#i wanted to play around with the rest of the cast! but. brain empty of ideas lskdjflks. so this was a good middle ground

[artnerd1123]

decided to do an exercise where i draw characters' expressions based on lines of dialogue i've written!!! i had a LOT of fun doing this with the dice, it's really helped me get a good handle on my designs nd their facial expressions/body language :D

[comatosebunny09]

international | sylus

summary: sylus likes to play dangerous games. today, you happen to be his rook piece. warning(s): female anatomy described, explicit language, dirty talk, bodily fluids, exhibitionism, reader's attire is described, profanity, blue balls of the female persuasion, praise kink now playing: devil's advocate - the neighbourhood notes: something i threw in @muvaginger's inbox. i'm sorry for my mind. thank you for reading, lovebugs.

Sylus, but calling you when you’ve just gotten off work.

“Are you home?” he asks, all husky on the other end. He knows you aren’t if the telltale shadow cast by a crow circling overhead is anything to go by.

“Not yet.”

“Well, get there.” Amusement resides in his voice. You have half a mind to tell him off for bossing you around like that. Like you don’t secretly enjoy it.

“Yeah, yeah. On my way.”

You hang up and shove your phone into your pocket. Put your helmet on, throwing your leg over your bike’s seat and settling on the cushion. Start it, the engine purring to life beneath you. After waving goodbye to Tara, you peel off, zipping through the energetic streets of Linkon towards your home.

Inside the lobby, your phone buzzes again. You roll your eyes, shoving your earpiece into your ear as you trudge through the lobby.

“What!” you grate out.

“Moving a little too slow there, kitten.”

If only you could punch him through the phone. You tamp down your anger, switching tactics. “What’s this about, anyway?”

He chuckles low and throaty, the sound of it prickling your brain. “Patience is a virtue.”

You scoff. “You’re one to talk.” Asshole, you add inwardly.

You catch the elevator to the floor where your apartment resides. Slide your key in, easing through the door into your entryway. Barely have time to set your keys down before a sharp rapping snaps your attention to the door.

“Open it,” Sylus orders.

Hesitant, you pivot towards it. Fingers twitch near your hip where your gun’s holstered. Slowly, you reach for the handle, mindful of your steps.

A soft laugh rings in your ear.

“Easy, sweetheart. It’s not an ambush. If I wanted to off you, I would’ve done so by now.”

“I never know with you,” you clip back, turning the doorknob.

After mentally counting to three, you throw the door open and peek outside. Silence and an empty hallway greet you. You glance left and right. Up and down the hall until a large, crimson box catches in your peripheral, seated on your doormat. You fetch it, admiring the black ribbon intricately wrapped around it.

“What’s this?” you query, kicking your door shut once you’re back inside.

“A gift.”

“Another one?”

His tone swims with nonchalance. “What can I say? I enjoy spoiling you rotten.”

You test the weight of the box. Shake it, hearing tissue paper and something heavy stir inside.

“Open it.”

You oblige. Tear the ribbon and top off, eyes curiously raking over the box’s contents. Inside is a long, black trench coat. Beneath that rests a long-sleeved, silk blouse. Deeper still lies a simple miniskirt, and you test its material between your fingers. It all looks and feels incredibly expensive despite its simplicity.

“Put it on,” Sylus instructs through the stillness.  

“What? Why?”

“Because you have a train to catch in—” A brief pause. “One hour.”

“What the fuck? A train? An hour? Sylus—”

“Time is ticking, sweetie.”

The phone clicks with his exit.

You throw the clothes onto your couch, scrutinizing them over folded arms, chewing your lip. It’s 50 degrees out. Where the hell does he think you’re going dressed like this? Does he plan to use you as bait or something?

Your phone buzzes again on your coffee table. You fetch it to see a QR code for a train ticket sitting in your inbox.

“Shit,” you hiss, scrambling for your bathroom to shower. He’s serious. There really is no time to spare.

He’d better have a good reason for being so cryptic.

—

“The second to last car,” he husks in your ear. “Meet me there in five.”

Your lips contort into a scowl. You rip your earpiece out, wending through the train’s other passengers to pursue your goal.

In the corners of your vision, the scenery outside the windows eases by. Greenery nestled beneath the snow, somewhere remote. It’s beautiful. You take time to admire the sights before finding your way to the second to last car.

The door slides shut behind you. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rumble of the train upon the tracks. The passengers here are sparse. It’s a luxury cabin, decked with armchairs, faux plants, and an expensive carpet.

You survey the area, spotting an unmistakable thatch of white nestled in the rear seat. Try to mask your giddiness as you make your way towards the back. It’s been a few days since you’ve last seen him.

Wordlessly, he motions to the seat across from him when you venture to his side, wearing that customary smirk. You plop down, folding your arms. Bite back a smile of your own, favoring a frown.

“What’s this all about?”

Sylus leans back in an easy slouch, and the way he manspreads makes your mouth water. He peers down at you from his nose, draping a long arm over the headrest of his seat. His turtleneck and coat do little to disguise the power of his body. The tendons in his neck dance. Jaw flexes. He motions to your lap with a flick of his gaze.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps.

Your eyes grow comically wide. “Excuse me?!” you hiss, mindful of your volume. Look around to ensure no one’s the wiser to your conversation. No hello. No I’ve missed you. No preamble whatsoever.

His smug look doesn’t waver. “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.” There’s an underlying edge to his voice. One that doesn’t leave room for argument. Still, you contest him.

“Sylus, there are people here!”

That enraged whisper thing you do—it’s endearing.

Sylus’ eyes darken with something sinister. He hasn’t stopped watching you since the moment you sat down. Hasn’t stopped raking his eyes over your honeysuckle thighs, your hips.

“They can watch,” he drawls with an innocent shrug.

“Sylus!”

“Sweetie, I’m not asking.” Though he bears an expression of amusement, you can tell he means business. Consequences typically follow when you don’t heed him. Delicious consequences.

You swallow thickly. Sylus’ silhouette blurs as you survey the car over his shoulder. There are at least three other passengers here, all seated near the door you came through. More than enough distance between you. Your lover bleeds back into focus, his brow raised in challenge.

With a weighted sigh, you shift to make yourself more comfortable. Loosen the tie of your coat, drawing it open whilst easing your hips forward. Hesitantly spread your legs, feeling Sylus’ optics tuned to your every move. Something hot and sticky has already begun to gather in your panties, and your nipples tighten beneath the frail silk of your blouse.  

He cutely cocks his head to the side when you hesitate. Eyes narrow. “What’s wrong, sweetie,” he croons all low. You feel it coiling in your stomach. “Scared?”

You cut your eyes to him, mouth drawn into a tight line. Of course you are. You’ve never done anything like this. He’s introduced you to all kinds of things. Uncovered fantasies lurking deep in your mind. Discovered all the erogenous zones on your body you never knew you housed, but—

Exhibitionism is new. Dangerous. And somehow, the thought of it makes you wetter.

“Go on,” he soothes. Encourages, irises dipping into a mysterious shade of garnet.

Your body moves of its own volition, spellbound. Thighs part a little more, hands smoothing over plump flesh. You sigh out, leaning back as you drag your nails over the inner curve of your thighs, bunching your skirt up towards your hips. A little more enthusiastic now, teasing your swollen outer labia with the knuckles of your thumbs.

Sylus’ mouth parts slightly. His gaze flickers downward, entranced by the show and the soft hitch of your breath. He looks back into your eyes, clicking his tongue in discovery. Reaches out a sizable hand, leaning towards you with his elbows digging into the pockets of his knees.

“Panties. Take them off.”

Your tummy sparkles with heat. He quirks a brow. He’s serious. It’s not enough to touch yourself like this in public. He wants you bare and exposed, staining the armchair with your heat.

Without a word, you shimmy out of your underwear. Thin and frill as they slide down your calves, over your ankles to pool at your feet. You compliantly deposit them into his hand. A bitten-off growl brews in his chest. He falls back against his seat, stuffing your panties into his coat’s inner pocket for safekeeping. Signals for you to keep going, fully invested in this game.

You repeat the process from before. And it’s a new sensation now, the crisp air of the train car kissing your sticky pussy. You try to think of other things. Try to distract yourself from the smolder of his gaze and how it makes your body hum and your mind fill with smoke.

You think about his fingers instead of yours, stroking down the slit of your pussy. His fingers rubbing at the hood of your clitoris, drawing it back to stroke your pretty, swollen clit. His thumbs sliding over your nipples, causing your back to arch, his tongue laving at the space behind your ear…

Your hips stutter. You stifle a moan. Sylus slides in and out of focus, your vision fogging around the corners. He chuckles amorously, shifting in his seat. “Don’t stop,” he nurtures, eyes burning like a feverish flame. His dick sits heavy in his slacks, slowly hardening and twitching.

