would you be sorry?” she asks, inching closer to him. “Your friend needed help.”

Iwaizumi laughs wryly and lifts his head. His eyes are wet but not watering. “You know, you play dumb a little too well. It gets me, sometimes,” he tells her, eyes tracing along the details of her face. He feels close. She flicks the end of her cigarette, so she has something to do with her hands. “But I know you know. And I’m sorry to get you involved. I know you didn’t want to be.”

Maybe there was some sort of wishful thinking on his part. Her part too. But it’s hard to live two separate lives. It’s hard to be two different people. She’s always sort of known this, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“I’ve been involved in worse things,” she remarks, and ignores the look of doubt he throws in her direction. “If you need help with that kind of thing, you can call me, okay? Don’t worry about that.”

Iwaizumi stares. She stares back and holds her breath. He feels so close. “You know,” he whispers, “I think you really might be too good for me.”

She smiles at him, and acknowledges that she’s fucked. She’s caught up in it.

an: pacing is so off lmafo but i’m still kind of obsessed with this. also full disclosure i barely proof read this i think that even if i did i would still miss every single mistake bc for some reason i can only catch them after i post

if you end up enjoying, please leave a like, rb, comment or ask <3

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @publicbathroompanic @bedeater @rottingt1tz @rintarawr @deluluforcarlos55 @ahseyy @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @baskin-robinhoods @polish-cereal @iheartamora @ferntv @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @pinkiscool @michivrse @causenessus @cannibalsrider @cherrypieyourface @kmwife @k8nicole @oikasenpai @fennecnco @riousluvs @kettlepop (complete form linked above to be added)

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here and this is part fifteen...somehow...

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Author regrets both use of Roman numerals and Old English but you know what? We ballin'. Also Danny woke up! With only some complications! woohoo! 🎉

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny comes in and out of consciousness in bursts.

Wherever he is, it’s not the Guys in White. He rules that out very, very quickly.

For one. The Guys in White would not hire a lady to sit around and mind him constantly. He has— The same few doctors come in and out of green-tinged vision consistently. Their tags are different de-saturated colors, but he can recognize most of them.

And, somehow, the lady is there. If not at his side immediately, at his side quickly enough.

With his space shuttle.

With a grip toy.

With…oatmeal.

The oatmeal is what really clues Danny in that this can’t be the GIW.

The GIW would never waste human food on him. Never. It creates too much of a logistical mess: a paper trail of payments, feeding people that don’t exist; the need for cleanup of bio-waste that no one wants to deal with; the cleaning and sanitizing of utensils, which could easily contaminate a living person.

And yet. There is oatmeal.

Mushy, unappetizing oatmeal.

The lady feeds it to him when she’s around. She spoons it into his mouth, quietly chatting all the while. She could be telling him how she’s going to cut out his organs to be chopped up and mounted on glass slides for investigation for all that Danny knows, but still, very patiently, she spoonfeeds him little mouthfuls of oatmeal.

She waits for him to swallow every time. If he stops eating, she lets him stop.

It’s kind. It’s gentle.

It’s…it’s the nicest thing Danny’s had in a long time.

It’s so nice that he stops being overtly weird when the doctors come in. He knows it’s a bad idea. He knows he’s shooting himself in the foot probably.

But…but no one is being mean to him. Everyone is being careful. Gentle.

Quiet. Slow. Obvious.

One of the doctors drops a meal tray once and everyone rushes to quiet it, to check that he’s settled, to…comfort? Him?

The oatmeal tastes bad, by the way. It’s also how he finds out part of his tongue is numb.

Or maybe it tastes bad because some of his tongue is numb.

Either way. Ew. It’s bland and it tastes bad and Danny has to finish all of it, even though he has an IV in him that puts food into him.

His IV itches. He’s sad that he can’t move and can’t protect himself. He’s tired and he’s bored of sitting here. He doesn’t know where he is and no one can tell him because he can’t understand them.

There’s no TV.

There are other concerns to be worried about, but Danny would like a television, please. Something with news on it. Something that could ground him in a location, or a place, or…

The air hisses. For a moment, breathing is going to be easier as the air cycles. It hurts, still, to breathe—the GIW hadn’t thought Danny needed to breathe, so they hadn’t put him back together right. He breathes through cobbled-together organs and raw pink seams, but yet. He breathes.

Danny lays there, and he breathes. He clutches his space shuttle toy between his wrist and his thigh, because he can.

There’s a whisper against the door. The heavy mechanisms of the door clank out of place.

Danny’s eyelids flutter as they fail to either open or close. The green in his vision bunches and falls as they try. The lady must be back.

Surely, enough, she is. Her paper gown is a mint blue today. It matches her mask and her gloves, but not her pinkish-grey shoes. She comes through the door, and—

—there’s something behind her.

It’s. They’re. Humanoid? They’re…green?

Danny stares, his head against the pillow, his eyes wide. They’re. They’re floating.

He can’t stop staring. His eyelids don’t even twitch. The lady walks to his bedside, and the…the other one follows him.

“Wel mette,” the lady greets him again, her fingers on the very corner of his mattress and no further. “Eom hebbjan ure freond.”

Danny has no idea what that means. He stares; he stares at the…their… Is that a ghost? Is a ghost just…walking around??

The—the being has—their head isn’t super. Humanoid. It’s more oval and angular, to be honest. But the rest of them is; their outfit is certainly out of the world Danny has grown up in, and is mostly constructed of straps crossing around the larger shapes of their body. And a…cloak…?

Is this a ghost?? It has to be, right? But a ghost of what??

There’s a sensation. Danny doesn’t have control over his body in the way that he’s used to, but this sensation isn’t aimed at his—it doesn’t—it’s not physical. It’s just a touch. A feeling.

Like he thought. A sensation. But still. Its presence is…Danny’s pretty sure it’s a greeting.

He…he doesn’t greet back. He doesn’t know if this is a friend.

…Lots of ghosts pretend to be something they’re not. He doesn’t know who this ghost is. He doesn’t know who this lady is. His head hurts and it’s hard to think and he knows everyone just wants to hurt him even when they pretend not to. Or they don’t even know it yet.

So he turns his head and pretends he’s dead. (Or. Uh. Dead-er.) Dead things don’t have thoughts, duh. You can’t read mine if I don’t have any!

The ghost drifts closer. Danny can’t move—he can’t run, can barely flinch—but he can feel how taut he gets the closer they get, the further they get into his personal bubble.

The greeting comes again. It’s quieter on the second round. Gentler. The ghost is trying not to scare him, is trying not to hurt him. Just careful, gentle contact.

Danny squeezes his eyes closed. It doesn’t work (whoops) because his eyes don’t close right (he forgot about that) and then his head hurts a lot because he’s working a whole lot of muscles who were not prepared to put in so much effort at the drop of a hat.

The greeting turns a little…melancholy. It matches the tone that the lady takes on when Danny’s breathing stutters and his body screams with exhaustion he can’t shake.

He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t want to be poked and prodded and then attacked when the ghost realizes Danny’s not Fun the way the ghosts want him to be—willing to play around when people get hurt or ignore the pain around them. Danny just wants to be left alone.

The greeting is gently let go. From the ghost comes a question—something soft. Something celestial. Danny can’t tell the specifics, but there are moons and stars in the question.

…His fingers flex around the plastic shell of his model shuttle. There’s. He’s. Space?

The green ghost turns to the lady. “Læt uns ga an wealc”, they say, in that English Danny doesn’t know and doesn’t understand.

The lady says something back to them. They say something back to the lady. The lady goes to the wall, where there is a phone, and says something.

Danny tenses. This is it. She’s calling in for backup. More people are coming and it’s going to hurt.

The phone call ends. The lady comes back and Danny tenses—

But there’s nowhere to run and his physical body is too weak to hide properly. She reaches his bedside, reaches out her arms, and Danny flinches away.

He can’t shut his eyes. He can’t stop seeing her outstretched arms because he can’t shut his eyes.

“Mæg eom ahebbe eow?”

Danny doesn’t know what that means!!!

The ghost brushes their fingers up against the steel rail of Danny’s cot. There’s an image—of the lady, clear as day, in a red and blue and gold outfit, bridal-carrying someone from building rubble. There’s a prodding at his core that says you, there, in particular.

He’s dumbfounded. Like, to lift? To lift him?

There’s a sense of agreement, and then the image of a cot with wheels. The wheels are the focus of the message.

…They’re asking Danny permission? To go somewhere?

On one hand, no, Danny doesn’t want to be any further complicit into whatever horrible kidnapping scheme this probably is. This place sucks. He doesn’t want to see more of it. This is the second worst kidnapping he’s ever had and he wants no part in it.

On the other hand, however, this place sucks, and getting out of here, even if only temporarily…

Danny licks his lips. There’s craters in the soft tissue. He tastes orange pixie sticks and the sour tang of battery acid.

If Danny is very, very smart. And very, very careful. And very, very quiet… Well. What are the chances they wheel him past the exit on this excursion?

