#helloo thank you for sending :)

[bluehattedapprentice]

What if before he went to America, Luke somehow travels back in time 3 years, the day before he meets his mentor Professor Layton with all the memories of what happens after?

Introducing my timeloop au! where Luke is stuck going back in time 3 years the day he was to go over to America several times and promptly tries to "fix" things that had gone wrong originally. Unfortunately for him fixing one problem leads to others being formed and after a mistake gone wrong on his 5th loop- Luke decides it's time to put an end to it once and for all.

[lordspreyer]

@changeandmovingon 's Etsugo has arrived at the confessional:

Etsugo looked simply over the man before him. His golden eyes were puffy and red as he hadn't slept for a few nights now. "Um..." he shifted himself as he didn't know what to do or say. "I know you take confessions, this isn't a confession per se but..." he let out a tired sigh, "I bet you might think it's stupid but I lost my dog a few days ago and I can't sleep or eat or anything. It hurts to think about him gone, I had him for years so...can...can you help?"

“Absolutely.” The words leave Carmichael’s lips as soon as the young man’s question left his. He lifts from his kneeling position, having been praying, knees popping as he rises.  “Of course, I could pray for your pup’s safe return, but I think God would prefer I help in the search!” 

Carmichael places his hands on his hips as he gives the panic-strickened man good look-over.  He looked exhausted. Distraught.  Worried.  All things that Carmichael was sure he would be feeling if his own dog, Wilson, had gone missing.  Carmichael clasps a hand on the young man’s shoulder.  

“Let’s get you something to eat and drink.  You can tell me all about your dog whilst you eat, and then we’ll search.  How does that sound?” 

[yingren]

there's a lingering ache of something hurt in the general's voice as he speaks, no matter how he wills himself to keep his expression level and voice even more so. slowly, golden gaze lifts to focus on the familiar visage stood at the other end of the hallway.

jing yuan sighs. "you shouldn't be here, blade."

sinister clouds resemble the mara, settling over the land like a quiet, dewy fog, frost-coated greenery sprawling beneath his feet. navigating conversations with anyone from his past feels just like this. his mind an open field, with him stranded at its center. cold. exposed. alone. yet in reality, he is far from such a desolate place. his feet stand firm against stone flooring, solid slabs seamlessly joined to construct this grand building. the hallway around him, adorned with ornate walls, feels distant & almost untouchable, like a home meant for someone else. a home that seems to label him an intruder. and here, before him, stands the general of the xianzhou luofu, an old friend, jing yuan.

“ i know that much already. ” it’s unsettling to stand here, summoned by the other and obediently present, even though jing yuan is entirely correct in his words. ren shouldn't be here. he knows that all too well. it’s one of the reasons he’s avoided setting foot on the luofu for centuries, though the bounty on his head hardly serves as motivation either. the last time he was here, they had all gathered for a final farewell, leaving just the three of them to weave the threads of their shared fate.

his hands clench into fists at his sides, his expression betraying his discomfort. there are few certainties in ren’s world, but among them, two stand unwavering. first, everything comes at a price. nothing is truly free, just as no good deed is entirely selfless. every action is a transaction, whether it’s repaid or not depends solely on the individual. second, there is apparently no escaping his own past. 

so when jing yuan extends an invitation to talk, ren listens and shows up on time. though calling it an invitation might be too generous. a measure of authority underlies it, one that feels futile to resist, despite ren’s insistence that he owes the other man nothing. as the general of the luofu, perhaps that’s true. but as an old friend ? that’s another matter entirely.

“ make it quick then, i am sure you have more important matters to get back to. ”

[whosashan]

hello helloo!!! ♥️♥️ sending you love 💕 i want to ask for a request about lads. yk the tiktok prank where the bf is sleeping and the gf was waking him up, telling him he have to hide bc her "bf" is here? 😂 i know this would ate hard with xavier. anyhow you can make headcanons about it?? <3

thank you and have a nice day 🧚‍♀️

SNEAKYYY

PAIRING: lads men x gn!nonmc!reader (Caleb calls you pipsqueak, though - I just think it's cute:(()

SYNOPSIS: What did you expect when you woke your lover up in a panic, telling him to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home? Are you ready to face the consequences? (a little suggestive, I guess?)

A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!

Stumbling upon a new TikTok trend, you couldn’t resist the temptation. The setup was simple—wake your lover in a panic, tell him he needs to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home, and see how he reacts. A harmless prank, really.

Or so you thought.

With a sly grin and your heart thrumming with anticipation, you turned toward the man peacefully asleep beside you. His breathing was slow, steady, his face relaxed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. He looked so serene, so blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

But oh, if only you had known.

Xavier

Xavier’s face was peaceful, content in the depths of sleep. His breathing was slow, steady, and every now and then, a soft sigh escaped his lips. From the way his brows twitched ever so slightly, he had to be having a good dream—you wondered what it was about.

And you were about to ruin it.

Suppressing a giggle, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders and started shaking him frantically, your voice laced with urgency.

"Xavier! Wake up!"

He groaned, his face scrunching up in sleepy protest as he buried himself deeper into the pillow. His lips formed the smallest pout, reluctant to part from the dream world. Slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttered open, hazy and unfocused as they met yours.

You took your chance.

"Xavier! My boyfriend's here! You need to hide, quickly!"

Your voice dripped with manufactured panic, and honestly? Your acting was Oscar-worthy.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his brain clearly not catching up yet. He let out another sleepy hum, eyes lazily shutting again. With a huff, you grabbed his face between your hands and pinched his cheeks in an attempt to wake him up faster. But instead of reacting, he only nuzzled into your touch, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Adorable.

And then—his entire body tensed.

His eyes snapped open, sharp and alert, and before you could register it, he bolted upright. His expression had darkened instantly, any trace of sleep now completely erased.

"What—" His voice was rough, hoarse from sleep. His brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by something else. Something much, much more dangerous. "I'm your boyfriend."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Hide under the bed!" You insisted, struggling to keep a straight face, though his reaction was making it very difficult.

But Xavier wasn't having it.

Ignoring your words entirely, he grabbed your wrists and, in one swift motion, flipped you beneath him. You gasped, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he hovered over you, his grip unyielding.

"Who are you talking about?" His voice was lower now, edged with something possessive, almost feral. His usual easy-going demeanor was long gone, replaced with something far more intense. His fingers dug into your wrists, firm yet careful, as if he was fighting the urge to squeeze harder.

You blinked at him, momentarily speechless. This was not what you had prepared for. Chaos? Yes. A dramatic reaction? Of course. But this? The way his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling heavier, his entire body radiating something primal—oh, you had underestimated him.

"Xavier—it was just a prank!" you finally stammered, eyes wide.

He searched your face for a moment, his grip still tight. Then, before you could say another word, he dipped down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. A gasp escaped you before you could stop it.

“…Is that so?” he murmured, his warm breath fanning against your pulse. His teeth grazed the spot lightly before sinking in just enough to make your body jolt. "Do you think that was funny?"

A shiver ran down your spine, excitement creeping up your skin at the sheer dominance in his voice. It wasn’t unusual for Xavier to get jealous, but this?

Lord have mercy.

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, your voice slightly breathless. "I just wanted to see how you'd react—"

His rough hands suddenly cupped your face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look at him. His gaze was unreadable, but the corner of his lips curled just slightly—oh, you knew that smirk.

"I’ll show you real fun," he muttered darkly.

And just like that, his mouth was back on you, his hands traveling lower, as he made sure you understood exactly why no one else could ever take his place.

And… other places, too.

Zayne

Looking over at your boyfriend, you almost felt guilty.

Zayne looked utterly at peace, his face relaxed in deep slumber, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your skin as he lay half-draped over you. He almost looked angelic, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting golden hues over his features.

Almost.

Because in just a few seconds, you were about to drag him straight down from his heavenly repose.

A devilish grin crept onto your lips as you admired your handiwork. You had rehearsed this moment—every word, every inflection. Zayne was sharp, observant to an almost terrifying degree, and if you wanted this prank to work, you had to be convincing.

Taking a deep breath, you launched into your performance.

“God, Zayne! My boyfriend’s here! Wake up!” you whisper-yelled, lacing your voice with expertly crafted panic. To sell it further, you lightly patted his cheek—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to jolt him from sleep.

His reaction was immediate.

His brows furrowed as he cracked open one hazy eye, the sleep still thick in his expression. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was still lost in his dreams, but then, as if on instinct, he swiftly rolled off you and pushed himself upright.

Without a word, he started toward the door.

Your lips parted in shock. Wait, was he actually leaving?!

But then—he stopped.

His body went unnaturally still, tension creeping into his frame. And then, ever so slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, pinning you with a sharp, unreadable gaze.

“…Excuse me?”

The sheer offense in his voice nearly made you break character. His brows were slightly raised, his mouth parted just enough to showcase his disbelief.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

“Zayne, quick! He’ll be here any second now!” you urged, pressing your hands against his back in a futile attempt to move him.

But he didn’t budge.

He turned fully to face you, his towering presence suddenly suffocating. His eyes, darkened by the lingering haze of sleep, now held something far more dangerous beneath their surface.

“…Are you cheating on me?”

The way he asked it—low, slow, as if he could barely force the words past his lips—made your stomach drop.

For a fleeting second, you actually felt guilty. Not because the prank was cruel, but because of how easily your performance had convinced him.

“No!” you blurted out, dropping the act entirely. “It was a prank! A stupid TikTok trend! I swear, I’d never—”

Before you could finish, Zayne moved.

In one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground, making you gasp as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His arms locked around you, holding you effortlessly, his grip firm but controlled.

His eyes darkened in an unfamiliar way.

“I see,” he murmured, voice like silk wrapped around steel. “So, you think deception is funny?”

You swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs as he tilted his head, his breath ghosting against your jaw.

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“I hope you’ve already thought of a way to compensate me for this emotional turmoil,” he mused, his fingers tightening around your thighs just enough to send a shiver down your spine. His tone was teasing, laced with amusement—but there was something else beneath it, something dangerous.

A warning.

Zayne was nothing if not thorough in proving a point.

And by the way he looked at you, you had no doubt that by the end of the night, you would never dare to prank him like this again.

Rafayel

Rafayel lay sprawled across you, his long legs draped over your form as he slept soundly, his soft snores barely audible. His body was heavy with exhaustion—he had been painting non-stop for days, pouring himself into his art until sleep had finally claimed him.

You smiled to yourself, suppressing the giggle threatening to escape. He looked so peaceful, so utterly lost in his dreams.

And you? You were about to ruin it.

Without hesitation, you wiggled his shoulders dramatically, shaking him until his brows furrowed and his lashes fluttered open.

"Rafayel!" you whisper-yelled, gripping his hand in faux urgency. "My boyfriend's here—quick, hide!"

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he blinked up at you, clearly still tangled in the fog of sleep.

"What nonsense are you spewing now?" His voice was rough, hoarse with sleep, but something in his gaze darkened—not with confusion, but with something else.

Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your waist, effortlessly yanking you back onto the bed. You let out a startled squeak as your body collapsed onto his, your palms pressing against the firm warmth of his chest.

"What—Rafayel! He'll see you!" You struggled to maintain the panic in your voice, but the way his hooded gaze settled on you made it very difficult.

"Good." His response was unexpected, unnervingly calm.

Your breath hitched.

"...Huh?" That was not the reaction you anticipated.

He exhaled slowly, fingers curling around your wrist as he brought it to his lips. His mouth ghosted over your skin before his teeth grazed it, a slow, teasing drag that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let him see," he murmured, his voice deep, deliberate. "Maybe I could teach him a thing or two."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Your carefully rehearsed act? Gone. Completely obliterated by the way he looked at you, by the way his fingers brushed over your pulse point as if he could feel the way it had started to race.

"W-what?" You stuttered, your mind suddenly blank.

He hummed in amusement, his hands gripping your waist before flipping you beneath him in one smooth, effortless motion. His lips skimmed the sensitive skin along your neck, his breath warm against your pulse.

"Next time," he murmured against your ear, his teeth lightly grazing the shell, "if you plan to prank me, be prepared to deal with the consequences."

Your breath caught as his fingers trailed lower, his tone as smooth as silk yet laced with something undeniably dangerous.

"Waking me from a perfectly good dream just for this?" He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "I do believe you owe me proper compensation."

Oh, you were in trouble.

But maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind one bit.

Sylus

Sylus lay beside you, his breathing steady, his chiseled frame relaxed against the sheets. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast golden shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the smooth lines of his jaw and the way his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. He looked untouchable like this—serene, at peace.

But not for long.

A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you hovered over him, suppressing a giggle. You had this planned perfectly. Sylus was sharp, calculated—always ten steps ahead—but if you played it right, maybe, just maybe, you’d catch him off guard.

You shook his shoulder dramatically, gasping.

"Sylus! My boyfriend’s here—you need to hide, now!"

His eyes opened immediately, dark irises meeting yours, unbothered, unreadable. A slow blink. Then another.

Silence.

Then, as if waking at his own pace, he stretched, exhaling through his nose. His lips quirked into something between amusement and irritation. "Mm," he hummed, voice still thick with sleep, "interesting."

You pushed his chest, trying to feign urgency. "Sylus, go! He’s gonna be here any second!"

For a fleeting moment, he almost humored you—his body tensing slightly, his gaze flicking to the door as if he were genuinely considering it.

And then, just as quickly, his amusement won.

He tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "As if someone else would dare to even look at you."

Your stomach flipped at the certainty in his tone.

Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down until your breath hitched and your body pressed flush against his.

"Nice try," he murmured against your ear, his voice a low, teasing whisper. "But you forget—I know you." His grip tightened, firm but never painful. "And I know you wouldn’t be so careless as to let another man think he could have what’s mine."

Your breath caught, completely thrown off your game.

He chuckled, deep and rich, enjoying the way your face betrayed you. "Mm. What’s wrong?" His fingers trailed down your spine, deliberate, slow. "You were so convincing a moment ago."

You swallowed hard. "It—it was just a prank," you admitted, voice smaller than you intended.

"I know," he murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "But tell me—was it worth the consequences?"

Before you could ask what consequences he meant, he had already flipped you beneath him, his knee pressing between your thighs, his lips ghosting over your pulse point.

"You just love testing me, don’t you, sweetie?" he mused, his breath warm against your skin.

You should have known better.

Playing games with Sylus?

You never really won.

Caleb

Caleb was sprawled out beside you, limbs thrown haphazardly across the bed, his cheek smushed into the pillow, messy hair falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, the steady sound of his breathing almost lulling you to sleep.

He looked so peaceful. Sweet, even.

Too bad you were about to ruin that.

Suppressing a grin, you shook his shoulder frantically. "Caleb! Wake up!"

He groaned, face scrunching up as he tried to burrow deeper into the pillow.

You slapped his arm, urgency laced in your voice. "Caleb! My boyfriend’s here! You have to hide!"

That got his attention.

With a confused grunt, he blinked up at you, eyes bleary with sleep. His lips parted slightly as he took in your panicked expression, still groggy. "Huh?"

"Go! You need to hide!" You tugged at his wrist.

For a second, he seemed to actually consider it. He rubbed his eyes, blinking sluggishly, as if his brain was trying to reboot. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Something clicked.

And then he smirked.

"Ohhh," he drawled, stretching his arms over his head. "That kind of prank."

Your stomach dropped. Of course he would know.

Oh no.

Before you could react, Caleb grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His boyish grin was still there, but there was something else beneath it now—something darker, something sharp.

"You really think that’s funny, huh, pipsqueak?" His voice was still light, teasing—but his grip on your waist? Not so much.

You swallowed. "I—I thought you’d freak out more."

He snorted. "That's funny." After all, he knew your every move.

Your breath hitched.

Caleb was the laid-back type, all smiles and easy laughter—but push the right buttons? And suddenly, that warmth turned into something possessive. Something dangerous.

His fingers dug into your waist just enough to make your skin tingle. "But now that I am awake," he murmured, leaning in close, "I think I deserve some kind of payback for my so-called emotional distress and lack of sleep."

"Caleb—"

"Shh," he cooed, lips ghosting over your jaw. "You wanted to see me riled up, didn’t you?" He grinned, but his eyes held a warning. "Congratulations, pipsqueak. You got exactly what you wanted."

His hand trailed lower down your waist.

Oh. You were so screwed.

[yoiisa]

Helloo, I dont know if youre requests are open (Sorry!!!) but I wanted to request a Sae smut where is sweet and shy girlfriend (us) who never speaks and always hides behind Sae's back, at home is a slut for his attention and wants him all night long if you know what I mean 🤭IF YOU WANT TO IGNORE THE REQUEST!!!!! I understand if it leaves you uncomfortable!! Anyways, thank you in advance (im sorry if my english is bad, its not my first language)

oh girlie. Oh girlie . . . i gotchu don't worry about a thing (¬ ₃ ¬)

all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: pwp ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ), slight dacryphilia, praise (dirty talk), afab reader, sex, finger sucking (idk what else to call it lol ToT), slutty reader

➜ when you tell people that you're dating the sae itoshi, you're always met with the exact same response: what? ➜ because genuinely how did this work out at all? he's so distant and cold, and you're so sweet and shy. people see the two of you together, your elbow linked with his, your hand on his bicep, and you staring up at him like he hung the stars in the sky and can't even piece together how the two of you even had a conversation, let alone started to date ➜ but here's the thing: sae adores how sweet and shy you are ➜ we see through sae as a little kid with rin, and then as an adult with shidou and a little bit with isagi that sae actually has a lot of capacity in him to care and nurture others around him. if he thinks you're worth it, then he'll for sure give you the time of day ➜ and he can't exactly explain why he was so drawn to you either, but all he knew is he'd give you all of the attention you needed. he's so down bad for you it's insane ➜ so unless soccer is preventing him from doing it, he'll drop everything he can and rush to your side whenever you call, he honestly gives doberman boyfriend vibes ➜ literally all it takes is a whisper of his name, at a volume a normal person would've never been able to hear, and he just materializes next to you, his hand on your cheek and his teal gaze trained on you ➜ but enough about him feining for you, let's talk about you feining for him ➜ because once the two of you are alone? oh god, it's like a switch flips in your brain ➜ pda and the likes are a bit off putting with you. you don't really enjoy things like kissing in public that much, the most you'll do is just hold hands or link arms ➜ but when it's just the two of you, you can't control yourself. you're attached at the hip with him, and he basks in the attention like a cat in the sun ➜ after a soccer game, you're especially needy. there's just something about sae in his prime element that has you squirming in your seat, and the two of you can't help it ➜ you're thinking entirely with your pussy, and your mind is trained on one thing. you want him inside of you, on top of you, just loving you. you want to be the apple of his eye, in the spotlight of his mind ➜ you want him. you want to be his

"Sae-uhhhh~!" you squeal as the tip of his cock brushes against your g-spot. Your lying flat on your stomach, his chest flush against his back as he ruts into your needy, wet, tight heat. You reach your arms up and back around his neck, a soft whine falling from your lips. He turns his head and places a kiss against your pulse point. Each roll of his hips sends his length deeper into you, and it takes everything in you to not buck yourself back into him. "I love you," you gasp. "I love you, I love this so much- ah!" "I know baby, I know. I love you too. Fuck." he groans. He nuzzles into your hair and brings his arm around to the front of your face. He cups the bottom of your face in his hand, and you greedily lick at the tips of his fingers. His slips his index and middle finger past your lips, muffling your moans as you greedily suck on his digits. Sae tosses his head back, his eyes screwed shut as he desperately tries to hold onto his sanity. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, he repeats in his head. Fuck, don't think about it, you can't cum yet. It's too soon- shit! Your pussy clenches down on his length as he quickens his thrust in you. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and spit connects your lips to them stil. Loud, needy sounds spill from your mouth and tears spring at the corner of your eyes. Sae stares down at the debauched sight and can't help the smug smile that tugs at his mouth. He coos, "G-gonna come for me? Now? I- fuck me, holy shit . . . I can f-feel it . . . clenchin' around me so perfectly. C'mon [name], just give it to me." You nod frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as your body goes rigid with pleasure. You think you can hear him in the background of your peak saying, "Pretty, so pretty, my pretty girl," but it drowns out behind the high-pitched keens that claw up your throat. Eventually, your eyes manage to peel open and you become aware of two very distinct facts: firstly, Sae is still hard. Secondly, the clock on the wall is only showing that it's 11:15. You still have at least another two or three hours left. "Again?" Sae asks, pulling out from you and flipping you onto your back. You position your feet on either side of his waist and smile. "Again, please . . ."