You salivate. Knowing that he’s enjoying this as much as you gradually are—fuck. You bite your lip, propping your leg on the chair’s arm. Spread nice and wide for him, your pussy on full display.

You rut against your fingers, your face screwed up in rapture. Legs quiver each time the pads of your fingers bump your messy clit. You construct a rhythm that’s maddeningly slow and torturous. Feel that sparkling rush lazily pooling between your thighs, but it’s not enough. Wanna be filled and stuffed to the brim with cum.

His cum.

A glimpse at Sylus reveals something that makes you throb. He’s touching himself. Humping into the palm of his hand, hot and weighted through the thick layers of his clothes. Fuck. You pulse.

“Syl,” you sob quietly, wetly, wantonly. “Syl, please—”

“Use your fingers,” he breathes all ragged. “Inside.” Angles his head back until it thumps against the headrest. Doesn’t look away, still rucking his hips up into the heel of his palm like the slow undulation of a wave.

You indulge, circling the pucker of your pussy with your fingers. Steadily work one inside, and you sigh, tossing your head back. Caress your tits with your free hand, plucking your nipples to their peaks as you drive your finger in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds you make as you torture yourself causes your walls to clench down.

Sylus’ voice crackles, pouring through the fizzy haze that’s settled over you.

“One more. You can take one more, can’t you, sweetie?”

You moan at how his voice oozes like warm milk and honey. You’re obedient, gradually adding another, pumping in and out. A thick ring of cream collects around your knuckles. It’s still not enough. Never enough.

“That’s my girl,” he lauds, relief in his timbre. “So good for me. So, so good.”

“Sylus,” you sob, fucking yourself a little faster. Wish it were him instead, filling you up and pumping you with the briny edge of his cum. There’s a warm fluid trickling down your leg. Heat spooling in your tummy.

He greedily ingests the sight of you fucking yourself, groaning hoarsely. You’re so close to spilling over the edge, so close to losing yourself to an orgasm. And you would—

If not for the sound of footfalls nearing your position.

“Shit!” you hiss, snapping your legs shut. Work your skirt into some semblance of neatness, throwing your coat over your legs. Your cheeks and neck are aflame, pulse pounding in your throat, pussy throbbing.

You don’t make eye contact as the gentleman passes, too busy looking at your fingers in your lap. He’s none the wiser to the goings on in your section—or, at least, he acts like he isn’t—as he bows with a small smile, slipping through the door behind. Sylus tracks his every move, and if looks could kill…

Your heart thrums heavily in your ears. You caution a glance at your boyfriend, taking in his flushed cheeks, his heaving chest. He’d thrown his coat over his lap to disguise the monster pressing against the seam of his trousers.

You lock eyes. His lips pull into a scowl as he sits up, pitching himself forward. Cants his head to one side, voice abrasive and low.

“Did I tell you to close your fucking legs?”

A thrill racks through you. It’s rare that he curses, only sullying his tongue when he’s upset or too far gone. It turns your stomach to a primordial ooze. Without warning, Sylus gathers himself up, snatching your wrist along with him.

You stumble like a baby fawn to your feet, gazing into those eyes that dwindle like liquid spilled over burning coals.

“We aren’t done here, sweetheart,” he promises with a tense jaw. Tugs you from your seat and down the aisle, all the while fishing for something in his pocket. A quick glance reveals a barcode, and a number printed in bold letters on a bit of plastic. A keycard. The sneaky little…

He peers at you over his shoulder as you both maneuver through the throng of passengers in the remaining cars, back towards the front. Your features warm with a smile. Legs tingle.

You weren’t aware that this train had sleeper cars, but you’re grateful to know it does. Your body buzzes with the prospect of what’s to come. He’s not done with you, indeed.  

hair down | masterlist | nuisance

[starlitmelanin]

as it was | jude bellingham

pairing - jude x fem!reader

word count - 2k

warnings - none

summary - you still craved summer, but sometimes you meant summer, five years ago. before dortmund. before real madrid. when jude was just, well, jude.

you’re at your favourite ice cream shop, the one that’s been there since you were a kid. the bell above the door rings as you walk in, a sound that used to send a thrill down your spine because it meant ice cream on a hot day, shared with friends. now, it’s just a sound.

the teenage girl behind the counter looks bored. she barely glances up from her phone as you approach, but you don’t mind. you’re here for one thing, and you know exactly what it is. “one scoop of chocolate fudge brownie, please,” you say, handing over a few crumpled bills.

you sit at a corner table, the same one you used to sit at with jude. back then, you’d order two scoops each, and he’d always finish his first, grinning as he waited for you to catch up. you’d laugh and tell him he was going to get brain freeze, but he never did.

the ice cream arrives, and you take a bite. it’s good, but it doesn’t taste the same. maybe it’s you that’s changed. maybe it’s everything else.

you can’t help but think about those summers before everything shifted. back when jude was just jude, the boy who lived down the street, the boy who’d knock on your door with a football under his arm, asking if you wanted to play. you always did.

those days were simple. you’d spend hours at the park, kicking the ball around, making up silly challenges for each other. you remember the way the sun felt on your skin, the way your laughter echoed in the empty playgrounds, the way jude would look at you with that lopsided grin of his, like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

but things change. they always do.

you remember the day he told you he was leaving for dortmund. it was late summer, the air thick with humidity. you were sitting on the swings, the ones that creaked with every push. he was quiet, more serious than usual. you knew something was up, but you didn’t press him. jude would talk when he was ready.

“i got an offer,” he said finally, staring at the ground. “from dortmund.”

your heart sank, but you tried to keep your voice steady. “that’s amazing, jude. really.”

he looked up, and there was a sadness in his eyes that mirrored your own. “yeah, it is. but it means i’m leaving. in a few weeks.”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i know.”

the rest of the summer was a blur. you spent every moment you could with him, knowing that soon he’d be gone. you tried to make the most of it, but there was always that shadow hanging over you, the knowledge that things were about to change.

when he left, it felt like a part of you went with him. you kept in touch, of course. texts, calls, the occasional visit. but it wasn’t the same. he was in a different world now, a world of professional football, of fame and fortune. and you were still here, in the same small town, living the same small life.

then came real madrid. another move, another layer of distance. you were happy for him, you really were. but it was hard not to feel left behind.

you look at the ice cream melting in your bowl and sigh. it’s not just the ice cream that doesn’t taste the same. it’s everything. the summers, the laughter, the feeling of being young and carefree. you miss it all. you miss him.

you get up and leave the shop, the bell ringing behind you. outside, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the streets. you start walking, not really knowing where you’re going, just needing to move.

you end up at the park, the one where you and jude spent so many afternoons. it’s quieter now, the playground empty. you sit on one of the swings and close your eyes, letting the memories wash over you.

you can almost hear his voice, his laugh. you can almost see him, running ahead of you, calling out for you to catch up. you smile, even as tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

you know you can’t go back. you know things will never be the same. but for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself remember. you let yourself feel the warmth of those summer days, the joy of those simple moments.

you let yourself miss him.

and then, you get up, wipe your eyes, and start walking home. the past is a beautiful place, but it’s not where you live. you have your own life, your own dreams. and while they might not be as grand as jude’s, they’re yours.

as you walk, you think about the future. maybe you’ll visit madrid someday. maybe you’ll see jude again, and things will be different, but still good. you don’t know. but you do know that you’ll always have those summers, those memories. and that’s enough.

you turn the corner and see your house up ahead, the porch light on, welcoming you home. you smile, feeling a little lighter.

you might not crave chocolate fudge brownie ice cream the way you used to, but that’s okay. you’ll find new things to love, new moments to cherish.

and who knows? maybe one day, you’ll find something that tastes even better.

—

you push open the front door and step into the familiar comfort of your home. it smells like dinner, something savoury and warm. you kick off your shoes and pad into the kitchen, where your mom is stirring a pot on the stove.

“hey, sweetheart,” she says, glancing up with a smile. “how was your day?”

“it was good,” you lie, smiling back. it’s easier than explaining the tangled mess of emotions that today dredged up. “what’s for dinner?”

“spaghetti. your favourite.”

you nod, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. it’s another thing that doesn’t quite taste the same anymore, but you appreciate the effort. your mom always knows how to make you feel better, even if she doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong.

you eat dinner together, making small talk about work, friends, the usual. it’s nice, comforting. it’s normal, and you cling to that.

later, you’re in your room, scrolling through social media. you’ve been avoiding it lately, knowing that every other post is about jude’s latest match, his latest accomplishment. you’re proud of him, you really are, but sometimes it’s just too much.

you scroll past a photo of him, grinning broadly, holding up a trophy. you pause, your finger hovering over the like button. you hesitate, then double-tap, watching the heart fill in. he deserves your support, even from afar.

a notification pops up on your screen hours later, a little after midnight: a message from jude. your heart instantly skips a beat. it’s been a while since you last talked, and seeing his name brings a rush of memories, a mix of joy and sadness.

you open the message.