Sure, they’re pretty low. But there’s hope.

Danny hasn’t had hope in ages.

He nods. He hates that he does—his neck jerks upwards, and then he’s sore and tired everywhere and in his head and neck and shoulders, and he’s not going to be able to move much more than that for literal hours (sorry, oatmeal mush), and he’s said yes.

“Þancie eow!” the lady says, and the ghost translates that for him as thank you and then she lifts Danny up off the bed cot he lives on like he’s still a ghost, and not made of heavy, teenage flesh. Wow is she strong. Danny hopes her job isn’t to hurt him. Otherwise he’s going to be a smear of green on the wall and then what would the point of inspecting his insides be??

Danny gets lifted. Danny gets carried.

(It’s not an amazing experience on his aching body. He thinks some of his bruises start to leak ectoplasm in self defense. Her arms are as stiff as rocks.)

Being lifted is also how Danny finds out there’s something caging his legs. They don’t seem to be caged together—they hang individually—but they keep them taut and aligned so that all the pressure of being lifted is on his hips, and not his legs. Considering that Danny’s received pretty medium care for his troubles…that doesn’t bode well for whatever state his legs are in.

Danny gets gently, gently placed down onto a new cot. The side bars are metal, but thinner than on the bed he woke up on.

The world starts to move.

Oh. They’re moving. Danny’s moving.

It’s kind of startling. The world’s been so static and fuzzy for so long, and now he’s bedridden but moving.

The ghost opens the door, and Danny’s still body and the bed follow with it. The lady has to be pushing, then. They go through it and—

—Danny blearily squints. Ow. Bright.

Bright, LED light follows Danny down steel hallways and past strangers in bright outfits, their colors pale and washed out by Danny’s attempts to squeeze green eyelids together and stop seeing everything.

He wants to stop. This is too much. He bites his lip—jaw aching—and grunts—throat tearing—and—

The ghost that keeps trying to talk to him sends some other emotion, and Danny purposefully ignores them. It’s easy enough to block things you don’t want to feel. The green wall of a body floats out in front of him to open another door, and Danny is pushed inside.

The lights are off in here. The tension in Danny’s forehead gets a little quieter. That’s…nice. It makes the window in the room seem bigger and brighter, and—

Danny jerks. His whole body screams at him as he claws against the cot, trying to get closer, closer—

He hurts something in his back. He can tell. There’s something in his hips that’s strained, or possibly fractured, as he climbs across a horizontal surface. The beings around him make worried, scared noises, and that doesn’t matter right up until the bed moves so Danny can push his face right up against the glass.

Because that’s space out there. The stars are out there. And Danny is so, so close to them.

It’s so…

…Danny doesn’t know how much time he loses to starlight before he falls asleep.

*

“Did you see!” Diana gushes, the windows going by. The cot (and the alien in it) she pushes through the hall, the occasional curious eye turning to them as they go past. “J’onn, did you see, he had glowed! I know we had hoped that he would be receptive, but—“

“Diana,” J’onn murmurs, his voice low. Wonder Woman’s head tilts to find him behind her, and she only slows just enough to not run the cot or its occupant into any unsuspecting superheroes.

The first fear is for the worst scenario. “Did the excursion hurt him?”

The Martian hesitates. “…No,” he says, and nothing more. He drifts forward to the metaphorical prow of their vehicle, and Diana sets her shoulders into generating momentum. J’onn opens doors for them as they pass.

The alien child isn’t awake to consent to be returned to his newly cleaned bed, but Diana feels secure enough returning him to his usual haunt that she proceeds to do so.

Even when physical, he is frighteningly limp in her arms.

She takes care to support his head as she pulls him up to her chest. He is so fragile. When the light comes across his face as he moves, parts of his face are still ominously transparent. Ominously liquid. Ominously green.

Diana should not be able to see the inner airways of his nose, nor the thin, still-healing holes in his skull, or his irises while his eyes try in vain to shut with skin they do not have.

She lays him down. Gently, she tucks him under thin sheets with gloved hands.

J’onn drifts over to her side. His feet haven’t touched the ground—not since he was reminded that visible signs of non-human life might be reassuring to a non-human. “He doesn’t remember us,” he says. Diana hears him.

And then she hears him.

“He what?”

“He has no memory of his time on the base. He has no memory yourself, of our previous communication, of the junior heroes… He has no understanding of the layout of the base, nor of things we had already established: my status as an alien lifeform to Earth and the base’s lunar occupancy. As far as he knows, he woke up here a week and a half ago to strangers having taking up a caretaker’s role, and he doesn’t know why and if we will harm him.”

Diana stills. She…takes a deep breath.

“Alright,” she whispers. And then, louder: “Alright. We can fix this.”

And they will, although it will take time, because even if he doesn’t remember them, Diana knows him—a child with too much fear, who likes to be around others, who occasionally plays around but likes his boundaries respected. A child who put glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.

“Oh,” Diana realizes at last, reaching a point J’onn had already understood: “Impulse is going to be so disappointed.”

[purpledemonlilyposting]

And here we have Lily Orchard unironically defending moé anime just because I'm critical of it despite it being the exact kind of stuff the so-called disgusting weebs who "fetishize Japan" she loves to complain about are into. More under the cut!

[Lily's Post]

"Director" in anime does often equate to "show runner" but there is barely any information on the development of this bland paint by numbers anime about moeblobs next to big ship machinery.

But considering Hanada was in charge of the series composition and wrote the screenplay of every single episode I would say he shaped the thing. It's just funny that Lily bitches about moé anime seasonal slop when that's Hanada's bread and butter.

But ah yeah, those stupid feminists, complaining about shows where female characters are all depicted as pure, airheaded, simple-minded and idealized for the male gaze. Totally not the response you'd see from an MRA neckbeard weeb, eh Lily? And you're agreeing with it.

What "pro moé" anime fans are ripping me apart except for "Christian libertarian communist" @kuuderekun over there? Who is probably sending all of these asks. Are these really the sorts of people you're making your bed with Lils? People who like School Days and lolicon?

You'll notice none of my critiques of A Place Further than the Universe have been "toddlerface bad". It's brainless teenage girls designed to appeal to the male gaze bad. And Lily, you were squealing the entire video about how cute and dumb the girls are. Yeah. That's the appeal.

Given I'm a feminist I maybe don't like women and girls being depicted as simple-minded creatures to be cooed at. It's still objectification. You're just not experienced enough with anime to have recognized what this boring, poorly written show is. Everything in it is just in service of putting moé joshi kosei next to big technical machinery to appeal to otaku autists. It's not the WORST example of this kind of show, but it is one.

For god's sake the girls only get on the expedition through sheer dumb happenstance and narrative contrivances. Zero characters besides Shirase have any real reason to go to Antarctica, even her mother didn't. Her mother wasn't even an Artic researcher or an engineer or anything, she just wanted to go to Antarctica cause it sounded neat. She and her two adult female friends also act like doe-eyed braindead teenagers.

And then the mom died going out in a blizzard trying to retrieve a laptop leaving her daughter motherless for no reason, but this is treated as nothing but beautiful and heartwarming by the show. It's so asinine.

How's that Antarctica video doing by the way?

[heliads]

sorry to send in two requests but if you've got the time Luke Patterson x reader where she is his tutor for English or something and he develops a crush, so even when he understands the stuff she's teaching him he pretends to be confused so that the tutoring sessions last longer. And then one day he gets a good grade and she's proud of him but that means the sessions are over so he builds up the courage to ask her out? You can put this at the bottom of the list or not even write it because I know how swamped your requests get, but ily.

do not apologize for two requests!! my blog exists for you!! and jatp s2 may be dead but my feelings for that show are not. xoxo

masterlist

Luke Patterson is currently fighting a one-man war against his English class, and he is losing. Badly. This was not supposed to be his problem class, he was thinking the biggest struggle would be math or science, but surprise surprise, there’s no such thing as a class you can just skate through. He tried to skate through English. He tried really, really hard, but instead of Spark Notes-ing his way through whatever classic book they threw his way, Luke’s staring at a bright red D on his latest essay.

This would happen to be the most recent essay they were assigned, the one Luke pushed off until the last minute because he was too invested in getting some good songs down on paper. He hadn’t meant to procrastinate, he never does, it’s just that whenever Luke had a spare hour or two, it’s always far more tempting to head out to the studio and mess around with some chord progressions than to do homework.

This essay had gone just like all the other ones so far this year. The book had been assigned, the essay followed not soon after, and Luke told himself that he was going to start it on time for a change. The only problem was that he came home late that day after a shift at his job, so he couldn’t start it that day, and then he was studying for a test the next day, and after that he was working on songs. Before he knew it, it was the night before and he was speed writing to get everything down in time. Luke doesn’t even think he had time to proofread before turning in that mess.

So yeah, he shouldn’t really be surprised about this grade in particular. Still, he isn’t pleased about it. He doesn’t want to see the look on his parents’ face when he dodges another question about his grades, nor listen to all the other kids in his class talk about how easy that essay prompt was. Everything just makes him feel worse.