➜ you will not walk properly tomorrow

a/n: i should write this again but for bakugo, eren, and geto . . . hmmm, ideas, ideas . . .

[moonstruckme]

Helloo lovely, hope you're having a good day!

I just wanted to leave a teeny tiny request for a poly!marauders x reader where reader has never tried any alcoholic drinks before but she wants to try and she trusts her boys about the drinks and about taking care of her if she feels drunk (not that she would recognize the feeling, I guess)?

If you've done this before or not feeling like writing it, just feel free to ignore it 💙

Hope tumblr doesn't eat my request this time, for some reason it really likes to eat anything I send when they are sent as anon 🤦🏻‍♀️

Thanks for requesting, angel <3

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 533 words

“Baby.” Sirius is laughing, pink-cheeked and sparkly-eyed while he detaches his mouth from a straw. His legs are pulled up with him onto the armchair, you sitting cross-legged on the couch with James. “You’ve got to give it more of a chance than that.” 

“Leave off her.” James comes to your defense, taking the drink from your hand into his own custody. Your boyfriends have benefited greatly from your discards tonight. “Maybe she’s just not a vodka girl.” 

“Everyone is a vodka girl! And flavored vodka is the best kind!”

“It’s just so…” You pucker your mouth, trying to get rid of the taste. “Sharp.” 

Both of them laugh, James wrapping an arm around your shoulders to smooch your cheek. “That’s alcohol, m’love,” he says fondly. 

“It all tastes like that?” 

“It doesn’t have to,” Remus assures you, coming in from the kitchen with another glass. (You’re really going to need to do the dishes tomorrow, you owe it to them after all this.) This drink is promisingly pink. “Are you alright to try another?”

“Please.” You reach for it, smiling at the twirly straw he’s stuck in there for you. 

“Is that a dirty Shirley?” James’ eyes light as he looks into your glass. He looks excited when Remus nods. “Angel, if you don’t like it, give it to me.” 

You close your lips around the straw, trying to ignore the attention of your boyfriends as you take a tentative sip. It doesn’t make you gag, at least. 

“This is good,” you say, almost warily. “What’s in it?”

Remus looks pleased with himself. “Sprite, grenadine, and malibu.” 

“Malibu?” Sirius elbows Remus as the taller boy folds into the armchair with him, aghast. “That’s cheating!”

“It is not,” Remus says primly. “She needed something less strong.” 

“Am I drunk yet?” you ask, having slurped down half the glass in your relief to finally be drinking something palatable. 

“Oh, hey, slow down, sailor.” James hooks a finger around your straw, gently tugging it from your mouth. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

“You’ll know if you’re drunk, sweetness,” Sirius tells you. He’s grinning like he can’t wait. 

You frown. “How will I know?” 

“You’ll know,” he promises. “Everything feels rather different.” 

“Like, good different?”

Sirius hesitates, and Remus cuts in. “That’s up to you, dove. Not everyone likes it, but we won’t let it be awful for you.” 

You falter, slowing your sips from your straw cautiously. James laughs and plants another kiss on your cheek. If your boyfriends are anything to go by, being drunk is a lovely time. 

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, thumb denting into your cheek affectionately. “It’ll be fun, scout’s honor.” 

“You weren’t actually in the boy scouts, Jamie,” Remus reminds him. 

“Yeah, but I totally get what they were about. And I live by those values, Moons, so I’m practically an honorary scout. Scout’s honor, get it?” 

You listen to this rigmarole with something between wariness and amusement. “Is being drunk going to be like that?” you ask Remus. 

He grins as he picks up a drink from your collection of discards, but it’s Sirius who answers. 

“We should all be so lucky, babe.”

[sevsevteen]

Hi I'm a huge fan of your fics🤩! Can you please write a Svt × 14th member where the reader has a crush on one of the oldest members (preferably joshua) and is afraid to confess because of their age gap (5 or 6 years) and during an incident joshua realises that he likes the reader too and reacts emotionally and ends up kissing her in front of the members. SCoups is worried that it is too early for the reader to enter a relationship

helloo :9 this actually took a while because i was debating how to write this - please note i didn't include the kissing scene! i don't write for apparent romance between members, so this came in a way that's more of a quiet, caring joshua. i tried my best to fulfil your request ~ and i hope you still enjoy reading <3

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

It was the little things that made you double-take.

The way Joshua always reached for the mic closest to him and handed it over to you without a word. The way he lingered just a second longer when patting your shoulder after a long practice. The way his eyes sometimes scanned the room before quietly landing on you, and then flicking away just as fast.

You weren’t supposed to think anything of it.

He was Joshua.

Gentleman. Calm, composed, soft-spoken even within your own group. You were years apart - born into different generations of humor, playlists, and levels of self-awareness even if you did grow up together.

And you were careful. Too careful.

So you turned your feelings into something fleeting. A harmless fondness tucked between syllables when saying his name. A warmth that curled into your hoodie when he passed you a hot pack in winter without even looking up from his phone.

Like now.

You sat curled on the edge of the photoshoot set couch, arms wrapped around your knees, still catching your nerves. The shoor had run longer than expected, and everyone was sluggishly gathering their things to head out.

Joshua walked by with his water bottle, only to pause, backtrack, and gently press a folded jacket over your shoulders. Yours must have slipped off somewhere mid-film.

“Oh,” you blinked up at him. “Thanks.”

“You looked cold,” he replied simply. “You okay?”

You nodded - automatically. Smiled - barely.

Joshua looked at you for a moment longer than he needed to. Not with amusement or teasing, just that soft, unreadable gaze of his that always felt a bit too kind. And maybe that was what made your heart trip up in the first place. He was kind to everyone, but with you? It always felt quieter. Unspoken.

“It’s been a long week,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Joshua’s lips tugged into a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“It has,” he agreed. “You’re doing well.”

The words landed somewhere in your chest, catching you off guard.

You ducked your head, unsure how to answer.

But just when you wanted to make a quick escape - your ankle bumped the side of the coffee table, hard enough to sting. You winced.

“You okay?” Joshua leaned down slightly, eyes narrowing in concern.

“I’m fine. Just… clumsy.”

“Still,” he said, crouching so he could be eye-level, brushing your hand away to gently check the bump forming above your sock. “Be careful.”

You froze - every part of you begging not to overthink the way his fingers brushed against your ankle, not to replay the way he softly clicked his tongue like he cared more than he let on.

“Hyung,” someone called from the hallway, probably Mingyu. “We’re leaving.”

Joshua glanced toward the door, then back at you. You weren’t sure what he saw - maybe the flush rising to your ears, maybe the way you avoided eye contact, heart thudding.

He stood up. Hesitated.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he reached over and gently tapped your head. “If I send hot packs to your room later, it’s because I know you’re going to pretend you're not sore.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his, caught off guard. “You don’t have to do that…”

“I know,” he replied easily. “I want to.”

And just like that - he left.

No implication.

Just warmth left behind in the silence. Just a small kindness you weren’t sure meant more than it should.

But when you found the hot packs outside your door later that night - neatly stacked in a paper bag with a sticky note that read, “Don’t forget to rest” - your heart thumped in a way that scared you.

Because maybe you weren’t imagining it.

And maybe he wasn’t either.

Not quite love. Not quite nothing.

But something.

And for now - it was enough for you.

.

Dusk in the dorm was quiet.

You sat alone in the kitchen, legs swinging slightly off the edge of the stool, notebook on the kitchen island as your pencil skimmed across lyrics. Your jacket was still draped over your shoulders - Joshua’s, you realised later on, with a pang of heat rising to your cheeks.

You had meant to return it.

But now…you weren’t so sure you wanted to.

Your pencil stopped moving when you heard the door click open behind you.

“Can't sleep?” Came Seungcheol’s low voice.

You looked up with a small smile. “Hey, Cheol.”

He walked in slowly, not with his usual leader bounce, but something more thoughtful. His gaze swept across the room - at your notes, the mug beside you, the jacket still not yours - and then settled on you.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Just a few check-ins. I figured I’d stop by.”

You nodded, unsure where this was going.

He moved to sit beside you - close enough for comfort. And when he spoke, his voice was calm. Gentle. But deliberate.

“I noticed something lately,” he started. “Between you and... you know who.” His voice trailed off.

Your hand stilled.

You said nothing.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Seungcheol added quickly. “You’re both adults. And it’s not like I’d try to control that.”