“how’ve you been? miss you.”

simple words, but they mean everything. you type back minutes later, fingers hesitantly sliding over the screen.

“been good. miss you too.”

his reply comes quickly.

“going to be in town next week. would love to catch up. if you’re free...”

your heart races. it’s been too long since you’ve seen him in person. you don’t know what to feel – excitement, anxiety, a little bit of both.

“i’d love that,” you type back, trying to keep your tone casual, and his reply comes shortly after.

“great. can’t wait to see you.”

you smile at the screen. it’s small, but it’s a genuine smile this time. you feel a flutter of hope, a spark of something you haven’t felt in a long time. maybe this is what you need, a chance to reconnect, to see if things can still be good between you and jude, even if they’re different.

the next few days pass in a blur. you find yourself thinking about him more. you’re nervous, but also excited. you wonder what he’ll be like now, how much he’s changed, how much you’ve changed.

finally, the day arrives. you’ve arranged to meet at the park, the one where you spent so many summers together. it feels fitting, a way to bridge the past and the present.

you arrive early, your heart pounding in your chest. you sit on the swings, just like you used to, and wait. the minutes stretch on, each one feeling like an eternity.

then, you see him. he’s walking towards you, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. he’s still the same jude, with that easy smile, that confident stride. but as he gets closer, you notice the differences – he’s taller, more muscular, his face a little more mature. but his eyes are the same, warm and familiar.

“hey, y/n,” he says, stopping in front of you.

“hey, jude,” you reply, standing up. you feel awkward, unsure of what to do. but then he pulls you into a hug, and it’s like everything falls into place.

“it’s so good to see you,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair.

“you too,” you whisper, hugging him back tightly.

you pull away, and for a moment, you just look at each other, taking it all in. then he grins, that pretty grin that you’ve missed so much.

“so… wanna play some football?” he asks, holding up a ball.

you laugh, feeling a rush of nostalgia. “you know i do.”

you spend the afternoon like you used to, kicking the ball around, making up silly challenges. it feels good, like slipping into an old, comfortable pair of shoes. you talk and laugh, and for a while, it’s like no time has passed at all.

but eventually, the conversation turns serious. you’re sitting on the grass, catching your breath, when jude looks at you, his expression thoughtful.

“i’ve missed this,” he says quietly.

you look at him, feeling a lump form in your throat. “i’ve missed it too. more than you know.”

he nods, looking down at the ground. “it’s been hard, being away. i’ve thought about you a lot.”

“me too,” you admit. “i’m really proud of you, jude. but it’s been tough, watching you from afar, feeling like i’m not a part of your life anymore.”

he reaches out, taking your hand. “you’re always a part of my life, y/n. no matter where i am, no matter what i’m doing. you’re important to me. i don’t want to lose that.”

you squeeze his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i don’t want to lose that either.”

you sit in silence for a while, just holding hands, letting the moment sink in. you don’t know what the future holds, but for now, you’re here, together. and that’s enough.

as the sun sets, casting a golden glow over the park, you feel a sense of peace. things might never be exactly the same, but that’s okay. you and jude, you’ll figure it out. you’ll find a new normal, a new way to be together, even if it’s different.

you stand up, pulling jude to his feet. “come on,” you say, smiling. “let’s go get some ice cream.”

he grins, and for a moment, he’s just jude again, the boy you’ve known your whole life. “chocolate fudge brownie?”

and as he throws his arm around your shoulders, you laugh quietly, feeling like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

“yeah,” you nod, your arms circling around his torso. “chocolate fudge brownie.”

[ronearoundblindly]

No Promises (3)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

I Left You Something On The Body (see previous or LH Masterlist)

Summary: You and Lloyd take to leaving consolation prizes for whichever one of you 'loses.' It...escalates delightfully.

Warnings for DARKFIC. Language; descriptions of sexual situations, toys, various paraphernalia. Smut-adjacent (masturbation). MINORS DNI. I have plenty else for you on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 982

And you do; you let Lloyd have several open contracts after the keycard incident.

Sometimes you wonder about the man providing the most fun you’ve had in years, but mostly, you relax in a noisy city high-rise with a spectacular view. A small vacation between assassinations. You drop off the network for a month or so, picking up a straight-forward job nearby, and then show up at the target’s house to find him already dead.

Pinched onto the body, overtop a blood-soaked button-down, are golden nipple clamps.

You snort in disbelief.

The sick bastard, he’s really wooing you now.

A thin chain between the clamps sports a tied tag.

To: The Cobalt Cunt

You let out a dreamy sigh, the little tingle in your mind of possibly fucking (with) him again vibrating to life. You even miss him in a weird way.

On the reverse of the tag, it reads, “not safe for lace.”

It’s on obviously and more fun than you ever imagined. At some point, you can’t tell if you two are letting each other get places first on not. The money is, oddly, totally irrelevant, and your career takes on a renewed joy.

Lloyd claims a target. You show up, kill them, and drop off an intricately-packaged Gucci jock strap with “Eat Me” embroidered at the back of the waistband, right above his asshole.

For good measure—and to remind him what he’s missing—you add a spritz of your perfume to the cup.

That’s where you want to be nestled, it implies. That’s where you belong, right against his dick.

Sadly, the next ‘surprise’ takes a while as you two are not after the same jobs. There’s plenty of work to go around till you find an oblong box wrapped in brown paper on the armchair ten feet from an enormous bloodstain.

 With an empty scotch glass and a crumb-covered plate beside it, you know Lloyd’s been trolling for your attention. His snacky, sweet-tooth is somewhat notorious.

Your inconspicuous, purposefully plain gift waits patiently, the soft whipped cream of a strawberry shortcake dripping down its serving stand.

There’s no rush though, and you make a little ritual of opening it to reveal a beautiful dildo with golden speckles throughout the silicone molding. It is absolutely from a cast of Lloyd; you’d know that curve anywhere.

If that’s as close as you can get? Fine by you…

The rest of him barely participated before anyway.

Geneva.

Lloyd’s pissed and tired after the flight. Suzanne is the fucking worst and made him repeat the plan three times because her pea-brain is as sharp as a limp dick.

He dances down the plane steps, noticing a welcome party that is not his people. One sunglasses-clad, black-suited fellow walks up to Lloyd with an enormous gift basket.

It’s so goddamn pink Lloyd recoils and squints his eyes.

Good christ, it’s hideous. He loves it in a sick way.

Pink cellophane, fuzzy pink handcuffs, a sparkling fuchsia cock ring, rose gold anal beads with pesto-colored rope connecting them, and strawberry flavored lube.

Mood restored, Lloyd chuckles, turning on his heel to get back on the plane.

He’s going home. He has toys to play with.

He doesn’t bother to explain shit to Suzanne. One of these days, he’s just going to pop her for free.

This one doesn’t coincide with a job at all, but that’s what makes it all the sweeter to you.

Delivered to the place you’re staying for the week is an adorable, yellow stuffed rabbit with a pull-cord. Across its tummy is 'sunshine' in cursive letters.

You honest-to-god squeal in delight as you listen to each of the five custom recordings programed in.

Lloyd tuts then says “should have sized up my ring, you cock-drunk whore,” a deep gasp and a squelch punctuates the end.

Oh boy. It’s Christmas in July. Happy you!

You fake your own shocked gasp at the second soundbite.

“Know you don’t taste like fucking strawberries,“ he grunts before bitterly adding, “but I’ll take one for the team and eat that pussy any day.”

Third: “Bet I was the best you ever had, even when I wasn’t awake, you poor thing. So needy…”

Fourth: “How hard did you come, Sunshine? Be honest.” He laughs like the cat who got the cream to end that one.

Finally, the last of the pulls is just the slapping noise of him jerking off and finishing with a deep moan.

Now, at least, you know what Lloyd sounds like when he comes.

Utterly self-satisfied, Lloyd goes about his life of luxury.

He’ll be damned if he’s going to break and go to you. Fuck that. The thrill of this taco-and-hotdog game is worth it anyway.

He still works, and not every job revolves around you.

For one such fulfilled contract, he’s being paid in artwork and has the delivery men bring in the large framed canvas to uncover in his current villa’s sitting room.

The expectation is a well-known portrait.

It’s a painting alright, but it’s…very modern.

Lloyd crosses his arms over his chest and smothers a proud grin.