And, if Luke’s day couldn’t get any better, his English teacher pulls him aside after class to talk about it.

“I noticed your last few assignments haven’t been going as expected,” she says sympathetically, “is there anything you want to tell me about that?”

There’s a lot Luke wants to tell her, such as the fact that this class is dry as a saltine and twice as bland. They’ve spent the last few classes just going over social hierarchies around the time when the book was written, talk about boring. If Luke wanted to study history, he’d read a textbook.

He can’t say all that without damaging his final grade even more, though, so Luke plasters on a grin and does his best impression of an earnest student who’s just had a bad string of luck. “Not really, I’ve just been so busy recently that I didn’t have enough time to really ponder the prompt, you know?”

Usually, this is Luke’s best strategy for getting out of these kinds of nonsense conferences. He’ll whip out a few key words like ‘time commitments’ and whatnot and his teachers will fall for it every time.

He might have done this too often, though, because his teacher just nods and refuses to let him go. “That makes sense to me. Do you think it would help to spend a little more time exploring the prompt or connecting the book to the essay topics?”

“Sure,” Luke says vaguely. He’s only half paying attention; he just saw Reggie outside the door mouthing the words what did you do?? as dramatically as he could.

The teacher looks pleased by this. “That’s what I thought. I’ve gone ahead and signed you up for some tutoring sessions, you’ll start this afternoon after school.”

Luke blinks. “Wait, what?” Clearly, he hasn’t been paying attention nearly enough. Since when was tutoring on the table?

The teacher spreads her hands. “You need a little more help and organization to stay on track. Tutoring is the perfect answer to this.”

“Is it?” Luke asks feebly.

“Absolutely,” the teacher decides, and that’s that. Luke tries to wheedle his way out of it through repetition of how busy he is, like, all the time, but it doesn’t matter. She’s caught him in a half-lie and there’s nothing he can do to avoid it.

Reggie’s waiting for Luke outside the door when he finally leaves. “What happened in there?”

“Pure misery,” Luke groans, and contemplates giving himself a concussion by ‘accidentally’ falling down the stairs so he can go home without having to go to tutoring.

Unfortunately, Reggie enlists Alex in keeping Luke free of head trauma, and so he finds himself in an empty classroom later that afternoon, mournfully watching all of the other students leave the school with no doubt wonderful plans awaiting them.

Luke’s just starting to wonder if his tutor isn’t going to show up after all (after fifteen minutes, he’s legally allowed to leave, right) when someone slides into the seat in front of him.

“Sorry about being late,” they gasp, “I just found out I was doing this like ten minutes ago.”

Luke breaks his desolate stare out the window to glance at his tutor and instantly, he feels the crushing weight of shame bear down on him tenfold. It would have been one thing to have a total stranger be his tutor, someone Luke could avoid looking at in the hallways and never speak to again, but he knows this girl. More importantly, he’s thought she was cute for at least the last four years.

This is the worst case scenario, then. Y/N L/N is smart, she’s pretty, and judging by the fact that Luke always sees her in a group of friends laughing at her jokes, she’s funny, too. Definitely someone Luke would want to impress through gigs or shows instead of, say, his crumbling English grades.

“I’m Y/N,” she says, and Luke realizes that she’s probably been waiting for him to say something. Great, he can’t even introduce himself properly.

“Luke,” he answers, “but you probably knew that already.”

Y/N laughs, and judging by the slightly manic tone behind it, she’s just about as composed about the whole thing as he is. That makes him settle slightly in his chair, lowering his guard. “I was told that I would be tutoring you when I was trying to leave class. Ms. Brown pulled me aside when the bell rang and told me about it.”

“That makes two of us,” Luke grumbles.

The corners of Y/N’s lips quirk up before she manages to tamp them down again, and if Luke weren’t totally out of his mind, he might even say that Y/N has the same attitude towards their English teacher as he does. That would certainly make this whole tutoring experience a lot more interesting.

“So,” she says, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound official, “you wanted to talk about essay pointers, right?”

Luke starts to say something about how he didn’t want any of this, actually, but Y/N arches a brow and he relents. “Yeah, essay stuff. The last one didn’t go over too hot.”

Y/N tilts her head to the side, contemplating this. “Did you agree with her grading?”

“Yeah,” Luke admits, “she wasn’t wrong to mark me down, I kind of did it the night before in one sitting.”

Y/N frowns. “Really? Why’d you put it off so long? I thought you liked writing. Whenever I see you, you’re always jotting something down in that notebook of yours.”

Luke grins. “You’ve been watching me? That’s creepy, you know.” He’s obviously holding back a laugh, though, so the comment has no trace of a barb.

Y/N rolls her eyes, although her face looks a little hot at the moment. “Just answer the question.”

“Alright,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender, “you’re right, I do like writing.”

“Then why wait until the last minute to do the essay? I mean, I get not having a ton of time to work on assignments, but if you really do enjoy writing, it shouldn’t be all that bad, right?”

Luke groans. “ This is different. It’s not fun writing,” he tries to excuse himself.

It sounds bad even to him. Already, Luke can see how this is going to play out– she’ll laugh at him, maybe, say that someone who just got a grade like him can’t possibly be thinking about writing and fun in any way at all. She doesn’t, though. Instead, she nods and smiles at him. A real smile. Not mocking in any way.

“What is fun writing, then?” She asks.

Luke blinks in surprise. “Well, writing songs is fun, I guess,” he stammers, “stuff that actually matters, you know? All these essays are the exact same, but songs are all different. That’s why I care about them and not some pointless paper.”

Y/N nods. “That makes sense to me. So you release music, right?”

Luke isn’t sure where she’s going with this, but he’s perfectly happy to talk about music instead of that offensive red scribble all over his paper, so he plays along. “Yeah, me and my band. We try to, at least.”

“Have you ever gotten a review that bothered you? Not because they didn’t like it, but because they disliked your songs for the wrong reason? Like you had a whole story in mind for your album but the critics just ignored it?” She prompts him.

“Yeah,” Luke says, eyes widening with irritation, “Man, it’s so annoying. You go to all the trouble of writing out these ideas, and you make them have a really good meaning, too, and then it’s like they never read it at all. It makes me so mad sometimes, I want to write a column or something in response about how they totally missed my point.”

“Like, say, an argumentative essay about the real strengths of your chosen piece of writing?” Y/N says as casually as she can.

Luke’s about to argue and say that’s not like this at all, but on second thought, it is. It totally is. “Wait, you’re right. I never thought about it like that, but you’re right. Y/N L/N,” he decides on the spot, “I really like you.”

She grins back at him. “Luke Patterson, I like you too.”

That settles it for him. Luke had been annoyed at the thought of having to suffer through tutoring beforehand, but maybe he’ll be alright with it now. Y/N isn’t a part of the oppressive legion of teachers all conniving to make his life a living hell because he wants to be a musician instead of a doctor or a banker, she’s on his side. That makes it all better somehow.

And, unsurprisingly, it is better. Luke actually ends up having a really good time in his tutoring sessions with Y/N. They don’t feel like tutoring at all, more like a chance to hang out with a friend. They talk about Jane Austen and tell awesome jokes, read Shakespeare and spend more and more time together. Luke knows this is only a temporary thing until his grades get back up, but it’s too easy to forget that.

Until, one day, it isn’t. His English teacher hands back an essay with a bright red ‘A’ marked on the front, and tells him that she’s proud of all the progress he’s made so quickly. Instead of a sigh of relief, the only thing escaping Luke’s lips is a desolate sigh. After all, if Luke’s improved to this point, that kind of means his tutoring sessions will be over, right?

Y/N doesn’t know that, though. Y/N doesn’t have access to his grades. All she knows is what Luke tells her, and if informing her of his latest essay win means she’ll stop seeing him after school, why should Luke let slip a single syllable?

So, later that day, when Y/N asks him how the latest essay went, Luke shrugs and pretends to be disappointed. “I’d hoped for more,” he says, “she, uh, didn’t like my commentary.”

“Really?” Y/N questions, frowning slightly, “I thought you were really good at that.”

Luke’s eyes widen, caught in a lie. “Who knows with teachers, right?” He laughs weakly.

Y/N pretends to shudder. “I know, right? I feel like half of your grade is literally just how much she likes you. English classes are always so subjective.”

“Subjective?” Luke asks, grinning and propping his chin up on his hand, “Tell me about that.”

Y/N laughs. “Only if you promise we’ll talk Jane Eyre immediately afterwards. Immediately.”

“I so swear,” Luke intones, holding up his right hand with all the solemnity of a president being sworn into office.

Y/N swats him on the shoulder with her notebook, but she obliges, and maybe they don’t talk about Jane immediately. Maybe they laugh a little longer than usual. And maybe, just maybe, Luke thinks that he’s perfectly fine with obscuring the truth if it means he can have more of this when he needs it the most.