You let out a slow breath, still not looking at him. “So… why bring it up?”

“Because it’s my job to make sure both of you are okay,” he said simply. “And that things don’t get… complicated.”

Finally, you met his eyes. There was no judgment in them. Just care. Quiet concern. The kind that had carried the team since debut.

“I’m not acting on anything,” you said softly. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know. But I also know you.” He tilted his head, eyes kind. “And I know Joshua.”

You swallowed.

He let a pause settle between the two of you before adding, “But even if no one says anything out loud, people feel things. Tensions shift. Rehearsals get awkward. Trust me - it happens.”

Your heart dipped, because he wasn’t wrong.

You thought of the jacket still on your shoulders. The way Joshua’s gaze lingered sometimes longer than it should. The hot packs. The quiet.

And the rollercoaster of emotions that came with it.

“I don’t want to mess up our dynamic. Or anything in fact,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper. “He means a lot to me. You all do.”

“I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt the group,” Seungcheol said. “But sometimes, when you care about someone too quietly… it hurts more.”

You blinked.

He smiled faintly. “I’m not asking you to stop feeling. I’m just asking you to be honest with yourself. Because pretending you don’t feel anything can cause just as much trouble as acting too quickly.”

You sat in silence, letting his words settle.

And then - you gave a small nod.

Seungcheol stood up, ruffling your hair gently before heading to the door. “You’re doing well. Don’t forget that.”

Just as he opened the door, he turned back.

“Also,”

You looked up.

“if he ever gives you his jacket again… at least wash it before returning it. He’s going to start running out.”

You flushed red, and he chuckled all the way down the hallway.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t try to hide the smile on your face.

--

[cutiepplepie]

Helloo could u write something soft with Joaquin where it’s just giving soft kisses/ make out ? Appreciating each other’s presence/ body/ beauty 🥹 thank you in advance 💘💘 (maybe hinting it’s getting warmer so it’s more summery feeling)

💌: hi @saintbusan, thank you so much for sending me request!! i hope you like it and it turns well like you asked🤍

imagined you and Joaquin just chilling on the couch in random Friday night, rewatching Harry Potter movie because you two can't decide a new movie to watch. He leans back against the couch and you leans against his side with his arm drapped over your shoulder. After a few moments, you get a little bored and tilt your head slightly to look up at him. You smile as you watch his face and admire his beauty, his curly hair, his sharp jaw, his lips that always calming your mind whenever it pressed against yours.

Joaquin sensing you staring at him. He look down at you and raise his eyebrow as he smirk, "you know...staring at me like that for another seconds and i might think you're a creep." He tease you playfully.

You chuckles softly and wrap your arm around his torso, still looking up at him, "Oh, please...you like it when i admire you, pretty boy." You said softly, almost slurring as you get lost on his beauty.

Joaquin's smirk turns into soft smile and he bring his hand to caress your cheek, "yeah... I love it." You smile as well and you lean up slightly to capture his lips.

He meet you halfway, pressing his lips against yours softly. He kisses you gently, not demanding, as if savouring the cozy, warm atmosphere between you two. You pulls back slightly and open your eyes, looking right into his eyes as you smile.

Joaquin smile as well and chuckles softly, "what?" You laugh and peck his lips, "nothing..." "Don't give me 'nothing.' I know there is something on the mind of yours," he tickles your side briefly, causing you to squirm and laugh before settling down against his side again.

"I'm just admiring you, Joaquin," you bring your hands to cupped his cheeks. "Look at you. So....pretty."

Joaquin smile, almost shyly, "do you think i'm pretty? Not 'handsome' or 'charming'?"

Your smile widen as you shakes your head. Your thumb began to caress his cheeks, "you're pretty. I love playing with your curl everytime you laid your head on my lap. I love your smile, even the smug one everytime you were teasing me," you paused as you move your hand to rest on his chest and the other on his bicep, tracing your finger on the tiny mole there, "and this...is so cute. It's like you can be as tough as you want, but deep down, you're still the ray of sunshine of mine and the sweetest person i've ever known."

Joaquin listening to your rambling about his 'beauty.' He just look at you with softness and look of love. He tilt your chin up gently and capture your lips again, deeper this time, but still gentle. You lean into his touch and kiss. His lips moving gently against yours and you let him, following his lead.

After a moment, you pulls back and pant slightly, looking up at him. Joaquin is as breathless as you are. You both smile to each others and chuckles. Joaquin just about to chase your lips again when you put your palm over his mouth, "Joaquin...my lips is already swollen."

Joaquin laugh softly against your palm and he grab your wrist gently to remove your palm from his mouth. He put your palm on his cheek instead and nuzzles against it, pressing soft kisses on there as well.

masterlist

buy me a pudding🍮

pics from: pinterest

ლ I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTER AND ALL OF MY WRITING IS PURELY FANFICTION

©Marvel Cinematic Universe

[rooksamoris]

Helloo amoraa! i really love your writing and always looking forward for more fanfiction you write. But may i send a request this time? To be honest this is my first time requesting, so hopefully i didn’t break any rules. I would like the overblot gang x fem reader (if you don’t mind) who eats lemon and lime like it’s an orange. Not lemonade, just straight up lemon (i love anything sour 🙏🏻🙏🏻😭). Perhaps reader is a kind person and always wanted to share her lemon and lime with the characters even if they don’t want it. Thanks a lot amoraa, have a great dayyy

SHARING SOUR SNACKS !!

💞 — featuring; riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia. 💞 — gender neutral reader. no warnings. i changed the reader to gn because it was inconsequential for this piece. hope you enjoy!!

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS.

🩷 — The first time you did it, Riddle was very quick to tell you that raw lemons had a high acidity which could burn your throat and cause an acid reflux. 

🩷 — He understands the health benefits, of course, but usually lemons in that case are used diluted in warm water or in a cup of tea. Overall, he's kind of concerned, lovingly so.

🩷 — When you do offer him a lemon, he accepts it because he is a gentleman, but he will have it made into a pastry. 

🩷 — Riddle has a strained relationship with food generally because of his mother, so he does find it kind of nice that you just eat what you like, even when it is literally a lemon that you peeled as if it were just an orange. 

🩷 — When Cater comments about his friend has a strange diet, Riddle is quick to say that it is perfectly fine, so long as you were happy and healthy.

He took the lemon you offered him, you even went through the extra effort of wrapping it in a pretty little bow, with a polite smile, “Ah… thank you, my dear,” he said. He asks Trey to bake it into something for him, and later in the afternoon you both are enjoying your respective lemons over some tea in the rose gardens. 

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR.

🩷 — Honestly, Leona does not care that much. So long as you’re taking care of yourself, he does not care what you eat. He has his preferences and you have yours.

🩷 — He does think the smell of lemons and limes clinging to you is quite pleasant and it also makes you very easy to find in a crowd of people. 

🩷 — Whenever you do offer one to him, he declines. Respectfully, he does not really want to eat raw lime the way you do. If you continue to insist, he just takes it. I imagine the Sunset Savanna has some East African politeness rules that he grew up adhering to as it pertains to gifts.

🩷 — He’ll probably end up tossing it into the kitchen for someone else to enjoy.

🩷 — Overall, it makes no difference to him what you eat. It’s a little odd, yeah, but there’s no judgement coming from him.

“I know you’re there, kidege,” he said, not opening his eyes as he laid with his hands behind his head. He was laying out in the field, beneath a tree. It was a nice summer afternoon, with a breeze and heat that was not too unbearable. The wind brought with it the familiar scent of lemons and limes. He opens a single eye, “Come with more gifts? I can smell them on you.”

AZUL ASHENGROTTO.

🩷 — Azul thinks it's odd, but he also assumes that would make it easy for him to sell you some lemonade or other sour drinks sold at the lounge. 

🩷 — He also assumes it must be a strange human thing. He and the twins grew up with completely different forms of food back in the Coral Sea, and there are plenty of acts committed by humans that he still thinks are odd. He has yet to completely assimilate to the world away from the ocean.

🩷 — When you try and order your usual plate of lemon slices, just lemon slices, he tries to offer you some lemonade instead and you just smile and repeat you just want your lemons. 

🩷 — Azul will provide, regardless. He likes having another customer just as any other business owner would. Still, he can’t help but ask the humans he knows on this issue.

“You’re here for your usual, yes? Worry not, I will personally bring it to you,” he said, before disappearing behind the kitchen. He brought your usual drink and a plate of lemon slices. He sets them down before furrowing his brow a bit. Oh, well. If you damaged your teeth enamel, he would be there to swoop in with a deal to get you sent to a dentist. 

JAMIL VIPER.

🩷 — Listen, I fully believe Jamil grew up with his parents telling him that lemons and honey were the cure for everything. All he needed to do was make some tea with ginger, lemon and honey and boom, all of his ailments would be healed. Sore throat? Lemon. Runny nose? Lemon. Broken bone? Well, most things could be healed with a good ripe lemon. 

🩷 — When you ask for lemon slices during a visit to Scarabia, he thinks that you might be feeling unwell, and obliges, bringing you some honey and warm water to.

🩷 — But then you don’t have the honey or the water and just start rawdogging the lemon slices like their oranges. He’s a bit off put by it, staring at you, waiting for some sort of reaction. 

🩷 — At first he assumed you were trying to catch him off guard on purpose, but soon he realizes it’s just some quirk of yours. 

🩷 — Now he slices extra limes if he hears you’ll be visiting Scarabia.

You were sitting on one of the ornate divans, leaning on one of the cushions. One of the other dorm members led you in when they saw you waiting outside and alerted Jamil. Eventually, he walked in, carrying a tray with some mango juice and a plate of sliced limes, “I heard you were coming to study. Eat first and then I’ll share my notes with you.”