The torso and open legs of you stretch out facing the viewer, gold leaf embossed nipple clamps and their chains dangle over your stomach, and the blunt end of a golden dildo sits nestled in your cunt. There are brush strokes and paint visibly raised from the surface.

He wonders whether it was done from a photo or whether you sat there, bare, for some artist to reference for hours, maybe even days.

Lloyd had a spot in mind for his real payment, but this will do nicely. He’s quite pleased with the view. It shall go over the mantle in the bedroom, and he shall fuck whoever he wants—his fist included—while staring right at it.

The half dozen or so other people in the villa’s great room who can all see the painting don’t say a fucking word.

How the hell is he supposed to top this?

A/N: Full disclosure, I'm pretty sure this is the funniest thing I'll ever write, and I'm okay with that. I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣🤣

[Next Part: A Blazer Full of Bullet Holes]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

blue art deco divider by @/saradika-graphics--thank you for your beautiful work!

[lady-charinette]

Convince me to watch Buddy Daddies, if you please?

*sips tea*

I will make a powerpoint presentation if this very biased, very comprehensive list still doesnt convince you.

Reasons to watch Buddy Daddies:

the songs are catchy (listen to SHOCK by Ayase, you'll be dancing in your living room or crawling on the walls)

its a hitmen trying to parent action rom(?)-com with very relatable fresh parent moments, yakuza domestic violence scenes and a short if on the nose critique on Japan's bogus complicated paperwork process while Kazuki and Rei try to enroll Miri into daycare and forging getting all the neccessary documents and forms together

features a motherly, overzealous best friend with past trauma-coded hitman Kazuki, who's more the 'brains' aka strategist of a hitmen duo together with deadpan, possessed-by-a-cat-spiritiually hikikomori who knows his way better around a gun or 100 than he does in a grocery store Rei.

the best assassin ever doesn't know how to cook for shit, his signature dish is french toast

the mothers of the other kids Miri plays with at daycare oggle Rei and Kazuki (understandable since they're two hot single dads ahem)

there's a mom group chat where the chat explodes with messages like "OIL BARON?! I KNEW THEY SMELLED OF OLD MONEY!", "they r hot :D" & rumors about the family situation in general

the jokes/compliments the mom's give to Rei "he's very cool! he has that hitman aura!"

Miri's biological dad gets killed during a deadly altercation with Kazuki and Rei in a shootout, her only other biological relative is her mom, who abandoned Miri in order to pursue a singing career with an abusive boyfriend but is trying to get around & wants Miri back

Kazuki is a deadly housewife

central themes: family relations, blood doesn't mean shit, the horrendous struggles of raising a kid with 0 knowledge of how to raise kids, sacrifice, implied stigma of two men raising a child alone + stigma against single mothers, generational trauma & overcoming trauma as adults, sometimes the only light at the end of the tunnel is your completely platonic co-worker who offers to cut your hair, a warm bath and gets your life together so you don't die alone

Rei has an undercut

Miri is the cutest ball of energy and sass that only a small child possesses

some boy has a crush on Miri but gets the Death StareTM by her two overprotective Papas

the tough, cutthroat life of a kindergartener

the overlapping themes of how important family is & how biological family can have the types of people in your life you absolutely want and have to cut off in order to be healthy, adjusted adult

love being the driving force to overcome obstacles, grief being the love with nowhere to go and the suffocating emptiness being replaced by a mismatched found family of two assassins and an orphan toddler who cook together and win races together

the food looks good

how grief and generational/familial trauma can cripple people in different ways and how traumatized people can heal together and become each-other's strength

alcohol is not the answer kids (oh and killing too)

the concept of motherhood: Ep 3. feat. Kazuki's sexist comment about mothers that are incapable of hating their own children. Misaki (Miri's mom) resents her daughter for destroying her dreams, Kazuki says that raising a kid is supposed to come naturally to a mother. He changes his tune later when he sees how difficult it is raising Miri & how Misaki genuinely tried until she was disappointed and traumatized by her own life & the arrival of an unwanted child.

the concept of fatherhood as introduced by Miri: "A papa is someone who will save you from trouble!". Whereas the fathers through the rest of the cast can be either described as "tormenters", "absent" or "sir"s.

good character building for almost all the characters

Bad Guy Ogino gets killed in a very poetic way, *mwah*

speaking of: creepy assassin Ogino keeps a notebook of people he's killed & what their last words were. Basically the teenage girl journaling experience but for deranged assassins

all in all you'll fall in love with the characters and laugh and cry until you dehydrate yourself

Send me another ask if you end up watching it & tell me what you think! :D

[arivsxq]

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Theme: strangers to lovers, angsty shit

Warnings: smut, hookup, fwb, maybe slow updates👀

Word count: 1k+

Songs: Meddle about-Chase Atlantic

Heartbeat-Childish Gambino

teaser

She hypnotized me the moment I saw her. Her hips swung left and right, a rhythm too perfect to ignore, while her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. The lights in the bar were low, casting shadows over everything, but she glowed. Her silhouette moved like it was pulled by invisible strings, a magnetism that made everyone else in the room blur into the background. I took another sip of my whiskey, feeling the warm burn slide down my throat, giving me that liquid courage.

My head buzzed, already thick with the alcohol l'd been nursing for hours. But this wasn't just the whiskey talking. It couldn't be. There was something about her, something electric. She wasn't the prettiest woman in the bar, but God, she had that thing. The kind of thing that made the air crackle, made your skin prickle. Every time her hips swayed, I felt it in my chest.

She was wearing a dress that hugged her in all the right places, red fabric catching the light, shimmering with every movement. Her bare shoulders gleamed, and I could see the faint sheen of sweat catching the light as she moved through the crowd. She was close enough for me to smell the faint scent of something floral jasmine or maybe rose and it hooked into my brain. I couldn't look away. I swallowed hard, the heat rising to my face, and I downed the rest of my drink.

The room shifted, became a blur, except for her. She was crystal clear. I pushed off the barstool, my legs a little unsteady, and made my way through the sea of people. She was standing with her back to me now, leaning against the bar, laughing at something the bartender had said. I didn't care about his joke. I didn't care about anything except closing the distance between us. The pounding bass from the speakers was in sync with my heartbeat. It felt like everything in that moment was aligned, leading me to her.

When I reached her, I hesitated, a rare flicker of doubt creeping in my mind. What if she brushed me off, laughed in my face? But then she turned around, and her eyes met mine-dark, unreadable. A slow smile spread across her lips, and it was like she had known I was coming.

"Hey," I muttered, suddenly unsure of what to say. Words felt heavy on my tongue.

"Hey yourself," she said, her voice low, smoky. Her eyes held mine, and in that instant, something passed between us.

She knew exactly why I was there, and it didn't seem to bother her one bit. I moved closer, the warmth of her body radiating toward me. "Can I buy you a drink?" My voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. She didn't answer, just tilted her head slightly and looked me up and down. Her gaze was appraising, lingering on my face, my chest. Finally, she nodded, the smile still playing at her lips.

"Whiskey," she said, her eyes never leaving mine.

l ordered two more whiskeys, and as the bartender slid the glasses toward us, she picked hers up and clinked it against mine.

"Cheers," she said, and the way she said it made the word feel like a dare. We drank, standing close, the noise of the bar fading into a dull hum around us. I don't even remember what we talked about, if we talked at all. Every time she spoke, her lips barely moved, just enough for the words to escape, and all I could think about was how close I was standing to her, how badly I wanted to touch her.

She put her empty glass down on the bar and then leaned in, close enough that I could feel her breath against my neck. "Do you want to get out of here?" she whispered, and I almost choked on the last sip of whiskey I was trying to swallow. It wasn't even a question. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and she smiled again, that slow, knowing smile, before grabbing my hand and leading me toward the door.

We stumbled out into the night, the cool air hitting me like a slap to the face. It sobered me just enough to realize what was happening, but not enough to stop it. I didn't want to stop it. Her hand was still in mine, fingers cool and firm, and the way she tugged me toward a waiting cab made it clear she was in control. We climbed into the backseat, and as soon as the door shut, she was on me.

Her mouth found mine, hot and insistent, and I responded without thinking, kissing her back with a desperation I didn't even know I had. I could taste the whiskey on her lips, feel the heat of her skin beneath my hands as I pulled her closer. The cab ride was a blur. I barely registered the city passing by, the glow of streetlights flashing in and out of view. All I could focus on was her, her mouth, her hands, the way she felt pressed against me. Time didn't exist. It was just us, locked in this breathless, fevered moment.

Before I knew it, we were at my place. An apartment building in the middle of Seoul. I led her inside, her fingers still entwined with mine, and we stumbled through the door, kicking off shoes, shedding clothes like they were in the way of something inevitable. My bedroom was dark, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. She pushed me onto the bed, and I fell back, watching as she stood over me for a moment, her silhouette framed against the light.