The truth, unfortunately, has a habit of making itself heard regardless of who is inclined to hide it. Luke comes into their usual study spot in the library one day to see Y/N waiting for him, not already in her seat like normal but standing tentatively at the side.

He frowns, slinging his backpack down on the ground and pulling up a chair. “Everything alright? You look like you’re about to run. If you’ve got something planned, we can do this another day.”

Y/N shakes her head slightly. “No, I’m free all day.”

Luke gestures towards the table. “Then sit down, my legs are getting tired just looking at you. We’ve got stuff to study, don’t we?”

“Well, that’s what I was going to ask about,” Y/N says, “Ms. Brown stopped me after class today, said she had someone else she wanted me to tutor. I said I was already booked with you and she was confused. Apparently you’ve been doing just fine for quite some time.”

Luke feels his breath catch in his throat. This is not how he’d wanted Y/N to find out. For what must be the hundredth time this year, Luke sends out a silent curse to all meddlesome English teachers.

“Yeah,” he says as carefully as he can, “I have, but only because of your expert tutoring. It’s like antibiotics, you know? You don’t stop taking ‘em when you start feeling better, only when the prescription is over.”

Y/N blinks at him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to feel like everything is slipping out of control in an instant. “It was a simile, sorry. A bad one. All I mean is that we don’t have to stop this just because I got a good grade or two.”

Y/N almost looks like she’s smiling, but that could just be Luke being delusional. “I thought you didn’t want to do tutoring.”

“I didn’t at the start, but you’re different. We’re cool. We are cool, right?” Luke starts rambling more and more with each passing second, but he can’t help it. He’s overthinking everything. What if he’s literally just been a tutee this whole time, and she doesn’t think they’re friends at all?

Y/N stares at him a second longer, then takes a seat at last. “Luke Patterson, are you telling me that you like my company so much that you’re willing to keep going to extra English practice just to see me?”

Luke can feel his face heating up, but he does his best to ignore it. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds–” He still has a little bit of self control left, so he cuts himself off before he can make a truly terrible mistake.

Y/N catches him, though. “It sounds like what?”

“It sounds like I like you,” he admits, and Y/N’s smiling at him, so he decides to take the leap of faith and just do what he’s been wanting to do for quite some time. Since the start of this, actually. “And I do like you. I like you a lot. I might not need the tutoring anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop seeing you. So what if we met up sometime soon? Not for English, for us.”

Luke decides that he likes Y/N’s smile more than anything. “Are you asking me out?” She says.

“I am,” he affirms. “Are you saying yes?”

“I am,” she repeats.

Suddenly, Luke feels like the luckiest kid of all. Maybe he does have to throw in a good word or two for meddlesome English teachers after all. Sometimes they have a way of connecting you with the best people in the world.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

jatp tag list: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @callsign-scully, @lovesanimals0000, @amortensie

[karniss-bg3]

i know you usually don't tackle female!tav x kar'niss but if you had to give it a shot... just something wholesome maybe? esp since the Absolute is feminine-coded all throughout the game, the overtones could be there for kar'niss to see a kind good-aligned femme!tav as a goddess to worship all for himself. maybe just a scene of her tending to his wounds or arachnid peculiarities as a drider—i.e: maybe he molts and the process is painful but she helps him through it with comfort and grace?

[Music]

Where had he gone? Morning light had broke and there were no signs of her eight-legged companion. Tav crawled out of her sleeping bag to survey the area with mild concern etched over her face.

“Kar’niss?”

She surveyed the area, her ears coming to perk as she caught the sound of shuffling from a nearby cave. Unafraid she advanced toward the noise, casting the light cantrip in an effort to shoo away the darkness. She’d come to find a figure huddled at the back of the cavern, curled in tight against the rock face in an effort to make himself as small as possible. She frowned while she carefully stepped closer, willing the lights nearer to get a better look at him. She noticed signs of damage along the abdomen of his lower half, the flesh knotting and bunching up unnaturally over the carapace.

“Gods, what’s happening? Are you alright?” She’d ask while trying to wander closer.

“Don’t!” He retreated tighter against the wall wanting to maintain the greatest distance between them. “This is not for you. Go away.”

She could sense the fear in him, the pain. His leg at the far back of his body lifted and curled in a vain attempt to scrape over his molting mound with pathetic results. He snarled in frustration, planting his hands against the wall, his torso slumped. She wouldn’t be intimidated able to see he was in need.

“I’ll be back,” she said, darting off.

In a few moments she returned with pack in hand, placing it down nearby to root around for supplies. Kar’niss’ eyes narrowed as he watched, a deep reverberating trill vibrating within his throat akin to a growl. Tav heard the sound for what it really was, cries from a wounded animal who didn’t know how to ask for aid. She pulled a bottle of light gray paste from her bag, unscrewing the lid and giving it a sniff to make sure the contents were still good. It smelled medicinal, a sharp tang of bitter roots and sap combined to make a potent salve. Satisfied with her test she rose and approached Kar’niss once more.

The drider reared up in response, his pedipalps rising and extending outward in a threatening manner while his two front most legs stamped into the ground with defiance.

“S-Stay away…!” Kar’niss panted, a panic starting to bubble within him. Every woman he’d ever trusted had inevitably hurt him, betrayed him in some way. Used, abused, and discarded when his usefulness had run out, why would Tav be any different?

But Tav was different, even if he could not yet see it. She held up the jar so he could get a better look. The contents were boring, bland and unimpressive in appearance, hardly what one would think could fell a drider.

“It’s medicine, Kar’niss. It will help ease the pain, allow you to heal faster. See?” She used two fingers to scoop up a dollop of the paste, applying the portion onto her own arm and rubbed it in like lotion. Once done she extended her arm so he could see for himself. It looked perfectly normal. Her flesh didn’t melt away, bubble or boil from the application, nor did it turn any unusual colors. The scent was so strong that he got a whiff and his head jerked back in response to how it tickled the inside of his nostrils.

He still seemed hesitant about what was on offer. That is until another pang of pain ripped through his body, his entire frame quaking in response. His expression twisted and teeth grit in anguish.

“Hnnng!” He tried to turn and reach back to touch the pained segment but he couldn’t reach, his spine unable to twist at such an angle. His brows furrowed, his attention returning to Tav who tried so hard to offer him help. With his lips pressed into a thin line a slow sigh spilled from his lips. “You may...apply this medicine. But do not linger!”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. It...might sting a little, but far less so than what you’re enduring now.”

Tav approached his side to get a better look at the damage. It did seem he was molting and only midway through, suggesting this would be a long day. The carapace that had fallen away left tender pink flesh behind, exposed and vulnerable during this stage of the process. She’d first snap away the dead skin that still clung to him, knowing better than to peel beyond that. This process couldn’t be hurried it needed to continue at the pace it was destined to go. Still, she could at least be rid of the excess and provide him relief from the weight.

Kar’niss was on edge throughout, watching over his shoulder at the ready for the flash of a dagger, the buzz of threatening magic, anything she could do to strike at him. None of that would come to pass. Instead with the removal of the discarded carapace she now had access to the fresh skin below. Her fingered dabbled into the salve and applied a coating over the surface. Despite her warning about the inevitable sting, Kar’niss scrambled and backed up into the corner, a monstrous screech echoing throughout the cave.

Tav backed up quickly and held up her hands. “Easy, easy now. Shh it’s alright.” She cooed, her voice maintaining a delicate hum to keep things calm.

A sheen of sweat trickled over Kar’niss’ face along with the threat of tears in his eyes, heavy exhales of breath pushed between his clenched teeth. He was on the verge of snapping at Tav once more until he felt something unexpected; Relief. The salve started to work it’s magic over the affected area. A cooling sensation crept over the sensitive skin leaving behind a pleasant tingle, effectively numbing the nerves from further assault. He blinked in stunned silence. Her method not only worked but it stopped the pain rather than enhancing it. He glanced at his rounded back-end with a firm look of contemplation, his abdomen lifted and issued a cursory wiggle. His gaze then darted back to her, his savior, the anger steadily fading away.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Tav smiled and screwed the lid back onto the jar. “It should stave off the pain for at least a few hours, I’ll need to apply more after that. At least now you know what to expect. We can remain here until the process finishes. I’ll keep an eye out, guard the cave and bring you something to eat. How does that sound?”

Kar’niss bobbed his head in a quick nod, still a little taken back by this new revelation. He rubbed at one of his arms to self soothe, struck by a new wave of thoughts he didn’t know how to process yet.

“...Thank you,” he whispered.

Tav stepped closer and rested her fingertips on one of his pedipalps, another gesture that brought him great shock. “You’re welcome. Remember I am here for you, okay?” Their eyes met briefly which made something inside his chest flutter, wild and free. His lips trembled enough to where he jerked his gaze away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“I won’t be gone long. Let me know if the pain returns,” Tav said. She’d then slip away to give the drider his space, smiling at him over her shoulder until her silhouette faded from the cave entrance.