VIL SCHOENHEIT.

🩷 — Absolutely not. He’s all for the benefits of having a slice of lemon or lime with your breakfast, but the thought of just eating them like they were oranges was just a no for him. 

🩷 — He’s very worried about your enamel and the possibility of the dreaded acid reflux. He will not enable your behavior and if you are in his presence, he will try to prevent it. If you come by to Pomefiore asking for lemons, you will have to have it in lemonade form. So sorry.

🩷 — He thinks it’s strange, but he’s done stranger things for his appearance and discipline, so there’s little judgement in that sense.

🩷 — Vil is just worried about your health, honestly.

🩷 — Overall, he likes that you make a habit of incorporating a nutrient dense item into your food, he just does not like the amount you consume, and the manner in which you do it. You will have to dilute your limes into water in his presence.

“Ah–ah,” Vil clicked his tongue as he gently tugged the lime slice away from your hand. You brought yourself some lime slices in a little plastic bag. His immaculate brows were knitted as he walked over to bring you a glass of water, shaking his head, “What did I tell you about the acidity in these? You have to dilute it so that you won’t damage your teeth. You’re almost as stubborn as Epel.”

IDIA SHROUD.

🩷 — Bro, how in the world did you sneak a fruit this close to him?

🩷 — Idia sticks to that which comforts him when it comes to food. He likes his brightly colored candies, his crunchy chips and his highly caffeinated drinks. He is not interested in foods which are too complex or have mushy sorts of textures. 

🩷 — His patience is thin and I doubt he's very interested in cutting up fruits. The rare times he actually sees you in person, whenever you’re dropping something off at Ignihyde or picking something up, you always have some sour treat in hand. You offered it to him once, and took anxious to tell you no explicitly, he accepted.

🩷 — It was not a good reaction. The texture of the lemon slice bothered him greatly, the ridges where the juices spilled especially, and that was not even considering the taste. Safe to say, his expression embarrassed him greatly.

🩷 — He avoided you for a while after that. Sour gummy worms, sure, but raw dogging a lemon is not for him.

“U–uhm, yeah, here. Your phone is… is fixed,” he muttered, looking up at you from his desk as he held the device out to you. You were picking up your phone after he dealt with some virus issue you came across. He was still getting around his embarrassment from the lemon slice incident. Gently, he pushed a bag of sour gummies your way, “... want some? They… uh— they’re better than the limes…”

MALLEUS DRACONIA.

🩷 — Malleus did not think it was weird until he saw other people react to it. You just like lemons and limes, just as he likes shaved ice and popsicles. Sure, you seemed to like them excessively, but it was kind of cute. 

🩷 — He sees Sebek gawk at you as you peel a lemon and take a bite out of it and then he realizes it is weird. To others, of course, not to him. 

🩷 — When you offered him one of your lemon slices, he was flattered. It was sweet of you to share that which you enjoyed with him. He accepted with thanks, but tells you that it would have probably been more pleasant as a frozen sweet treat.

🩷 — One day a local grocery stores finds themselves graced with the presence of the great Prince Malleus Draconia of the Briar Valley.

🩷 — That very night he comes to you with a little carton of lemon flavored ice cream and two freshly polished spoons to share it. You shared your treat with him, and now he was to return the favor.

“I believe I much prefer the lemon in this form,” he said, thinking very seriously about the ice cream, comparing it to the lemon slice you shared with him the day before. This was sweeter, and he liked how cold it was. His glimmering green eyes shifted in your direction and he tilted his head to the side, his raven hair falling forward slightly, “And what do you think, child of man?” he asked.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[httpvomitello]

Could you write one for Fred where she's a Malfoy and is the first time that Fred takes her to the burrow?

Helloo, thanks for the request. I hope you like it ~ ♡

She's My Malfoy .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Being a Malfoy meant living under constant scrutiny. Your family’s legacy was built on wealth, power, and an unwavering belief in blood purity—beliefs you had never shared. But no matter how much you distanced yourself, people still saw Malfoy before they saw you. That included the Weasleys, who had every reason to despise your name. Now, for the first time, Fred was bringing you to the Burrow, hoping his family would see what he did: that you were nothing like them.

fred weasley x f!reader

Fred was a lot of things. A troublemaker, a prankster, a complete menace to authority. But most of all, he was fearless.

That’s why you were so surprised to see him hesitating at the front door of the Burrow.

“Fred?” you asked softly, squeezing his hand.

He startled and grinned at you—his usual charming, easy grin that made your heart race. But this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry, love. Just thinking about how Mum might actually murder me tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean us?”

“No, no, just me,” he assured. “You’re too pretty to kill. I, on the other hand, am about to get a one-way ticket to the afterlife.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the weight behind his words.

Fred had fought for you every step of the way. From the moment you started dating, he made it clear that your last name didn’t matter to him. But the rest of the world—including his family—wasn’t so forgiving.

He had told them you were coming, of course. And the silence that followed had been deafening.

Now, standing in front of the crooked, charming house that was so unlike Malfoy Manor, you felt something rare: nerves.

Fred must have sensed it, because he lifted your intertwined hands and kissed the back of yours. “For the record, I’d choose you over them. Any day. Every time.”

Your chest tightened, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in and kissed him.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whispered.

The moment the door opened, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

You had met Ron and Ginny at school, and while they weren’t exactly friendly, they hadn’t been outright hostile either. But stepping into the Burrow was different.

It was like walking into enemy territory.

Mrs. Weasley, who had been setting the table, stopped when she saw you. Mr. Weasley, who had been reading the Daily Prophet, slowly lowered the paper. The tension in the room was suffocating.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said finally, forcing a polite smile. “You must be Y/N.”

You nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley.”

Fred’s grip on your hand tightened.

Ginny, sitting at the table, crossed her arms. “So, what’s it like in Malfoy Manor? Do you guys have dungeons for the Muggle-borns, or do you just hex them at dinner?”

“Ginny,” Mr. Weasley scolded.

But you didn’t flinch. You had expected this.

“I wouldn’t know,” you said evenly. “I left as soon as I could.”

Ron, who had been watching you closely, frowned. “Yeah? And your family just let you?”

You hesitated for half a second, but Fred jumped in.

“She didn’t exactly get a warm send-off, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Mrs. Weasley’s expression softened, but only slightly.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “you’re here now. Come sit.”

Dinner was... tense.

Conversations stalled when you tried to join in. The twins—normally the most talkative—seemed quieter than usual. Even Fred, who had been his usual carefree self earlier, was unusually serious.

The moment you stood to help with the dishes, Mrs. Weasley waved you off.

“That’s not necessary, dear.”

You hesitated. “I don’t mind.”

She smiled tightly. “I said it’s not necessary.”

It was a small thing, but it felt like a warning. You were a guest. An outsider. No matter how much Fred loved you, you weren’t one of them.

Fred sighed beside you, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, enough of this,” he said abruptly. “Can we just talk about it?”

Silence.

Then George leaned back in his chair. “Talk about what, exactly?”

Fred scoffed. “Oh, I don’t know, Georgie. Maybe the fact that everyone here is treating my girlfriend like she personally kicked a puppy?”

“She’s a Malfoy, Fred,” Ginny snapped.

“And so what?” he shot back. “She didn’t pick her family, same way we didn’t pick ours.”

Ron crossed his arms. “It’s not just about the name, mate. It’s about what that family’s done. What her family has done.”

That was it. You had been silent long enough.

“I’m not my family,” you said sharply. “I don’t believe in their cause. I don’t support them. And I sure as hell don’t owe them anything.”

Ginny scoffed. “Easy to say when you grew up with everything.”

Your blood boiled. “You think money made that house any less of a prison? You think I ever felt safe there?” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “My father saw me as nothing more than a political tool. And Draco—” You swallowed hard. “Draco still thinks he can fix me.”

The table was deathly silent.

“I walked away from all of it,” you finished, voice quieter now. “And I didn’t do it because it was easy. I did it because it was right.”

Fred reached for your hand under the table, and you let out a slow breath.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley spoke.

“We’re just... protective of our own.”

“I get that,” you said softly. “But I’d never hurt Fred. I’d never hurt any of you.”

Another long pause.

Then, Mr. Weasley gave you a small nod.

Ron and Ginny didn’t say anything, but they weren’t glaring anymore.

And when dessert was served, you swore you saw Mrs. Weasley add an extra slice of treacle tart on your plate.

Fred leaned in and whispered, “That’s a good sign.”

You exhaled, squeezing his hand.

Maybe, just maybe, you were one step closer to belonging.

[pearlywritings]

Helloo! I enjoy reading your work so much!! Could I request Albedo + Guitar + soft smut scenario for your current event? Thank you! ‪‪❤︎ ‪‪

I've been feeling so soft for Albedo after the 5.6 Mond update... Now I kinda want him on my account...

Also thank you, love, for your kind words! I hope you'll enjoy this little piece <3

His work table

pairing: Albedo x fem!reader

prompt: random smut scenario

word count: 1.1k+ words

tw: NSFW, oral sex (fem receiving), office sex, fingering, can be seen as a kinda make-up sex

~ The Music of the Night event ~

Albedo’s work table is never a mess. The Chief Alchemist is particular with things - while his personal stuff back home can exist in creative chaos, his study at the Headquarters must be organized. If Jean summons him for an urgent report - all the documents must be set in neat stacks to be easily sorted through; if a subordinate needs a book or a research paper to check some information - it’ll be spotted right away on his bookshelves within the alphabetical order; if he needs to grab something, it’ll always be in the same place - first picked from it and then put back there.

Albedo’s work table is never a mess. But no one said anything about you being an absolute mess on his work table.

And Archons from above, you are.