Her dress slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and I could barely breathe. She crawled onto the bed, her hands sliding over my chest, down my stomach, until she was on top of me, her body hot and smooth against mine. I closed my eyes, giving in to the sensation, the whiskey and her touch blending together until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The night passed in a blur of heat and skin and breathless gasps. She moved like she had done this a thousand times before, every touch deliberate, every kiss leaving me wanting more. I was lost, completely consumed by her, by the moment, by the way she made everything else fade away. When it was over, we lay there, tangled in the sheets, my head spinning, my body still buzzing with the remnants of the alcohol and the afterglow.

I tried to catch my breath, but it felt like the room was still spinning, like I was still under her spell. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She just rolled over, pulling the blankets up over her body, and within minutes, she was asleep. I stared up at the ceiling, the realization slowly sinking in. I didn't even know her name.

[fyonahmacnally]

20 Questions More

This is a deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers. Thanks to @casualsavant for the tag. I'm not even sure I did the first 20 Questions round, but rules be damned.

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship/fandom?

Well, like anything I write, I get ideas from everything around me - they come to me from dreams, something I see, from random prompts, etc. As most writers know, we are simply the vessel, it's the brain goblins that tell us what to do.

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

Geez, we have so many in the Supercorp/Supergirl fandom. I'm not even sure that's a fair question. HA. I will inevitably leave someone out, but here are a few of my favorites @searidings, @jazzfordshire, @chaotic-super, @lovesastateofmind1, @innamorament0, @someoneyouloved93, @lostariels, @luthordamnvers, @thornedrose44, and @fazedlight. I read such a variety of genres, tags, and tropes that I will give almost anything a chance so the authors I read will vary. There's oh so many to choose from in this fandom and the vast talent is beyond imagination!

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

Hmmm, I like writing Sam, Andrea, and Jack. The rest of the main cast is fun too, but those three characters are fun to explore in fics. The shenanigans they get into together makes it easy to play with.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

Karamel, Lames, and Kalex. I am pretty open-minded, but those are my hard limit ships. To each their own. It's not my thing at all. I'm pretty open to tropes, too. Haven't had a chance to explore too many yet.

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

I'm not sure how to answer this one, really. It can vary depending on what's going on in my life and how the idea came about.

Generally speaking, I get an idea, outline the basic premise of the story (usually in a word or google doc), do whatever research is needed (longer fics), and just start writing (or staring at the outline and empty doc). That's writing too, ask any writer. LOL

One shots tend to be more like: get idea, sit at desk thinking while blank doc stares back at me tauntingly, look out window, turn back to blank doc, write three sentences, back space all three sentences, look out window again, write three more sentences, repeat previous steps, then the brain goblins take over and suddenly it's 4 hours later, somehow there's several thousand words staring back at me.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

Because I am a huge nerd, the research. I love to research the things I write. Not all of my stories require it, but when they do, I dive right in. Completing the story is a big one too. The anxiety and excitement that comes with yeeting something into the ether is indescribable.

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

Weirdest thing...pagan rituals and ancient runes or bondage/fetish clubs in Amsterdam. There is some really interesting things out there. I learned a lot during that time.

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

I think tense is one that slips on me. I try to catch them all during rereads and edits, but those little bastards are sneaky.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

The panic attacks and abuse scenes relating to Lena in Carterhaugh-Wood Academy (CWA). Lena is my absolute favorite character and writing anything that causes her harm hurts my soul.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

Is water wet? My characters always do what the brain goblins want despite my initial protest. I am just here to convey the message, after all.

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

Oh, hands down, Lena. I wouldn't pass up a chance to speak with any of them, let's be real, but Lena would be #1.

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

I am by nature a fluff and happy-ending writer. However, I am working on an angst with a happy ending fic at the moment. The tropes I have written so far have been limited to friends to lovers and a little light angst with happy ending. I'm still exploring other things. Hopefully 2024 will be the year I can flex my writing muscles and expand into new territory.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Friends and other writers. Nothing beats a good brainstorming session with writer pals. I also like to do improv writing to boost creativity. You never know where a story will go when that happens.

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

The strategy depends on the story. For longer fics, I have a few writer friends that help with reading over it and helping with typos, grammar errors, and helping fluff up the places that need it. For one shots or shorter fics, I will let it sit for a bit, go back and read it again to do the editing and rewrite the places that my brain doesn't like.

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

Oooof, definitely the posting anxiety. I usually immediately find something else to do so I don't obsess over it.

16) How do you define success for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

Hits, kudos, and comments are always fun and rewarding, but I write for my own enjoyment and sanity. I have plenty of fics that barely get any love, but I enjoy writing them. It's therapeutic for me. The rest is just noise. Also, like any writer, I love to hear from readers and try to respond to all my comments because they mean a lot to me.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character/ship?

Sometimes, yes. It depends on what I am writing and how I am feeling. Most of the time it is instrumental piano and/or cello music because I will start accidentally typing the lyrics of a regular playlist. If I am going for a specific vibe or writing because of a specific song, I will have the song on repeat or at least an album by the artist.

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

SCBB delivered that on a platter for me. CWA got art from the multi-talented @bigmammallama5. If you haven't seen it, you can check it out here.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

13 total with another one that is in the planning stages.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

Write for yourself. If you love it, it brings you enjoyment, and adds to your life, continue doing it. You're not going to please everyone and there will be people who are less than kind about something you publish. Those voices don't matter. There is someone out there that has read or will read your work and it will stick with them for the rest of their lives. Always do it for you.

Tagging but no pressure: @lovesastateofmind1 @casualkoalatea @fabulousglitch and @sssammich

[itsashowtime]

What kind of personality does Toshi have and what backstory?

I am still in the process of fleshing out his story but! Here's what I have so far...

(Art by: Aixen )

Japanese Name: 時紫 雨花

Surname: Toshi 時紫 (violet hour)

First Name: Ukuwa (rain flower)

Alias: White Rabbit (By most), Eighty-Six (By Sho after they breakup) 

Birthday: June 8

Age: 19

Gender: Cis Male

Height: 190cm (6'2")

Noise Form: Jackalope Cantus

Trivia/facts:

I designed him next to Rindou so they looked super hot together but then Shou swiped him like the asshole he is - I have yet to play Neo so maybe UkuRin will be able to recover but rn the Shou living rent free in my brain doesn't seem to want to share

I made Ukuwa's motif Hydrangea after a trip to the Hydrangea Shrine.

He's extremely picky about food and drink tempretures, like, it has to be just right or he'll tear you a new one

Loves Chai flavour

Every barista's nightmare, he'll yell at you if you don't pay attention to his laundry list order

He fiddles with his ear piercings when he's nervous

He thumps his feet like a rabbit when he's pissed

The neediest fucking bottom

Personality

A hardworking, judgemental and esteemed horologist. Time means everything to Ukuwa and he always seems to be in a rush! He is nicknamed 'Shibuya's White Rabbit' since he is often spotted dashing around the streets mumbling about schedules.

Ukuwa is strict and harsh but especially towards himself. He hates relying on people and prefers to get things done on his own. He is extremely counter dependent. If absolutely necessary, he takes extreme care in picking who to have around. He mostly sees people as tools for his own convenience. He calls people 'cogs'.

He has a very good eye for art and is passionate about design. He doesn't get excited often but when it comes to art, that is the one time his eyes light up.

Ukuwa's character arc is about slowing down and embracing the moment, being able to acknowledge your progress, allowing yourself to accept help and allowing friendships with unconditional love to blossom.

Backstory

tldr; He is the CPTSD haver ever - Trigger warning for: child abuse, neglect, divorce

An only child who did not have his emotional needs met. Ukuwa was raised by an abusive, alcoholic father who was a electronics technician and a neglectful mother who was a highschool teacher. Both his parents had high expectations towards him right away. Failure to perform with the best outcome would result in: solitary confinement + hitting/whipping as punishment whether that be in school, house chores, or even going out. He has scars all over his hands as a result which is why he wears gloves all the time.

Ukuwa would be locked in an empty room after a rough beating to 'reflect on his actions' for hours, his only company being clocks. This is where his obsession with clocks started. Curious and bored, Ukuwa would start to disassemble clocks at a young age to figure out their workings. One could’ve gone insane, but Ukuwa was grateful that the clock would tell him when the pain was over and he could see the light again.

His parents divorced when he was in middle school, both of them getting newer partners with other children. This applied extra pressure onto him to perform well. Unfortunately, Ukuwa was often casted aside in favour of his step/half siblings. He is desperate to prove that he isn't a burden. In fact, that's a really big fear of his.