Kar’niss looked on in an effort to process it all. He lowered himself to the ground to rest while the pain was quelled, glancing back from time to time where the medicine had been applied. Steadily a slow, lopsided smile tugged at his scarred lips, a warmth growing inside of him unlike any he’d known before. He looked to the cave entrance, watching and waiting, for her to return.

“My Queen.”

[nnight-dances]

SOME GUY!

pairings: mark lee x f!reader genre: fluff, angst, heated moments tropes: close friends to lovers?, mark avoids u because he's stupid, taeyong as your perfect ex who's still in love w u, u kiss mark's face to shut him up. warnings: mint ice-cream slander, mark is some guy, skinship, college frat party, not proofread.

author's note: haha guess who's in their mark phase hhhhh... sorry he's just such an interesting guy i could write him all day long. either way!!! more mark appreciation, less depression <3

—

at the end of the day, mark really was just some guy.

that’s what he thought to himself everytime he sat down to really consider the reality of all things. he doesn’t mean to get all self-deprecating and emo like that, but it was just a neutral truth thing that kinda hurts the first time you realize it but then it’s just the obvious thing in your daily life. but of course, if he ever did tell someone that he always felt like some guy among a bunch of cool guys, regardless of their gender, he would have to sit through one of those ultimately useless and pitiful speeches about how talented he really was.

— “you know what? you’re right!”

mark’s thoughts zap off their route when he hears you agree with his remark a few seconds ago. honestly, he hadn’t been completely sure if you’d heard him because of the lack of reaction you’d given him. but when you suddenly chuckle and agree with him, mark chokes over the stream of dr pepper in his throat.

he coughs desperately, “wait, what?”

your smile widens, “you’re just some guy. that’s like the perfect description of you.”

under normal circumstances, mark thinnks he would’ve been offended by how certain you sound. but the way you say it? it’s not like you’re trying to be mean or condescending… more like you’re just saying the truth. the neutral truth thing…

“i can’t believe you,” mark mutters, face splitting in a laugh, “i can’t believe you’re agreeing with me!” you look slightly confused but continue, “don’t tell me you’re hurt? you were the one who brought it up!”

mark shakes his head, controlling his laughter, still slightly losing his mind. “you’re really something, bro. i just didn’t expect you to actually be honest.” he laughs again, taking a sip of his drink again, becoming aware that he was being too loud for a bookstore. thankfully though, on a brief glance around, nobody seemed to care.

you fiddle with the zipper of your pencil pouch in thought. then, a shrug as you look back at mark, “hmm, isn’t that funny. i’m some thing, you’re some guy.”

mark falls into another fit of laughter before he knows it, disbelieving more than anything over your badly disguised shamelessness. you hold in a laugh as you land the last punch to his gut, “the perfect pair, isn’t it?” — the punch that sends him right into an oblivion of a world where nothing except you makes sense.

(ok perhaps, mark was being a tad dramatic. you know what he means though: he’s smitten.)

—

if someone were to kidnap you for the purposes of interrogating your honesty behind your claims that you thought mark was some guy, you’d probably get shot in the head instead, because there was no way you were letting anyone in on the information that you did not actually consider mark some guy.

maybe, a little, yes, but at this point, the phrase ‘some guy’ needs some more definiton. some guy as in boring and bland and dry and overdone? absolutely not. if that was what mark was, you wouldn’t have been committing every last one of your wednesday evenings, aka the only free evenings you ever get, to sitting in a crowded bookstore to pretend to do homework with him. you never did homework with mark around.

mark was the kind of some guy that was just being himself. yeah, that’s all you got. mark was mark. good explanation.

“bro? y/n, you good?”

you blink, finding mark swaying in front of you. you were currently sat on a bench near the building where your next class was.

“uhh, sorry,” you take off your headphones to look up at mark, “what are you doing on this part of campus?”

mark shrugs with a playful smile, “why can’t i be here?”

“because you literally don’t take any classes in the econ department?”

he shrugs again, “what if i’ve changed my ways? we’re still young and free, y/n, think a little outside the box, won’t you?”

“you’re taking econ? how- how did you-?”

“oh, look at that,” mark cuts you off, holding up his phone in front of your face. the time reads 11:05 am. “it’s time for our class. let’s go.” you’re busy processing his words (our class???) when he pulls you by the arm and toward the hall behind you.

and that’s the story of how you go from knowing absolutely nobody in your econ class, to sitting next mark in the extremely damp and cramped chairs of your econ class which means your arm is constantly touching his which you, for some reason, don’t hate. probably because the chilly fall wind coming through the window next to mark always makes you glad for the warmth.

mark, on the other hand, smiles a small smile whenever you shuffle closer because even though, the guy (doyoung is his name?) in front of him is always asking him to close the window, he would rather not.

—

“you’re kidding? ice-cream? in this fucking weather?” you question mark, coughing a fake cough to make your point.

“what are you, a coward?”

when you give mark an unimpressed look, he breaks a laugh, grabbing hold of you by your elbow. cheekily, he says, “please. for me?”

you frown, feeling your resolve crumble under his stupid gaze, “i hate you,” you say but let mark pull you after him into the tiny corner shop.

the two of you huddle over the menu of the ice-cream shop, and you exclaim quietly, “oh! i’ve been wanting to try their raspberry choco flavor for a while!” mark looks between you and menu, “ah, really? that sounds kinda good.”

then, he shifts to look at the girl behind the counter, “uhh, we’ll have one mint chocolate and one raspberry choco, please.” you gasp at mark’s choice, “m-mint chocolate?! mark. i think i might break up with you.”

mark is too busy reddening at your joke that hits too close to home to notice the worker chuckling at you. she processes your orders and mark has time to recover.

when he looks back at you, you’re still grimacing. “i didn’t think you could get any worse.”

“are you sure you should be saying that to someone who’s treating you to icecream?”

“huh?” your eyes widen and then you smile, “ahhh, i see. i wasn’t aware you were bribing me into have a favorable opinion of you.” before mark can retort though, you continue with a smirk, “i’m not complaining though.”

your smirk both flusters and scares mark because it’s evidence you’re upto no good in your head but before he can air his suspicion, you’re reaching out for the two cones of icecream that the girl is handing out.

“you guys are really cute together,” the worker remarks shyly, giving you a thumbs up of approval.

mark chokes on the first bite of his mint choco icecream. you look at mark and he expects you to shut down the worker swiftly, but then you reach for his hand, pulling him closer with a bashful smile and say, “thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”

“uh-?” you cut mark’s question off by pulling him out of the store after you.

when you’re outside, you burst into laughter at the perplexed look on mark’s look, looking absolutely adorable next to his already melting green blob of an abomination.

—

the next morning, mark is still suffering through it, unable to come to terms with your actions yesterday. they were honestly not out of character for you. you were always one to do shit just because you knew it would get a reaction out of someone else. like, that time you didn’t tell mark he had spinach in his teeth the whole time he was speaking in econ and only told him at the end. yeah, sure, but surely that was different from you pretending that you and mark were together. right?

mark’s pulled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzes next to his pillow. he stirs to his side, opening his phone only to find a text from you.

y/n: fuck u

mark’s heart skips a beat, no matter the fact that you’re swearing at him the first thing in the morning.

mark: what did i do now…

y/n: it’s ur fault

mark: ???

y/n: i’m fuckin sick

“oh, fuck,” mark swears, sitting up with a frown, fingers quickly shooting a flurry of concerned texts back.

mark: oh shit really?

mark: im so sorry

mark: how bad is it?

y/n: it’s just a cold, dw not that bad

mark: what does that mean?

you, however, don’t bother to elaborate any more on your condition, going silent.

he groans, guilt settling in the slouch of his shoulder as he stares at his screen for a solid 10 minutes before giving up on your response. as he gets ready for the day, at the top of mark’s to do list is to visit your dorm room with medicine and snacks.

but by the time 3 pm rolls around, mark finds himself constantly distracted by classes and homeowork. he looks at the time and sighs. you hadn’t managed to get back to him. but considering how he hadn’t seen you in econ or lunch, your cold was more than ‘not bad’.

sitting outside the library to collect his thoughts, he spots chaewon, your roommate. the two of you had run into mark on a grocery shopping errand and mark had had a decent enough conversation to make him run up to chaewon.

“oh!” chaewon is surprised at first when mark blocks her way with a quick hey. “oh hey, mark!”

“um,” mark looks at the take-out box in her hands, “um, is that for y/n?”

“oh, yeah. did you hear? she woke up this morning with a fever.”

“a fever?”

“yeah, it was pretty high too. i had to force her to stay in bed or i think she would’ve just gone to class like the dumbass she is.”

mark frowns, “oh, no. has she eaten all day?”

chaewon hums in thought, “she told me she was fine for breakfast. i’m not sure if she had lunch though so i was just going to take some pizza and salad in case she’s been starving.”

mark’s frown deepens as she adds, “oh i better hurry though! i have to get back here in time for my dance practice.”