The dress of light fabric is tugged down past your shoulders and chest and hiked up to your waist. The sweat is beading, the marks begin to bloom on your neck, and you know it’s going to be an embarrassment to walk back home unless you find a scarf, but right now it’s the last thing you can care about. Especially while all your brain can do is send signals to your poor trembling arms to keep your spasming body up and sitting. 

You pant and with every jolt your breasts jiggle, unrestrained by the previously tossed aside bra. Nipples are hard and still a bit wet from the time your lover paid thorough attention to them in his journey from your swollen lips to your…other lips.

On the floor, on his knees, Albedo is settled between your wide open legs and is devouring you like a man who’s devoted.

On his work desk.

In the middle of the day.

You came to him for an explanation. No, you rushed to his office the moment all the charges were dropped and you heard a passing knight say what a brilliant plan the Chief Alchemist came up with to catch an impostor. You needed to know why he kept it a secret from you. You needed to see if he was alright. You needed to do something with the unreleased tension bottled up in your body, which, as you are now aware, couldn’t be dealt with because Albedo was plotting and trying to keep you away from harm.

Which resulted in you being hoisted on his work table, door locked and walls of geo put up to isolate the sinful moans leaving your gasping mouth and squelchy sounds from between your thighs.

Your lover has gotten so good at this. Lips are on your clit and two flawlessly thin fingers are buried deep into your pussy, moving in and out in quick pumps. Albedo’s beautiful teal eyes are closed, because he already had a chance to watch you arch and writhe above him before your first orgasm - now he wants to listen. To your breathy moans, to the quiet chants of his name (he finds it cute how you are still attempting to keep your volume down, even though he’s taken all the measures), to the little whines you let out whenever he lets go of your aching clit with a unintended ‘pop!’ to turn his head and kiss your thighs.

He loves your gasp when he adds the third finger, unexpectedly, mercifully, making you so full, finally giving you just enough to clench around. His mouth returns to the bundle of nerves, but this time he lets his tongue toy with it, pressing the tip harder, licking in big strokes. 

You jolt and the heel of your shoe hits the table. Albedo suddenly thinks that if one of his hands wasn’t busy he would’ve thrown both your legs over his shoulders, trapping his own head between your soft thighs. It sends a shiver down his spine. Fuck, and if your fingers were buried into his locks–

Your second orgasm hits him as a surprise (it looks like he got a little distracted). He realizes a second too late that he must’ve curled his fingers the way they pressed into your g-spot just right and simultaneously sucked onto your clit harder than he wanted to. Yet, upon opening his eyes and gazing up at you, it doesn’t seem that you mind.

If leaning backwards while sitting on his work table with head thrown back and tongue lolling out is any indicator.

Albedo plants one more kiss on your thigh and carefully slides all three fingers out. Your exhale shudders and the man hurries to smooth his palms from your hip bones to your knees. Makes a mental note not to forget to wipe one of the thighs clean of the slick he accidentally smeared in the process.

By the time he slowly rises to his feet and leans over you, you’ve kinda come to your senses already. The first post-orgasm thing you register feeling is his palms squeezing your waist. The first thing you see is his celestial eyes. And with the last remnants of strength you lift your arms to embrace his neck and draw him closer to pull in a deep kiss.

It’s twenty minutes later when he cleans you up, hands you your panties and bra back and helps to readjust the dress. If it wasn’t for the marks on your neck, the blush still blooming on your cheeks and hair slightly disheveled, it wouldn’t be clear what had occurred behind the closed door of the Chief Alchemist’s office.

You admit you are jealous of his origins that predetermined his ability to appear so unphased.

“Can I hope that this was a foreplay for what I can await tonight?” You ask him just as he’s begun to put the walls made of geo energy down. “You know, in the form of you ‘apologizing’ to me that you promised before hoisting me onto this desk?” And you knock two times against its surface, right where you were sitting and leaking slick onto moments ago.

“Tonight is the night of the celebration, you should go and have fun with everyone” he answers softly, now done with his task and grabbing his gloves, “and it appears I’ll have to owe you one more apology, my life, but tonight I will be a little bit busy…” 

When he sees you pout, he rushes to elaborate.

“However I swear this,” he steps closer, covering your hand still resting on the table with his own, “will be picked up tomorrow’s night where we left off today. And I will join you in the city once I’m done.”

“Promise?” You look right in the eyes, and Albedo can’t help but give you one more of his rare smiles.

“I promise. Now, wait a little bit, I’ll go find Lisa and ask her to lend you one of her capes. Even if she realizes what it’s for, she’s the last person to judge.”

And, pecking your cheek quickly, he leaves you there - leaning against his work table with a raging blush and a complaint stuck in your throat.

[hypnzo]

Helloo!! I'm so glad you're back! Can i request for Percy Jackson (The character). Free style, anything! Thank youu <3

“Underwater ” — Percy Jackson x Reader

(Warning: English is not my first language and there might be some mischaracterization.)

“Come on, it'll be fun.” Percy grins under water, his hands tugging on your ankle.

“I'm too lazy, Percy.” you blinked down, meeting his eyes, earning a small pout from him.

“C'mon, pretty.”

You hummed, feeling the coldness of the water that splashed through your ankle.

“I'll think about it.” you close your eyes, feeling a little drowsy. ...Until you felt the cold water of the beach splash you.

You lazily glare at Percy who was biting back his grin though he failed to hide his snicker.

Grabbing your hand, he presses a soft kiss on your knuckles, coaxing you to join him in the water.

“Join me for a little while.” he murmurs against your hand, looking up to meet your gaze.

You adjusted your hand to cup the other half of his face, feeling a little smile tug onto the corner of your lips.

“Say 'please'?” you giggled, raising a brow at him.

Unexpectedly, he tugged you into the water, pulling you closer to him. “Please?” he says gently, tilting his head with a smug grin plastered onto his face.

“...You're an ass.”

He only laughed before pressing a kiss on your lips as he gently padded along the water with his hands firmly gripped onto your waist.

“We're going underwater?”

“You bet we are.”

“Wait–Percy–”

Panicking for a second, you suddenly felt Percy's lips press against yours. Blinking, you came back to your senses and realized you could breathe underwater.

“What the..?”

“Relax,” he murmured against your lips, “you didn't really think I'd let you drown, did you?” he says before pressing another soft peck on your lips.

Gently, he guided the both of you deeper into the water, his hands still clasped against yours, though the way he rubbed his thumb against your knuckles felt grounding.

“Where do you wanna go, angel?”

“...Out of here.” you teased, earning a thoughtful hum from him that was full of mockery.

“Very funny.” he tapped your nose.

“Fine. Let's go.. somewhere deeper over there.”

“You got it.” he winked, pressing a kiss onto your lips before you both took off.

Dividers: @cafekitsune → @sweetmelodygraphics

Have a request? Feel free to send one in!

[rensukepie]

Helloo can i pls request letters D, J, V for kaiser thank you!!!

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ꩜ .ᐟ rensukepie’s 100 follower special w/ @mshinemuscat

minors dni

nsfw under the cut

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ꩜ .ᐟ D - dirty secret

he likes spanking your ass and hearing your little whimpers and squeaks! extra points if you’re sensitive to his touch!

sometimes when he does this, you start to tear up and he thinks it’s the most adorableeee thing in the whole entire world! :3 definitely gets rock hard!

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ꩜ .ᐟ J - jack off ; do they masturbate? and if so, how often?

probably not as often since soccer gets in the way of things, but when he has time or the night feels empty without you because you’re away, he will for sure!

definitely will jerk off to your posts or pictures you send to him of yourself :3 especially the pictures with some of your cleavage shown or nudes you’ve sent him in the past!

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ꩜ .ᐟ V - volume ; how loud are they? what sounds do they make?

he’s probably more on the quieter side, but still makes the hottest sounds ever when he fucks you! kaiser looks like he groans and grunts 100%!

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child II.

Father figure!Hotch x BAU!reader

part one | series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Returning to work after such a long absence is never easy, but trying to understand your boss without failing is even worse.

Words: 3,3k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime and the reader's old shoulder injury. angst WITH open ending. hotch being a father figure. the reader having bad thoughts and the team not being a good team with her. father and rebellious daughter type relationship. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Helloo Tall Child lovers, I hope you like this and that it will be a sequel according to your expectations. I'm sorry for the delay, but the complexity of this relationship made my job difficult, as I never thought of writing more with this reader in the first place, and I was very surprised that you liked it so much.

So I'm pleased to tell you that I've made an exclusive list with this reader because I'd love to explore more of this through other seasons and situations not necessarily canon, feel free to send your request if you have specific ideas with this reader!

Six weeks later.

The air in the BAU was colder than you remembered, not just in temperature but in feeling; it was a sterile, impersonal chill that clung to your skin like mist. Every echoing footstep in the polished corridors seemed louder, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. It wasn’t just the recycled air hissing through the vents or the fluorescent lighting that buzzed too harshly overhead. No, this cold ran deeper. It had taken root inside you during those long, suffocating weeks locked away in your apartment, when the silence had pressed in on all sides and the world had narrowed to four walls and the weight of your own thoughts. This was the cold of absence. Of isolation. Of walking back into a life that had kept moving without you.

You stood at the entrance, your badge clipped to your belt, your go-bag slung over one shoulder. From the outside, it looked like you were fine. Recovered. Rested. As focused and willing to work as ever. But on the inside, you were still picking up pieces.

The place hadn’t changed, but you hadn’t expected it to. Reid’s desk was just as you remembered: clean, almost painfully so, every file color-coded and aligned with obsessive precision. The chessboard still sat in its usual spot off to the side, pieces mid-game, like he was still chasing the perfect strategy that might finally let him beat Gideon. Across the bullpen, the computer screens all flickered in perfect rhythm, except for Morgan’s, which pulsed in shades of bright pink. You didn’t need to see her to know Garcia was up to something again, probably testing out some new system or just trying to annoy him in that way only she could pull off. The coffee pot sputtered and hissed in the background, steady and familiar, its bitter scent weaving through the air like it never left.