Ukuwa functions on guilt and shame. His fear of being a burden and a failure is what causes his workaholicism and lack of care towards himself. He pushes forward and only forward. He does not allow himself to rest. Time only moves forward, and so he wants to move only forward too.

This means that he's chronically counter dependent and refuses help when it is offered. He avoids connecting with people unless it's absolutely necessary and for business purposes. Because one less person to be around means one less person to be a burden and disappointment to.

Ukuwa saved up a lot as a child just to move out and to escape his family. Once he graduated from high school, he immediately moved out to Tokyo and has been living in a sharehouse.

He currently attends a college of jewelry in Shibuya, learning how to make clocks of all kinds. He is obsessed with Il Cavallo Del Re and dreams to design clothes and watches for them.

Now, I don't usually have my OCs getting TOO involved in canon but this is sort of an exception (though Ukuwa does not effect TWEWY mainplot) *puts hands together* So where does he fit into TWEWY? WELL-

One day, when he was rushing around mumbling about time and being late, he got caught up in a sinkhole and he dies. (Haha, ironic bc of his nickname which references the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland) He was already feeling terrible because his clock design didn't get included in this competition he had participated in.

But he lands himself in one of Minamimoto Shou's earlier Reaper Games. At this point, Shou hasn't discovered Taboo bullshittery. This game takes place a while before Neku comes along.

His entry fee was his concept of time. This means that he cannot even see the timer on his phone and can only recieve missions. Ukuwa is hyper vigilant (thanks cptsd). That means he's extra sensitive to light and sound. He has several clocks on him with different 'voices' that soothes him. Suddenly, he can't hear them anymore and that throws him off real bad.

He gets grabbed by a straight-for-pay lesbian hostess and party girl, Hana, admist the panic of Day 1. She grabs him because he looks 'reliable' and wealthy. (she was wrong. Ukuwa is gay and he only looks wealthy because the clothes he wears is what he designed and he's good with his hands)

Hana forms a pact with him, wanting to take advantage of him like she usually does with men because she treats them like wallets. Her entry fee was money, so she cannot spend money throughout the game and has to rely on stingy Ukuwa. Ukuwa has to rely on Hana to keep track of the time.

They start off pretty rocky at first because Ukuwa doesn't have patience for her antics and Hana gets frustrated by how Ukuwa is so careful with how he uses his money and how he doesn't seem to know how to have fun.

Ukuwa's pysch is cryokinesis. Because you know. Time has literally stopped for him. He can summon icicles and walls of ice. Hana has immense strength and smacks the shit out of noise with her purse. They become quite a good team throughout the week.

Ukuwa starts to enjoy the moment instead of trying to push forward and ignore his feelings, and Hana learns that partying and drinking won't solve all of her problems.

Tldr, he falls in love with Shou so hard and he already struggles with feelings of uselessness in the RG so he ends up becoming a reaper. Their relationship happens very quickly and it's veeeery toxic (but that's what makes it tasty)

If you wanna know the deets about UkuShou-

Ukuwa x Shou

Ukuwa is immediately intruged by Shou's trash heaps. The symbolism and the cynycism towards humans speaks out to him. It's the first time he really feels connection towards someone. The precision of the trash, how it's held up so sturdily and is obviously so deliberate is impressive to him. Hana tries to snag a piece of trash that looks useful as a weapon and Ukuwa yells at her and puts it back. He calls it an art installment.

He doesn't know that Shou is the artist behind the heaps. Not until the trash cat turns up anyways. He actually finds Shou insufferable and annoying at first. The yelling into the megaphone is pretty triggering to him and he doesn't hesitate to throw an icicle at Shou. When he finds out that Shou is the artist though, he can't help but grow more and more curious.

When Shou hears Ukuwa praising his art, he's pretty confused at first. He normally doesn't care if measly humans can't understand his art's brilliance and beauty, so hearing Ukuwa reading his piece like a book is different and a little unsettling. One part of him is happy? But the other part of him just doesn't want to admit that he's understood.

So throughout the week, he makes more unhinged art pieces and challenges Ukuwa to guess the symbolism and he denies how correct Ukuwa is every time. It's annoying how bright Ukuwa looks when he talks about his art. But it's also really endearing too.

Anyways, Shou grows curious about Ukuwa and it's a running theme that he tries to interrogate him in closed spaces like alleyways, the phonebooth of love (where they share their first kiss) and changing rooms. They bicker, argue, talk about art, the mission, etc.

Ukuwa is a stupid baby gay and he starts seeing Shou as a person and he starts to understand and speak in maths lingo too. Shou becomes so fascinating and beautiful to him so he makes the extra effort to get to know him. He has the biggest crush and Hana notices too- Even trying to set them up in her own silly way.

I should prolly mention that I hc that Shou is colourblind and has protanomaly colour blindness (weak to red/green) and like.

Shou vision Ukuwa is vibrant and pretty it's insane.

I fully agree with Kiga's Shou HC and I think Shou had his art criticized in the past due to his questionable colour choices which lead to him making more sculpture stuff than paint. ANYWAYS-

Shou eventually accepts that he is understood by Ukuwa and by the time it's day 7, he realizes that actually, he kinda doesn't want Ukuwa to die in his hands. Luckily, Shibuya's Reaper's Game rules at this point aren't exactly solid yet and Shou being Shou finds loopholes. On the last day, there are a few surviving duos that reach the top of Pork City to fight Leo Cantus. This is when Ukuwa tosses humanity right out the window and he essentially erases all remaining players aside from himself and his partner Hana.

He's under the impression that one of them will have to die so he tells Shou that he'll gladly 'give him his movement' and die in his hands, but Shou cannot bring himself to do that and asks him to stay and add art to this world with him.

Tldr, thanks to the loophole of mission mail wording, Ukuwa is able to become a reaper and the two become even more inseparable.

They are very horny and very obsessed with each other. Ukuwa drops everything for love. Unfortunately, Ukuwa is a needy bitch and he relies on Shou for his dopamine. Shou is a free spirit and he likes his space so the relationship falls apart after a few months.

Ukuwa is actually the one that dumps Shou because he was 'five minutes and twenty three seconds late to our date'.

This hurts Shou's pride a lot because how DARE he get dumped. But here's the thing- they keep banging anyways. They are like magnets. And Shou is SO smug about it too. Because Ukuwa is in denial about still having feelings but he keeps going back!

I have yet to play NEO but after Shou dies in TWEWY Ukuwa acts like a fucking widower and he has a relapse with his workaholism. Kariya really helps him loosen up and enjoy the moment.

When Shou is revived in NEO, Ukuwa is like a sobbing mess. I imagine by then, Ukuwa has grown as a person more and he has learnt to give Shou space so they end back together. Shou also learns to have some empathy and stop being so selfish and finally apologizes (shocking) and they get back together. With their bond stronger than ever, they end up having a daughter (light puck baby) named Miu who is almost as unhinged as they are. She LOVES physics. She's a genius. And also a super powerful angel but I'll explain that another day LOL

[jui-imouto-chan]

One Kid's Trash (Full Fic)

(Or, read it on Ao3)

Summary:

He approached the mushroom beasts and—huh? Red Guy fell off the screen with a “Waaah,” that drew a surprised and delighted laugh from Sakura, one that startled him enough to look around like someone else made the sound and snapped the DSi closed. From it, he heard a “Bye-Bye!” When he was sure again that it was just him, he flipped it open again, eyes sparkling even as he jumped. “It’s-a me, Mario!” the device proclaimed. “H-Hi, Mario…-san,” he greeted back, bowing his head minutely. He tried again to punch the mushroom, this time, but it turned away before he could get to it. He hit a button while he was moving and Mario leapt into the air, arcing up and then landing on top of the mushroom, crushing it. “Mario-san! You beat him up!” His eyes sparkled.

or:

Seven year-old Sakura found a DSi at the playground and played New Super Mario Brothers. He never forgets it.

Tags:

a little Suo/Sakura if you squint, A look at what I imagine Sakura's childhood could have been like, sad childhood, self hatred, a little bit of food rationing if that is triggering for you, Hurt/Comfort, Sakura Haruka Needs A Hug (Wind Breaker), Ostracization, Quote: It's-a me! Mario! (Super Mario), Sakura & Mario could unironically be a tag in this fic, Game: New Super Mario Bros. DS (2006), DSI, Coping, some present shenanigans, Suou Hayato is a Little Shit (Wind Breaker), References to Super Smash Brothers, Sakura's empty ass apartment but even in childhood, still no pillows, i cant believe he canonically sleeps in the fetal position, child sakura haruka, seven year old sakura

Sakura found an interesting toy near the slide. It was blue, shiny, and it flipped open to show screens on the inside.