“ah…” he scratches his head, “uhh, if you’re busy, i wouldn’t mind dropping it off to y/n.”

chaewon raises an eyebrow, “wait, really? you’d do that?”

“um, yeah. it’s my fault she got sick anyway. i made her eat icecream last night.”

she laughs, “a little icecream wouldn’t have done that. but sure! it’d be a great help, if you did that. thanks, mark.”

mark hadn’t thought this through, he realizes when he reaches the door that reads y/n on the door, right next to chaewon. he takes a deep breath, clearing his throat, before knocking on the door. “y/n?” his voice breaks mid-sentence and he wants to hide in a hole somewhere, but you’re quick to throw your door open.

your hair is up in a bun which bobs in rhythm with your head, when you find mark outside your room, “mark? what the fuck are you doing here?”

“you weren’t responding to my texts,” he mumbles, and then holds up chaewon’s takeout box in one hand and in the other, the bag of medicine and snacks he’d packed. “i come bearing gifts though.”

you cough hoarsely into your elbow, pulling at the hem of your green hoodie as you consider mark in front of you. “you could’ve told me you were coming,” you sound… shy? mark thinks as he follows into your room after you gesture him to enter.

he looks at your bed and chuckles at the mess that is your bed. then, he smiles as he looks at the eccentric yet coherent collage of pictures and letters on your wall. “this is so you,” he comments and places the food and medicine on your table.

you pout, “a room that looks like all hell broke lose… is me? wow, thanks, mark.”

mark wants to refute your comment, he does, but then he gets distracted by how the way you say his name in your hoarse inside voice and he coughs a little. “i got you medicine though?” he sounds squeaky to his own ears.

you smile though at that, looking inside the bag he’s kept. “ahhh, ramen! i knew i could count on you, mark lee.”

mark almost wants to beg you to stop saying his name so much. but instead he shoots you a thumbs up, “how are you holding up?”

you nod in thought, still unpacking everything mark bought, “hmm, i’m alive. you should’ve seen me in the morning though i felt like something was trying to crawl out my skin.”

you laugh at the imagery, pausing when you catch the guilty look on mark. you already know he’s about to apologize when he opens his mouth. you hold up a finger threateningly, “i know i said that in the morning, but it’s not actually your fault. i always get sick like this every time fall rolls around.”

“no, for real though, i did force you to come eat icecream with me, didn’t i? i’m sorry.”

“ugh, mark, trust me, i wouldn’t have eaten the icecream if i really didn’t want to,” you say, too kindly for your usual snarkiness as if you can sense how genuine mark’s apology was, “for real, my body’s just weird like that.”

when mark remains silent for another minute, you groan, “i know! you can repay me. stay and we can watch a movie or something. all the sleeping’s making me feel gross. plus, i couldn’t eat all this food myself.”

and that’s how mark finds himself settled next to you on your bed, blanket covering half his body, watching gilmore girls (your fall preference of entertainment, it seems). the first half hour went by fine, with one of you commenting ocassionally at something the characters did, but then you shifted closer to mark with a cough.

he was shocked at first but then he wonders if the medicine you’d taken before were starting to take effect. (he’d questioned how wise it was for you to be taking them before watching something, but he also didn’t want to make your condition worse.)

“you good, y/n?” he mumbles under his breath when he feels your head come to rest against his shoulder. he sounds surprisingly calm for the turmoil that is bursting within his veins at the contact.

you hum in acknowledgement, sniffing a little, “yeah, just a little sleepy.”

“oh, you should probably rest then,” mark reaches for the spacebar to pause the episode but your cold hand pulls his finger away. except you don’t let go of his finger, instead seeming to crave warmth, you’re suddenly holding his hand, icy fingertips coming to rest against the back of his palm.

mark’s hearbeat is in his ears by now but he lets you hold his hand as you protest, “mm, don’t wanna sleep. just keep watching.”

you don’t sound promising but he doesn’t argue, letting you having the final say in this situation.

five minutes later though, you stir against mark’s side, arm now in his lap and… yeah, you’re falling asleep.

mark freezes at the realization when he sees your eyelashes fluttering shut. oh god. oh no… this wasn’t good for his well-being. or his obsession with you. or anything.

he clears his throat, hating himself, “um, y/n?”

you don’t respond except for a short grunt that indicates you don’t intend to wake up. he doesn’t have the heart to move you but also, this wasn’t right, was it?

there wasn’t anything wrong with it per se, except of course the fact that it did not help mark’s big fat ugly crush on you or the fact that he spent the whole day thinking about how you were sick and it was his fault.

you move slightly in your sleep, suddenly seeming to come to. your eyes open a little, “mark?” your voice is dangerously low.

“yeah?” mark can hear the nerves in his voice.

you’re pulling him now, without a warning, onto your bed. “you’re warm. stay.”

mark’s eyes widen when you turn to hug him around the waist.

fuck. fuck. fuck. FUCK. this was… THIS IS…. UTREJKLSGIURKEJU?????YGSAELRIAY

mark brain malfunctions for a good minute before he remembers how to think. first, he thinks he has to leave or you’ll hate him forever. but when he tries to budge, you groan an annoyed groan making him scared to leave..

??? what is one supposed to do in these circumstances?

he stills, deciding it was better if he let you doze off comfortably. he slowly places an arm around your shoulder, patting a reassuring back rub into your skin. you nuzzle closer into him, clueless of the way mark is short-circuiting.

before he knows it though, mark finds himself dozing off, chin pressed up against the bone of your shoulder. the sleep isn’t chaotic like his thoughts usually are, but it’s a peaceful sleep, the kind that you only get when you share a bed with someone.

—

ever since that eventful… nap, mark has found himself growing closer to you, in all senses of the phrase. you’d seemed to start trusting mark more, your bookstore evenings turning into whole days spent in each other’s company. sometimes you’d be at each other’s room, more often yours, but otherwise, you’d end up in some new corner of campus, giggling over half-completed essays and collectively complaining about econ.

you’d also grown closer… physically. something about spending a sick evening in someone’s arms, you’d like to say. whatever the reason was, one way or another, you’d find a way to be next to each other.

you’d made a habit of holding mark’s hand, especially on colder days when your fingers lost all feeling till you pressed them into the knuckles of mark’s warm ones. other times, mark’s hand would be on your shoulder or back, casually doodling into your skin, a lazy smile on his face while you dramatically narrate some event from your life.

mark could tell something was different, though he dared not investigate what it was, too afraid to mess up what he had right now.

but then, he does the stupid thing of asking you the question.

it’s on a late night hangout in your room when chaewon’s out for the weekend to visit home, and y’all are sprawled on your bed, exhausted from a movie marathon.

something about the dim lights and the way you lean against his shoulder, makes him speak. “do you like someone right now?”

for a good while, mark thinks he mustn’t have asked the question out loud because of how quiet you are. but then, “what about you?”

“not fair! i asked you first,” mark complains with a chuckle. you shrug, “not telling if you don’t.”

he rolls his eyes, “two can play this game, y’know. i’m not giving.”

“ugh, fine. i’ll tell you about my ex for now.”

mark’s ear perks up at the mention and he waits for you to continue.

“ah, this is so embarassing to talk about. but.. last semester i was with taeyong.”

“wait. lee taeyong?”

“mhm-hm. you know him? he was a good guy, but i don’t know, something felt off. we broke up right before new year’s eve so that was fun.”

mark falls silent as he recalls everything he can about lee taeyong. so far he has: perfect face and killer charm. oh yeah, wasn’t he a student athlete?

“you dated an athelete?” mark can’t help but ask.

“see! i know you’d make fun,” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“no- no, i’m not making fun. that’s insane. taeyong is, like, famous.”

you groan, “and you’re listing all the reasons i broke up with him.”

mark isn’t sure what he can do with this information so he releases a strained chuckle, suddenly ready to head back to his room. he can’t be too obvious though, so he waits a bit.

“what about you?” you ask him, poking his arm. “any embarassing boyfriends?”

mark laughs despite it all, “i wish. i was in a silly little relationship but it was so long ago that i hardly remember.” with that, he sits up, a little abruptly.

you frown as he clears his throat, “um, anyway, i should get back soon. i’ve got to sleep.”

“the fuck?” you question, “it’s like 11 pm?”

“well, yeah, i have an early morning tomorrow.”

“on a sunday?”