And then, your gaze landed on the far wall: Hotch’s office. The door was closed. Blinds drawn. The same as always, and yet now it felt heavier somehow. Imposing. Like, just the sight of it pulled your shoulders tighter. You found yourself wishing he wasn’t there. Wishing you could walk in without that cold knot twisting in your stomach.

Damn, you weren’t supposed to be afraid of him now.

A few heads turned when you stepped in. The room didn’t go silent, but it shifted. You felt it, eyes lingering just a second too long, hushed words dying mid-sentence. And then JJ was there, walking toward you with that soft, careful smile people wore around broken things like you.

“Hey,” she said gently, arms opening without hesitation.

You let her pull you into a hug. Her perfume was the same as always. So floral and grounding. You closed your eyes for a second, just enough to feel the safety in it. But it passed quickly.

“You look better,” she added softly. You didn’t say thank you.

She said better, not good.

Morgan and Elle came next, their footsteps steady, familiar, grounding in a way that almost made your throat tighten. “There’s the prodigal agent,” one of them said with a crooked smile—maybe him, maybe her—you weren’t paying close enough attention to tell. Your focus was locked on their faces, not their voices. Their smiles were genuine, warm even, but just behind them, something else flickered. Worry. Maybe guilt. Maybe both. It was there in the brief glance they exchanged when they thought you wouldn’t notice, in the way Elle’s arms crossed just a little too tightly over her chest, in how Morgan’s usual swagger was tempered by something quieter.

But Reid was the hardest to face. He hovered, hesitating, unsure if he should say something or just let it go. In the end, he gave you a small, tentative smile and an awkward “Hi,” as if six weeks hadn’t passed. As if he hadn’t been the reason your stomach still twisted with guilt every time you closed your eyes.

You nodded and whispered, “Hey.” That was all you could manage.

But then came the moment you had been both dreading and aching for so long it had carved itself into the rhythm of your days. The soft creak of the door swinging open sliced through the low hum of conversation like a knife. You didn’t need to look to know it was him. The measured, deliberate sound of his polished shoes crossing the bullpen floor was unmistakable, as familiar as it was unsettling. Each step seemed to echo louder than it should have, like the room itself tensed in his presence.

And there he was. Aaron Hotchner. As composed and unreadable as ever, every inch of him radiated quiet authority. His presence hit like a pressure drop in the atmosphere, pressing down on your chest and making the space around you feel impossibly large and impossibly small all at once. Like suddenly, you didn’t know where to stand. Like suddenly, you weren’t sure if you even belonged in that space anymore. Like suddenly, you were a child who had been punished for bad behavior.

You had imagined this moment a hundred times.

None of them felt like this.

He didn’t say anything at first. He stood there, just a few feet away, arms folded, that familiar, unreadable expression settling over his face like a mask. The same one that used to make your pulse quicken, that used to leave you guessing, second-guessing yourself.

But not this time.

This time, you didn’t flinch. You met his stare head-on, feeling the weight of his gaze like a hand around your throat—but you refused to shrink. Not again. You’d spent too long folding yourself into smaller and smaller shapes, twisting and bleeding just to fit into the narrow mold of what he expected, of what he trusted. And for what? For this? For distance and doubt? No more. That part of you—the desperate part—was dead and buried. Or if it wasn’t yet, you were damn sure going to kill it. You lifted your chin, defiance burning in your chest like a second heartbeat, daring him to look at you and still pretend you were invisible.

“I’m back,” you said, voice low but steady. “Just like the paperwork says.”

Your boss studied you for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze flicking to your shoulder—the one that still bore the memory of your injury, the phantom weight of everything you’d lost—before settling back into that cold, distant mask of his. That unreadable expression he wore so well, the one that used to make you feel safe because it meant he was in control. Now, it just made you feel small. Disposable.

And for a moment—just one cruel, flickering moment—you almost believed that he’d step forward. That he’d close the distance. That he’d reach out and gently touch your shoulder, like he used to when things were too heavy, too hard. You almost believed he would look you in the eye, say your name like it meant something, and tell you he was sorry. Sorry for the silence. Sorry for the coldness. Sorry for the suspension. Sorry for treating you like a child.

You almost believed he would say he trusted you. That he still saw you, still believed in you, even if it was a little. That he understood why you did what you did. That you weren’t broken. That he didn’t think of you as a liability or a ticking clock counting down to another failure.

You almost believed he would tell you it was going to be okay.

But it didn’t happen.

He just looked away. Not with malice. Not with cruelty. But with distance. Like someone turning from a photograph that had faded in time. And you felt the sting of it—quiet, precise, brutal. Not just the rejection of your role, but the absence of something far deeper.

It wasn’t the pain of being forgotten.

It was the pain of never being seen.

“We’re glad to have you back,” he said, his voice the same steady, measured cadence it had always been.

But it wasn’t the words that stung; it was the way they landed. Clinical. Safe. Like a statement recited for formality’s sake rather than spoken from any real feeling.

Not I’m glad.

We’re glad.

That single word change twisted like a knife in your chest.

“Right,” you said, the word escaping before you could hold it back. Your eyes burned with something you refused to let spill over. “Glad to be back, I guess.”

Hotch didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t.

There was a long silence between you two. He studied you, just like before, but this time it felt colder. Like he was looking for something you didn’t have anymore.

You couldn’t stand it. You turned away quickly, your body betraying you as your chest tightened and your breath quickened. You were better than this. You were stronger than this.

The case came in shortly after: a triple homicide in Maryland. The kind of case that had all the hallmarks of a nightmare: brutal, violent, unsolved. You didn’t think you were ready for fieldwork. In fact, you didn’t think you could even look at another case without feeling like an imposter, like a stranger in your own skin. The idea of diving back into it, back into the chaos, felt overwhelming. But you didn’t have a choice. There were no other options. And Aaron was too careful now to give you the responsibility of leading your partner again. Not after everything that had happened.

“Morgan leads. JJ, handle media. Reid, consult with the coroner. Elle, talk to the families.”

And then, without a single glance in your direction, he turned to you and said, “You’ll assist.”

No lead. No profile. No responsibility. Just…observe.

Support.

The word echoed in your head, bruising you in places you hadn’t even realized were tender. Support. As if that was all you were good for now. The sharp ache of betrayal twisted inside your chest, but you couldn’t—wouldn’t—let it show. You didn’t argue. Not out loud. But it burned. Every cell in your body screamed in protest, but you held it in, forced it back down where no one could see.

On the jet, the silence between you and Hotch was like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. You sat across from him, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes glued to the window as the world outside blurred by. But you could feel him. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, though he didn’t meet your gaze directly. He kept glancing at your shoulder, the one that still bore the ugly scar of your injury. His eyes flicked there so many times, and each time they quickly darted away, as if caught between something you couldn’t tell.

And it wasn't just him. The whole team had noticed it, the little looks they gave you when they thought you weren't looking, the way their conversations were interrupted when you walked into a room, and they automatically faked their best smile at you. You could feel the tension in the air, like they were all waiting for you to sink or swim, to show you still had something to give.

In the field, you did your job. You fell into the motions like muscle memory: keeping your voice calm, your observations sharp, and your hands steady. You kept your face neutral, even when the case began to grind you down, piece by piece. But every decision Hotch or Gideon made went through Morgan. Every suggestion you made was quietly nodded at but never acted upon. You could almost hear the quiet hum of judgment in the air every time you tried to assert yourself. You were invisible.

It was like walking through fog. You were there, but no one could see you. No one really saw you.

You were present but unseen. You were nothing more than a shadow, drifting through the motions.

And, of course, back at the hotel it was the same. You kept to yourself, retreated into the quiet of your room, away from their pitying stares. The team trickled in, chatting amongst themselves, but you didn’t join them. They didn’t expect you to. Instead, you made a lie about being tired and about having a headache, and you hid behind it.

So you sat on your bed instead, the room dimly lit by the glow of a muted TV. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the electronics and the occasional shuffle of your own restless thoughts. The takeout boxes sat untouched on the desk, still sealed in their flimsy plastic containers. Your service weapon rested next to your badge on the nightstand, a weightless echo of a dream that no longer seemed to matter.

The knock came at 10:43 p.m.

You hesitated, fingers frozen over the blanket, eyes flicking to the door. Part of you considered ignoring it, pretending you didn’t hear, pretending the world outside wasn’t so close. But something in your gut told you who it was.

With a sigh that felt too heavy for such a small sound, you stood up and moved toward the door, your movements stiff and reluctant. You opened it, and there he was: your lovely boss. Standing there, holding a white takeout bag with the same purposeful, composed demeanor he always had.

“I figured you didn’t eat,” he said, his voice soft, as if offering something much bigger than just food. His hand extended toward you, the scent of it wafting up with the slight steam still rising from the dish. “Chicken teriyaki. No onions.”

Your heart clenched, hard and sudden. Of course he remembered.

He always remembered.

It was the smallest things, the details he’d tucked away in his mind, that made your chest tighten like this, like a dam about to crack. You took the food from his outstretched hand, your fingers brushing his briefly, and stepped aside to let him in, but he didn’t move.

He just stood there, his posture stiff, his eyes avoiding yours in that way that felt both respectful and…uncomfortably distant.

It felt less like your boss checking in and more like a parent standing awkwardly outside a teenager’s door, unsure if they were about to be let in or shut out.

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, voice almost a whisper, as if you were apologizing for the inconvenience. You weren’t sure why it came out that way, it wasn’t him you were apologizing to. Not really.