He thought he’d seen one of these before. He wracked his brain to try to remember what it was called, but it was no use. He knew some of his classmates had them—usually pulling them out at lunch time and when they’d skip cleaning duties.

(He’d usually have to hide that he was curious about them—if he showed that he was interested, they’d hide them away and whisper to themselves. The best way to avoid that was to pretend he was reading the posters on the classroom walls of color-coded hiragana. If he wanted to listen, he’d pretend to doodle in his workbook with his ears perked.)

There was a light sheen of dew over everything, a drizzle accompanying Sakura to the playground; when the other kids saw him, they scattered. Their parents muttered to themselves as they packed up and left, sending scathing looks his way when they thought he wasn’t looking.

(Sakura was always looking, always listening. There was nothing else to do, no other senses that he could engage with his peers, not unless he made to touch and all that could connect was a punch.)

It’d been an hour since then, and Sakura took to wandering the playset mindlessly. What was so fun about a slide? He could understand the jungle gym—he loved climbing every which way—but there was nothing waiting for him at the bottom of a slide.

(He said this, but he never stopped going on it. Listlessly making his way back to the top and hoping every time he came back down that he’d find someone there.)

It was there, right at the entrance of the slide, that he had found this thing. The bright screen lit up his face from below, casting shadows across his face, shining through and illuminating white hair.

Then he heard a few voices. He flipped it closed and tucked himself in to the slide, out of view.

“Kouji said he couldn’t find his DSi. You think it’s around here?”

“Dunno, but we can look later. He already has an XL that he shares with his sister so it’ll be fine.”

“Luckyyy.”

“Right?”

Sakura poked his head out as the two kids walked away.

So this thing was a DSi?

Sakura resisted the urge to look at the DSi for the rest of the day. It sat on his desk, the only item in his barren room besides a few plastic water bottles, two towels, and his futon. The pop of color in the cold neutral tones of the room pulled at his vision, though it was only after he brushed his teeth and turned off the lights that he finally let his curiosity win.

The screen was a beacon in the dark, almost blinding.

On the bottom screen, there was a colorful image of a rotund character with a red hat and a brown moustache.

Sakura pressed a few buttons. The ones on the left side of the screen seemed to move through the applications, which was a little annoying since all he wanted to do was see what this red guy was. He tried the buttons to the right side, and on his third button, labeled with some foreign, non-Japanese letter, he was finally able to select the red-guy-thing.

More foreign letters came up—underneath, the katakana to read it. It took him a few minutes to sound it out.

“Ni-yu.. Niu Su-pa Ma-ri-oh Bu-ra-za-zu…?”

New Super Mario Brothers.

He saw the red guy—the one that caught his attention—in front of a castle, beside him a blonde girl in a pink dress. He walked ahead to the castle and then—what!? Some kappa-thing just stole the girl!

The red guy chased after it. Sakura accidentally, in his impatience, rapidly tapped a button and the scene disappeared, replaced with the red guy on a big circle. The screen went black as the red guy jumped into the background.

“Where’d he…”

Then the world loaded in, and there were these mushroom creatures that came in his direction. He hit another button, hoping he could punch them. Take that, you stupid vegetables. Nothing happened. He tried a few other buttons, then went to the buttons on the left side that annoyed him earlier.

Oh! That’s how he moved.

He approached the mushroom beasts and—huh? Red Guy fell off the screen with a “Waaah,” that drew a surprised and delighted laugh from Sakura, one that startled him enough to look around like someone else made the sound and snapped the DSi closed. From it, he heard a “Bye-Bye!”

When he was sure again that it was just him, he flipped it open again, eyes sparkling even as he jumped. “It’s-a me, Mario!” the device proclaimed.

“H-Hi, Mario…-san,” he greeted back, bowing his head minutely.

He tried again to punch the mushroom, this time, but it turned away before he could get to it. He hit a button while he was moving and Mario leapt into the air, arcing up and then landing on top of the mushroom, crushing it.

“Mario-san! You beat him up!”

His eyes sparkled.

Sakura didn’t get much sleep. He was a zombie walking into class the following morning, squinting eyes appearing like a glare to his classmates. They kept further away from him, but it was okay.

He had Mario-san waiting for him, so it was okay.

(When he fell asleep, the DSi was pressed to his chest. He curled around it like there was a tiny Mario-san in his arms. Then, in his dreams, there was a giant Mario-san, one that ate a big orange mushroom. Sakura was big too, big enough to stomp through all of his problems.

Mario-san said, “Wa-hoo!” and Sakura copied him, back and forth like a conversation. He isn’t sure when the last one he had was, but this was how they went, right?

Together, they jumped through the clouds, and for once, Sakura felt like a superhero.

He had to remind himself once he woke up that he wasn’t made for a role like that. That all he was ever made to be was a villain.

A monster.)

There wasn’t anyone in his class named Kouji. Sakura checked the roster twice over, but to no avail. He’d have asked his classmates, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone would shrink away at his approach.

Maybe he’d come to the playground again today, he hoped.

(But really, he hoped he didn’t. There was no use lying to himself—who better would know his evil nature than himself?)

There was no one named Kouji at the playground. Not from the yells of kids’ names across the park when he walked up. And of course, when it cleared out again at his presence, there were none then, either.

Sakura got through a few more hours of the game before the screen turned black, and nothing he could do would turn them back on. There was a red light pulsing at the hinge of the device.

Tears filled his eyes, but he quickly swept them away with his sleeve. He considered hitting the device to get it to work, but he immediately thought about Mario-san—that would hurt him, so he put his hand down.

He checked the clock: 5pm. Gingerly, he put the DSi and all his money in his hoodie pocket and made for the convenience store around the corner. Before he went through the doors, he pulled up his hood and tucked his white hairs in more than the black ones, mussing his bangs enough to cover up his right eye.

The clerk at the desk peered at him suspiciously. After grabbing a few non-perishable pre-made meals and some snacks, Sakura walked past him to go toward the electronics area, where a few different cords hung neatly from hooks.

From what he remembered, these things needed to be charged. He wasn’t super familiar with the concept, but he’d seen enough things plugged into the outlets of his classroom to know that.

Of course, there were a few different cords to complicate things. He pulled out the DSi and tried to fit each one in, frustration growing with each failure.

He turned as he heard footsteps approaching, and then the clerk was kneeling beside him.

“This one should work,” he said, grabbing a gray cable with a plug block at the end. He scooped up Sakura’s items and brought them to the counter. When the cashier was ringing up the other things, Sakura pressed the cable against the hole in the back. It fit!

“Yes!” he said, hopping giddily.

The clerk stared at the register as he read off, “Your total is 1200 yen.”

Sakura fumbled around his pockets to dig out his coins and one 1000-yen bill. He went to hand it over—the exact amount, with a few coins remaining in his hoodie—when he noticed the clerk staring at him in disbelief.

What was he—oh.

Sakura’s hood had fallen off.

The clerk’s face was unreadable, but he knew what that meant. Sakura dropped the money on the counter, scooped up his items, and raced out of the shop, lips pursing tightly. Usually he’d at least have a bag to hold everything in, but in his haste, he ended up cradling everything. He struggled with the knob of his room when he got back.

He scooted his futon close to an outlet—he’d never needed to use it for anything other than the small A/C that was currently tucked into his closet. He plugged the DSi in, brows furrowed as he watched the red light change to a pulsing yellow.

He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to wait, or if he was allowed to even turn the device on before it finished charging. His knees bounced and he kept looking back at the light every few seconds.

Maybe if he closed his eyes, it’d charge faster.

He pressed them together tightly, his face scrunching together.

One, two, three…

Fourteen…

Twenty-four….

Fifty…

“It’s done!” he yelled, opening his eyes to find that it was—still charging. He pouted. One minute should have been enough, how could something take so long? “Mario-san… hurry up…” I miss you.

When a few more attempts at closing his eyes and counting didn’t work, he finally gave up and nibbled on some chips, careful not to eat too much of the bag at once. As long as he ate exactly what the serving sizes on the back said, he could make it last about five days.

Ten chips later, he was… not satisfied, per se, but he already indulged in having one extra chip (It had extra seasoning on it! It was begging him to eat it. It tasted so good, even if the flavor was already dissipating), so he downed half a bottle of water and went to brush his teeth.

Impatience got to him at the forty-five-minute mark. “Sorry, Mario-san,” Sakura said, preemptively. The light was still yellow, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

The screens didn’t turn on when he flipped it open. Sakura bit his lip, tears already pooling. He fiddled around with the buttons he didn’t touch while playing.

Heavenly light flooded from the screens. Sakura bounced on his heels, a wide, open-mouthed smile spreading across his face.