“yeah, uhm, i forgot to tell you about this new job i have. anyways, i should really sleep soon. i’ll see you later, yeah?”

and just like that, mark leaves your room, with you gaping at how fast he’d made his exit, not even bothering to make real excuses. new job? halfway through the semester? yeah, sure. you feel your mood dampening at mark’s sudden cold shoulder, wondering if you’d upset him. but no matter how many times you thought about it, you weren’t sure what had made him act like that.

mark, on the other hand, can’t get the conversation out of his head, even as he walks to the library at 8 am on a sunday, ready to finish all traces of homework in existence. it doesn’t matter though because sitting in the silence of the study room, his mind repeats your words.

he was a good guy, but i don’t know, something felt off.

boy, did mark feel stupid as shit. for everything? for thinking you were into him. somewhere along the way, your hands on his had him confused. for a minute there, he had stopped thinking about how he was actually just some guy. some guy who you chose to hang out with now and then, some guy who was your friend. mark was nowhere close to being taeyong, and even taeyong didn’t cut it for you. really, though, he couldn’t blame you. you really did deserve the best anyone could imagine.

a text from you interrupts his self-loathing spiralling.

y/n: heyoo!! u alive?

y/n: u left kinda abruptly last night. is everything ok?

mark clenches his fist as if to obliterate the hopeful smile that threatens his face. he thinks of how he might respond: sorry cant talk i’ve to make sure i’m not in love with u before i see u again or maybe: sorry i’m just trying not to cry in broad daylight bc i love u too much hjbykyvkvyf

“fuck! sorry!” a voice pulls mark back from his head. he looks up to see who’s broken into his study room… only to see lee taeyong standing there in confusion. of course this happens to mark.

“uhh, can i help you?” mark barely controls the snap that tries to escape him at the sight of taeyong.

“um, sorry,” taeyong looks down at his phone then back at mark, “i could’ve sworn i booked this room for the next hour…”

mark frowns, certain he’d booked this room for the next two hours. usually, he would’ve just told taeyong he’s booked it wrong, but instead he just says, “oh? i guess you can take this room then. i’ll go somewhere else.”

mark starts packing up but the other boy protests quickly, “no, no! it’s okay. i- um, i’d feel bad if you did that. what if… what if we shared? it’ll be nice to have someone else in the room, no?” taeyong smiles brightly at mark and the latter wants his eyes to stop working already.

call it the law of inertia, but something in mark doesn’t let him just leave the room, almost intrigued by how this might turn out. “alright, then.”

taeyong, as much as mark hates to admit it, is really nice. he hadn’t ever heard anything to refute that, but sitting silently in a room with someone really tells you all you need to know about someone. either way, the study sessions somehow seems to provide mark some sense of peace.

or so he thinks.

what he doesn’t expect is that two hours later, as the two of them are packing up to empty the room for the next occupant, for the next occupant to be… you. yes, of course, that’s gonna happen in this story.

for a moment, mark doesn’t find it particularly shocking to see you but when he notices the stiff look you share with taeyong, he realizes what’s happening.

you’d just entered the room with a knock when you’d noticed who was inside. your eyes travel between mark and taeyong, your mind unable to make sense of this.

your first thought is… is this why mark was weird last night? because he was close to taeyong and got offended by your remarks?

that would be the easy alternate, wouldn’t it? but even you can tell there’s a dryness in the way mark looks at the two of you, a look that unsettles you. of course, the sight of taeyong also unsettles you.

he speaks up before you, “y/n?”

you awkwardly wave at the two of them, “hi mark. hey taeyong. didn’t expect to see the two of you together.”

you look at mark pointedly but he’s not giving you much to work with. he just laughs as taeyong rushes to explain, “ah, i made a mistake in booking this room at the same time as mark, and he was kind enough to let me stay.”

marks want to leave right now. because of the way taeyong’s eyes are sparkling at the sight of you, hands nervously fidgeting. but he decides against it, when he sees you uneasy you seem, tight grip around the strap of your tote bag.

“what are you doing here?” mark asks and a part of you is relieved that he’s talking to you.

“um, homework. i didn’t really know what else to do ever since my friend started ghosting me.”

mark flinches at your attack, but persists in looking as indifferent as he can. “sorry about that, i got caught up finishing this essay.”

taeyong awkwardly coughs, “um, i should probably leave now. i have practice to get to.”

mark is quick to follow after taeyong, scared to death of being alone in a room with you. he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. “uhh, yeah, i’ll leave you to do homework, then! see ya!”

and just like that, it’s a repeat of last night. mark’s back receding except this time you watch him wave at you with a half-hearted smile as he leaves. you barely manage to close the door behind you before you feel yourself tear up.

this is stupid, you realize through tears, to be crying over something like this. but something like this? it meant a lot to you. you sit where mark sat minutes ago, the same disappointment in your eyes and a similar weight in your heart.

mark is not having the time of his life either though, as he walks out the library with taeyong, who starts asking questions about you as soon as he can.

“so you’re friends with y/n?” mark simply nods at that, having seen this coming.

“that’s cool. she’s really cool, isn’t she?”

“yeah, i suppose. she’s fun.”

“how close are you to her?”

mark laughs dismissively, “haha, i feel like i’ve done something wrong. calm down, bro.”

taeyong flushes at that, rubbing his neck, “oh, sorry. i didn’t mean to interrogate you like that. it’s just… you probably know about us, right?”

that words leaves taeyong’s mouth and buries itself deep into mark’s heart. us.

taeyong continues, “it’s just that i really miss her, man. i don’t think i’ve had as much fun with anyone else since her. or maybe, it’s just because i’m always comparing everyone to her.”

mark really doesn’t know what to say, feeling himself stuck in a similar situation. “hmm, it’ll get better.”

“i hope you’re right,” taeyong says, cheerfully patting mark’s back, “well, i have to go that way. see you around, bro. take care of her.”

take care of her? marks smiles remorsefully as he watches taeyong leave. and he wonders what was going on in your mind when you broke up with someone that perfect? what went on in your head when you befriended mark, just some guy?

—

on saturday, it’s been a whole week since you’ve talked to mark. you’d actually stayed up all night yesterday hoping he’d have a change of heart on friday night, and he’d text you with a can we talk? or come knocking on your door with an apologetic smile with some silly excuse. and you would’ve accepted it all because you were not familar with a mark-less existence. the past week was.. not good for you.

but on saturday night, you decide it’s enough. or rather, chaewon decides it’s enough when she sees you ready to spend the night in bed.

“y/n, i’m sorry but i can’t respect your stupid decisions anymore,” she bursts into the room with a concerned look.

you frown, “ouch? you just called me stupid.”

“because that’s what you’re being. i don’t care if you’re going through it, i’m not letting you woe over some guy on the weekend.”

you grimace at the phrase some guy, remembering your conversation with mark. “hey! i’m talking to you, miss,” chaewon’s hands pull off your bed. “let’s go out tonight. i don’t care.”

“chaewon…” you complain, voice low.

“y/n, my dear friend, stop giving up on life because mark lee is ghosting you. if i know anything about the two of you, y’all will be back to cuddling each other next week.”

you want to say you’re afraid that’s not gonna happen but chaewon is moving too fast for you. she throws a dress at you and then, a coat. “wear those and come to yunjin’s room. we’re pre-gaming.”

an hour later, you’re not feeling so bad after all. you’d forgotten how fun getting wasted really was. you giggle hopelessly when yunjin cracks another “slayyy~” at chaewon’s empty glass. as sakura pours her another shot, you nudge her with your own empty cup.

your roommate frowns a little, “you sure you’re not going too fast?”

you roll your eyes, “chaewon! you’re the one who wanted to slut me out tonight. how am i gonna do that sober?” that makes everyone double up in laughter and you down the vodka with a triumphant sigh.

another hour later, you’re really feeling yourself. the pre-game finally ended with all of you walking to the frat that was throwing tonight. the first step you take into the crowded room has you regretting your decision, but your worries go to waste once you’re hearing the music blast through your veins.

you stay within chaewon’s group for most of the night. the girls are fun, yunjin being one of the best people you’ve partied with. it’s halfway through a doja cat song when you feel your bladder getting full from all the beer. you groan at all the effort it’s gonna take to go upstairs to where the bathroom was, but you could use a break.

you quickly tell chaewon you’ll be back, pointing in the direction of the bathroom and reassure her you’re fine when she asks to come with. the world is definitely spinning as you go up the stairs but you do make it to the top without falling over.

but as soon as you reach for the door of the bathroom, you lose balance as the person inside emerges. “fuck,” you groan, falling over into the person ahead, “’m sorry,” you mumble, supporting yourself against the sink.

you’re ready to push whoever it is out of the bathroom when you heard a familar voice. “y/n?”

you look up and actually gasp when you see mark in front of you. “mark?!” you sound incredulous but honestly, you’re just ecstatic. “i miss you,” you say your thoughts shamelessly.

mark reddens or so your vision tells you. “y/n, are you drunk?”

you frown and shake your head, about to explain yourself when a loud voice outside tells you to hurry up with your business, the door still open. mark shouts a, “find somewhere else, buddy!” and shuts the door, locking it behind him.

your drunk brain isn’t doing well with the concept of you in a locked room with mark. “are you drunk, mark?”

mark laughs at your question, “a little, yeah.”

“okay, good, then can you just-” you lose your balance again and mark steadies you instantly, warm hand on your elbow. you lose your train of thoughts at the feel of him, looking into his eyes wordlessly.

you think you stay there for a minute like that, the two of you just catching up on all the looks you’ve missed out on in the last week.