“I know,” he replied, his voice calm, careful, as though he were trying to measure every word. He stood there for a long moment, looking at you but not really seeing you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the ground.

Then he shifted slightly, glancing at the takeout bag in his hand. “There’s also a dessert, but you should eat the real food first.”

His words felt like they were layered with more than just concern for your well-being. It was the way he said it, like he was directing you, guiding you—not as a colleague, not as a boss, but as someone who felt responsible for making sure you didn’t fall apart.

And then, you knew it.

You weren’t a grown adult in his eyes right now. You were someone he had to take care of, like a child who didn’t know how to care for themselves anymore.

“You still don’t trust me,” you said finally, voice low but steady. It wasn’t a sharp edge, not a challenge.

Hotch’s eyes flicked to yours, then dropped again—quick, involuntary. Like the words hurt to hear, even if he’d been expecting them.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s not true.”

“Then why am I stuck on the sidelines?” you asked, and this time the question came harsher, more bitter than you intended. You didn’t mean to sound wounded, but the words carried it anyway. “Why am I the one just…watching? Observing, while everyone else is doing the job I’ve trained my whole damn life to do?”

His silence came fast and thick, and it stretched too long, long enough to confirm what you already suspected. The answer, when it came, landed like a blow.

“Because I need to know you’re okay,” he said, quiet but firm. “Before I put someone else’s life in your hands again.”

Ouch.

You flinched. Not dramatically, just enough for him to see it. Just enough for you to feel it ripple through your spine like heat. The air in the room shifted, charged and sharp, like an old scab torn open.

“I thought you said this wasn’t personal,” you said, hating the way your voice cracked around the edges.

“It’s not,” Hotch said, voice tight.

You stared at him. Really stared. The lines around his eyes are deeper now. The tension in his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders, was like this conversation was another weight he didn’t know how to carry.

“Sure feels personal.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it passed too fast to name. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t try to spin it.

Instead, he said quietly, “You scared me that day.”

You froze.

He wasn’t looking at you now. He was looking past you, somewhere far away. Like he was remembering it. The day it all went sideways. The weight of the call he had to make to the ambulance. The fallout. The blood and your tears.

“You scared all of us,” he added, softer now. “But me the most.”

The confession hit harder than you expected. Not because he was admitting fear, but because he still couldn’t look at you when he said it. Because even after all this time, all this effort, it still felt like he hadn’t let go of that fear.

“I know I made mistakes,” you said, your voice quieter now. Controlled. Trying to be steady, even as your throat tightened. “I know I lost control. I know I…crossed lines.”

You stopped. Breathed. Tried to gather the rest of it.

“But I’m not—” You hesitated. The word was right there. Lodged between your teeth.

Not broken.

You weren’t even sure you believed it anymore.

Hotch finally looked at you, really looked, and when he spoke, it was softer than before. “I know. That’s why I approved your return.”

You searched his face, looking for judgment or disappointment. But what you saw instead surprised you.

Tiredness. Not just the kind that came from stress or long nights of cases but the kind that came from caring too much and not knowing how to show it without screwing everything up.

It disarmed you.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you murmured, almost ashamed. “About Reid. About your kid. Or you.”

He nodded, just once. Small. Measured.

“I know,” he said. “But it still touched a nerve.”

That landed harder than any reprimand. No raised voice. No lecture. Just the simple truth of it, that what you said had stuck to him like shrapnel.

The silence that followed was quieter now, less tense, less heavy. Something between you was shifting. Mending, maybe.

“I’m not broken,” you said suddenly, with more force than you expected. The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “I’ve been hurt. I’ve been…off. But I’m not broken.”

Hotch looked at you for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“I never said you were.”

“You acted like it.”

He sighed, eyes dropping again. “Maybe I was afraid.”

Your brow furrowed. “Of what?”

He hesitated. Then, quietly: “That if I pushed you harder, I’d be the one who broke you.”

The breath caught in your throat.

“I didn’t think you were weak,” he added. “I just didn’t want to watch you fall apart.”

Your chest ached.

“I already did,” you said.

“I know.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the threshold.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said finally, without looking at you. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”

And then he was gone, leaving the door open just a crack behind him.

Just in case you needed to follow.

[temiizpalace]

helloo may I request a prompt for the love triangle event please?

I'd like to ask for Jade and Vil with prompt 3 where they both offer their shoulders to rest on! tysmm

☆┊PUT YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER! NOT HIS! (👑 vs.🐬)

SUMMARY: THEY BOTH OFFER HIS SHOULDER TO REST ON. WHO KNEW IT BECAME A FULL BLOWN WAR!

CHARACTERS: vil schoenheit vs. jade leech

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, mentions of jade ssr vignette

NOTES: eel mafia vs a world star. sure why not!!! thank you for your request!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

vil did not mind helping you study.

actually, it was quite flattering. all these students around you with incredible grades, and you hand selected him as your tutor. i guess it was only natural. smart and goodlooking? you have good taste.

“and you have to carry the 7 or else it’ll throw off your entire answer. keep note of that.” he pointed at the equation on your worksheet. “ohhh.. that makes sense. thanks vil!” you smile, eagerly writing down the answer. your happy smile was so enthralling. a moment that cannot be captured elsewhere. a one of a kind sight. thank goodness he was an actor, hiding his emotions came like second nature.

if only you were alone together...

“well done, prefect. that was a difficult problem.” jade chuckles, nodding as you solved another equation. “at this rate, you’ll become quite the mathematician.” vil was less than pleased to be accompanied by jade.. especially considering what a manipulator that man could be. he’s already been played for a fool once, he doesn’t dare allow you to fall under similar influence.

“your steadily improving. i say finish a few more problems and you should have it memorized.” vil adds, pulling out a couple more pages. “oh! that’s.. uhm.. can we take a little break?” you ask hesitantly, fearing the tall stack of papers vil had seemingly grabbed out of thin air. almost offended by the thought, vil scoffs.

“this isn’t only about the material, it is also routine. perhaps not this entire stack, but we must do a few more to ensure you’ll continue to do well.” vil places a new worksheet in front of you, sounding like an enraged father when their child can’t memorize the multiplication table. “yes sir..” you mumble.

“oh come now, vil. the poor prefect looks positively exhausted. just look at their eyebags.” jade sighs, suddenly patting your shoulder. as much as he hates to admit, jade had a point. your eyebags stick out like a sore thumb. what an idiot he was to not notice sooner, a fault on his part. “tell me, [MC], when have you last slept?” jade asks, making you flinch.

“next question, please.” you reply, breaking into a cold sweat. the eel tuts in disapproval, shaking his head with a frown. “this simply cannot do. didn’t you know you need at least 8 hours of sleep?” it felt like a lecture. an incredibly boring and uninteresting one.

“agreed. beauty rest is important and staying up late is horrible for your skin,” vil adds, massaging is temples. “i’ll send you some of my own personal skincare for you to use and hide your eyebags, but you must get adequate amounts of sleep.” he huffs, crossing his arms. “okay, okay, i hear you both.” you yawn, stretching your arms out.

“please, rest now. we can always carry on another day.” jade smiles, patting his shoulder for you to rest on. “i can rest there?” you ask, a bit taken aback. “what’s the catch?” vil raises a brow, feeling uneasy with jade’s suggestion. it might be the jealousy, but something doesn’t sit right with him. “please, my intentions are entirely pure. i want nothing more than to see our beloved prefect resting well.”

jade put a hand over his heart, keeping his usual expression while hiding the beating of his heart. “mostro lounge might need their vice soon, no? the prefect may rest on my shoulder. i insist.” vil points to his shoulder, imploring you to place your head onto it. “huh?? guys it’s fine seriousl—“

“mostro lounge can handle itself, i assure you.” jade cuts you off, finding vil’s intense glare quite amusing. it was clear he was livid, and honestly that was the best source of entertainment jade could ask for. “i just wish to care for the prefect. your presence is excused.” vil waves jade off, signaling for him to get lost.

“oh? but wouldn’t having [MC] rest on your shoulder be harmful to your image and theirs? think of the scandals that might go around.. fufu, quite intriguing, hm?” jade hums, lifting a gloved hand to his chin. “i have a man taking care of any possible scandal that might go around, so that is truly the least of my concern.” vil smiles smugly, standing his ground.

as the argument, or rather, civil discussion, continued, the drowsiness began to capture your body. their murmuring began to sound like soft lullabies as you allowed the sleep to take you. your head rested against the hard wooden desk, staying unnoticed til both boys heard your snores.

“they look quite peaceful.” vil murmurs softly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “breathtaking.” jade coos, brushing stray hairs out of your face.

this rivalry wasn’t over, oh no, much farther from that. however, to keep you sleeping for as long as you could, they’ll hold off their insults and bite their tongue.

how could you turn him like this?

A/N: sbsbsbsb writing is feeling difficult lately

date published: 9/16/24

[akanemnon]

Helloo, not sure if this is the place to send messages, but I just want to say that I randomly discovered your comic while scrolling, speed-read the entire thing within an hour or two (minus the mini-comics, have yet to get to most of them) and i just want to say I LOVE THIS SM?! I LOVE THE ART STYLE, THE CHARACTER DIALOG (mitosis), THE DESIGNS, EVERYTHING!!! But just in case this is just for questions, what was your thought process making the Darkworld design for Asgore? It's so cool!

Hi there!

This here is the ask box. It's not like direct messages, because I have those turned off. But thank you for reading the comic in an entire sitting and enjoying it!

As for your question. Asgore's design is supposed to be reminiscent of the classic white mage from the Final Fantasy series. You can especially see it in the triangle design of his hood. I did throw some other elements in there for good measure as seen below.