“why are you mad at me?” you ask the question that’s been bugging you for ages. wanting mark to understand how hurt you’ve been, you pull at the sleeve of shirt, “i’ve been so sad. why are you avoiding me?”

mark takes your hand in his, “no! it’s not like that. i’m… not mad at you.”

“really?” you question him through a pout, “really?”

he doesn’t know what to do when pinned with that gaze of yours in that moment. and then his eyes land up on your lips, your little pout.

he knew the alcohol was a bad idea because now he can’t think straight, knowing he has to explain everything to you or he might lose it all. but somehow, instead of words, he feels another ugre crawl up his skin.

just as you open your mouth to speak, you feel mark’s lips on yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls away just as soon as he leaned in. he drops your hand, falling to his knees.

it takes you a moment to re-orient yourself after the taste of mark in your mouth, but you hear mark sniffle and instantly join him on the ground, hands on his face.

“are you crying?”

mark tries to stop himself but he can’t. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry.”

“hey,” you find yourself sobering up. how could you not when mark lee is in front of you, tears staining his ever-smiling face? “hey, mark, look at me.” he wipes at his face shakily, looking up at you through a fresh flood of tears.

“i’m sorry,” his voice breaks, “i’ve been acting so selfish with you. i shouldn’t have avoided you. i shouldn’t have kissed you. i’m.. it’s all because…” he trails off conveniently at the part of his sentence you most need to hear.

your fingers trail down to his chin, bringing his face back up, “it’s all because of what, mark? talk to me, baby.”

something in mark uncoils when you coo at him lovingly like that, his name as breathy as the nickname you suddenly throw at him. his lip quivers but his words are clear as day, “fuck, i’m into you, y/n. i know i’m just some guy really but i think i like you. i- like romantically, i’m dying to be with you.” he sighs when you don’t say anything, stunned into silence.

your hand stays put on his face though which mark thinks of as a good sign. gingerly, he takes your hand, gaze pointed at your interlocked fingers. “i know it’s awkward because you’re not into me like that. it’s all good, i understand.”

“mark, you’re drunk,” you finally mumble out, hand twitching in disbelief. “you’re just saying things.”

mark stiffens, “w-what? no! i’m serious, y/n. i’m not even that drunk anymore. how could i be, when you’re right here?” but then, he stirs, hands leaving yours, “oh, but if you’d rather forget that this happened—”

it’s a replay of five minutes ago, except this time your lips come crashing into mark’s, with so much force that you topple him over. he takes you with him, hand finding purchase at your waist as he pulls you on top of him, his back hitting the door of the bathroom.

your kiss is fierce, almost angry because you did not deserve to be kept in the dark about mark’s feelings. you push closer to him, making him groan into your lips at the intensity. you pull away then, hand at mark’s chest, “i hate you for avoiding me like that, mark. i can’t believe you.”

mark tries to explain himself but you’re kissing him again, swallowing his words whole, unforgiving in the way your hands grip his arms. again, you pull away, “what did you think? that i’d stop talking to you because you like me? you’re so stupid sometimes, mark.”

“i don’t—”

“no, you don’t understand. do you see me right now?” mark nods, eyes trailing at your disheveled state. mark couldn’t forget this sight if he wanted to: your hair wet with sweat, panting in between mark’s legs, lips a breath away.

“do i look like i hate you?”

“i mean, you do look annoyed,” mark remarks and you slap his arm with a snarl.

“that’s because you’re being unfair. what about my feelings for you, huh?” you challenge with a glare. “what about how much i suffered just because you decided to not show up to the bookstore? all because you came to some stupid conclusion by yourself?”

“wait,” mark starts, but you’re not letting him talk.

“no, listen, if i could, i’d seriously slap you. because i’m that down bad for you, mark! i’ve been thinking about doing this with you ever since you fell asleep in my bed that day. so fuck you, for hurting me like that.”

you’re breathless, eyes still trained on mark with that look of betrayal mixed with desire. you can’t help yourself though, mark looks absolutely breath-taking in front of you, mouth ajar in shock, lips red from your relentless kisses.

mark takes too long to process your words just then, long enough that you’re coming down from your high, embarassment flooding your veins. you go cold, standing up with a grunt. “i’m just gonna go back,” you mutter in disappointment, leaving before you can see mark’s response.

he’s coming back to his senses now, realizing that maybe you were right about how stupid he’d been. “fuck,” he breathes out, regaining his footing as he chases after you.

this chase proves to be difficult, given that the party only seems to have gotten more crowded since mark left. he struggles through the throngs of people, shouldering through, when he spots a silhouette of you in his peripheral vision. you were outside, apparently talking to another taller figure.

mark follows your shadow to the door, quickly making his way out. his breath hitches when he finds taeyong next to you. his arm is around your shoulder and you’re speaking to him in a low voice.

“y/n,” mark calls out, not hesitating to break taeyong’s hold on you, replacing it with his own embrace. he pulls you close. your eyes are teary and you sniff when you see mark, “what-”

“i’m sorry, can we talk?” he mumbles into your side, still aware of taeyong’s presence.

“oh, hey, mark. i was just,” taeyong moves to stand in front of the two of you, “taking care of y/n. she looked sick.”

“i’m fine, taeyong,” you reassure him, pressing yourself into mark’s side. “i’ll let mark walk me home. good night.” mark is impressed at how easily you dismiss taeyong, pulling mark after you.

“what do you want?”

mark stops you from walking, pulling you into a hug instead. “you’re right, i’m really stupid. let me ask you this instead: would you let me be your boyfriend?”

you release a soft laugh against his neck at his question, arms still for a moment for dramatic effect. then, you wrap yourself around him, kissing your answer into his ear, “of course, you idiot.”

—

[idanceuntilidie]

I get so hugry when you say you love me.

yandere male x gn reader.

Tw: Yandere behaviours| Mentions of kidnapping| Cannibalism| Slightly suggestive at only one point.

Requests open

It took me longer to write than I thought it would honestly and it’s not even that long. Sorry for that.

Now if you excuse me Im gonna eat a bowl of cereal and yes that is my dinner.

Turns out there is not many things you can do without your limbs.

Your eyes wandered lazily around the bright pink ceiling, you were hungry and bored. You don’t remember how many days Gummy kept you in his house.

No internet, no tv, music was allowed only on CDs or cassettes but you would only be able to listen to it when he was in the room with you. The room itself was, heavily decorated.

Very scene, very cool, you would appreciate it more if you didn’t spend most of your time laying down and being held against your will. Surround by pillows and plushies, on a huge ass bed.

Gummy took care of you. He made sure you were dressed up so nicely. He liked to talk about how when he was younger he had so many dolls and he could dress them up.Then he would look into your eyes and smile, you saw the same crazed look every time, then he would say that you are like a doll now. So pretty and his. It was easy to guess that he would do little fashion shows with you. From dresses to suits. He bought them just for you. Right now you wore very loose clothing that you are sure was his, you could tell by the smile and how… excited he got.

He rarely went out of the house. He fears that somehow you would leave him.

How the fuck would you even do that? Your legs and arms were chopped off. The worst part is that sometimes you still can feel them, sometimes it’s quick, other time you feel the burning sensation which makes you cry out.

So Gummy made sure not to leave the house all that much, when he trusts you more maybe, just maybe he will.

Groceries were kind of hard to get.

Your diet mainly consisted of fruits, vegetables. After some time you might get sick of those. The taste would get bland and well it made you sometimes want to throw up.

Currently you were waiting for the dinner, by waiting you mean you were laying on your back because moving without limbs was actually really hard for you. He promised that today he would prepare something great.

You hoped that maybe today he would give you an actual dinner.

And he did, it looked too good to be true.

“Hi sunshine! Sorry for taking so long I wanted your first proper dinner to be perfect!”

You heard him giggle.

He helped you sit up and you looked over his shoulder to see such a beautiful food behind him. Finally no more fruits. He hummed as he went to bring up the plate.

It smelled so good, you were a bit taken back since you didn’t know he would be able to cook anything else than water.

He began to feed you, it still was in fact so embarrassing every single time.

You chewed slowly, looking away from him. He laughed happily when he saw you enjoyed his cooking. It didn’t take you long to finish, Gummy put the plate away and basically pounced on you. You shrieked when he playfully licked your lips saying how good you taste like.

“I just ate that means you are just tasting your own fucking cooking!”

“Yea I know”

You tried to bite him, it only made him chuckle and grab your face.

“You taste amazing, my point still stands, and your meat was so easy to prepare you would have never guessed.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘my meat’?”

He let go of your face. He smiled eerily while he tapped the nub of your arm.

“The rest is for me, I will have a part of you inside me! Isn’t that romantic?”

Your stomach squeezed painfully, eyes widening. Did he.. Oh God. You felt the vomit it your mouth, Gummy laughed as he pinched your nose and covered your mouth.

“You better swallow and not waste my cooking.”

You didn’t want to, eyes blurring due to lack of oxygen. You didn’t want to, but when your eyes locked with his, hot tears streaming down your face, he just smiled.