“Let’s-a go!”

“Welcome back, Mario-san!”

(Sakura didn’t need a pillow. In his head, the floor was grass, the clouds were fluffy, and there were turtles with wings.

Peach-hime wasn’t far out of grasp right now, but he was in no rush to get to her. Mario-san kept looking into the distance, in the vague direction the little kappa ran off in. Sakura held onto his glove.

He hadn’t held anyone’s hand in years—the last time was in kindergarten, when it was mandatory so they wouldn’t get lost. It was so warm, but so foreign, those intrusions between his fingers. Sakura chimed, “Mamma mia.”

Mario-san was silent.

“Mario-san?”

Sakura looked down at their hands, slowly coming apart.

“Mario-san, what are you looking at?” Still no response. “I-I’m sure Peach-hime will be okay. We’ll beat up that stupid kappa together and rescue her!”

Why wouldn’t he say anything?

Why wouldn’t he look at him?

Please look at him.

Couldn’t someone please just—)

Kouji was at the playground that day.

Sakura knew, because he snooped through the DSi and found a photo app. The most recent photos were there, two brunet kids smiling wide with their parents’ tired expressions in the background. Kouji, he assumed, was the one pulling on some girl’s pigtails—probably that sister those other kids mentioned. The picture was so warm to look at, but Sakura was dowsed with an icy feeling that tore into his chest.

(It was like last winter, when he slipped in some ice and scraped up his legs through his thin sweatpants.

Most other kids cried when they bled—Sakura knew firsthand—but he knew his tears would only make his cheeks colder and bring more dirty looks his way.

He just had to throw the pants away, bloodstains and all, and smear some spit into the snow caked on his wounds.

He was fine.

It was fine.)

Sakura had his hoodie on today. He stopped by his room after school before coming by, putting on a beanie someone left in the lost and found. This time, he tucked his white hair into that, then put the sweatshirt over.

With the beanie, there were no worries of his hood slipping. His black bangs were perfectly arranged, and no one would know that he was a freak.

He didn’t give himself enough time to turn around and forget about all of this. He just took a deep breath and marched over to the boy at the top of the playset.

“H-Hey. Kouji, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, that’s me.”

“Um. I f-found this. A few days ago…” (Two weeks ago. Liar. Selfish.)

It took a Herculean effort to pull the DSi out of his pocket and proffer it to the boy, hands shaking.

The boy looked confused for a moment, before his eyes brightened up. “My DSi! I’ve been looking for it everywhere—I thought I lost it! Thanks for finding it!”

Kouji stepped closer to Sakura, ecstatic.

“We should play on it together sometime! What’s your name?”

A half-familiar feeling bubbled in his chest, creeping up his neck to his cheeks and his ears. Pink seeped into the edges of his vision, and his face was unbearably hot.

His mind was fuzzy, he was floating on this warm cloud that brought tingles to his fingertips. He answered without thinking. “Sakura—”

The boy stepped away quickly.

The color drained from Sakura’s face—from the world—as realization and fear occupied both of them.

Kouji’s eyes were wide, blood rushing out of his face as he recognized him.

“K-Keep it. Just stay away, don’t hurt me.”

(Don’t look at him.)

Sakura stepped closer, pushing the DSi toward him, opening it to show his picture. “It’s yours, I’m giving it back t—”

“I don’t need it! Get away from me!”

Kouji slapped the DSi out of his hands.

Sakura watched in horror as it soared over the edge of the playset, smacking along the bars of the monkey bars on the way down, the hinges snapping and the device making a cracking noise as it hit.

(The sound of bones breaking sounded similar, he realized, when he kicked someone in the ribs, years later.

It sent a chill down his spine, but he was used to the cold, so he kept kicking.)

“Why did you do that?!” he cried, grabbing Kouji up by the collar of his shirt. He snarled in his face, vision blurry with moisture. Why couldn’t he just accept it? Why did he destroy it?

Why couldn’t things just be simple?

As quick as the anger came in, it dissipated.

Sakura deflated, head falling forward as he grit his teeth. Kouji, with shaking legs, bolted across the playset, jumping off the ledge into his father’s waiting arms. The man stared at Sakura with disapproval.

(Don’t look at him.)

(Was he just made wrong?)

When he went to pick up the battered DSi, the top hung backwards and flopped with any movement. The screens were partially blacked out, with green cracks crawling across them. Sakura couldn’t even see Mario-san’s face through the damage anymore. He dragged his feet as he headed out of the park, his fingers beginning to bleed as the rough, scuffed plastic on the outside tore through his skin.

Near the entrance, he gently set the DSi into the trashcan and pressed his red-smeared hands together in a prayer.

(If there was a god, it hated him. If there were multiple, they must’ve all felt the same about him.

That was fine. He hated them, too. If he had access to the heavens he’d go and throw a few punches around. Let them hit him back. Maybe it’d feel better to feel those blows directly instead of all this indirect crap.

Even so, he still goes to the shrine at New Years.

He still wishes for better luck.)

Sakura stares at the weather app on his phone, trying to figure out if he should wear a jacket tomorrow or not. Suo and Nirei fiddle with the TV in front of him, all of them lounging in Nirei’s living room. Nirei’s parents are still at work, and Kiryu and Tsugeura are on their way over, having been sent out for patrol that day.

Nirei tries to get a cable through the back of his TV stand to connect with his console—he called it a Switch, which doesn’t sound all that cool to Sakura beyond being an English word—but every time he pushes it through and asks for a different cable, Suo sends the same cable back through the hole and undoes Nirei’s efforts, the plug sailing behind the TV stand and into a narrow space that Nirei struggles to reach. Then, while Nirei is fishing for the cable that fell, Suo pushes the other cable through and swings it around like he’s impatiently waiting for Nirei to grab it.

“Nirei-kun, I don’t think we’ll get this set up before the others get here if you keep messing around.”

Sakura snorts to himself. Sadist bastard. “You really have an awful personality,” he says.

“That’s so mean, Sakura-kun. Umemiya-senpai said I was a kind gentleman.”

Nirei gets the cable, begging Suo to grab the right one. Suo, feeling merciful after all the torture, swaps cables with him and they finally get the Switch plugged into the TV.

“We’ve gotta play Smash, right?” Nirei prods.

“I don’t mind playing until Kiryu-kun and Tsugeura-kun are here.”

“Hm, Suo-san, I didn’t expect you to be the type to play video games at all.”

Oh, it’s gonna be 24° tomorrow. No jacket should be fine.

“I don’t do it often, but I’ll join if friends are playing. I’m not entirely un- tech-savvy.”

Suo sends a pointed glance at Sakura, which gets his attention up from his screen. The smile on his face makes Sakura hiss.

“The hell’re you looking at, bastard?”

Suo laughs. “Now, now.”

Nirei dispels their banter quickly, before he’s caught in the middle. “Sakura-san, do you wanna try playing?”

Sakura finally looks over at the TV, where there’s a big menu of characters displayed on the screen.

“What is it?”

“It’s a fighting game,” Nirei says, glowing at the interest sparking in Sakura’s sun and moon eyes at his favorite word. “It’s not as graphic as Mortal Kombat, but I think you’ll like getting to try all kinds of fighting styles. Here, I’ll even pick your character for you—you’d probably like playing as Kazuya, since he’s from Tekken—that’s another fighting game you’d probably like—or maybe a lighter character like Starfox or Captain Falcon since you tend to fight in a very—”

Sakura tunes Nirei out partway through, eyes glancing over the characters and then catching, in the far left…

Sakura shoots up. “Mario-san!”

“-san?” Suo snorts, which devolves into full-blown snickering. “I’ve never heard you be so polite before, Sakura-kun! How cute!”

A blush flies from Sakura’s shoulders, up his neck, all the way past the tips of his ears to the roots of his hair, even managing to color his white strands with a light wash of pink. Steam must be erupting off his head.

“Sh-Sh-SHUT UP! WHAT’S IT TO YOU?”

Suo laughs harder, holding his belly. There isn’t enough blood in Sakura’s body to make his blush darker than it is now. His hands twitch into fists.

…Yelling at Suo isn’t enough, he needs to kill him.

Nirei wraps his arms around Sakura’s waist to keep him from fully lunging at the redhead, who is quickly up and striding around behind the sofa, dodging just as Sakura manages to get out of Nirei’s grasp and pounce.

“Sakura-san, you can’t commit murder in my house! My parents just redid the carpets!”

“Fuck the carpets, he’s dead!”

It takes a while for Sakura to be placated, only calmed by Nirei getting some snacks in his mouth in between mad leaps at Suo. Eventually the food seduces his tongue enough for him to absentmindedly nibble on whatever items Nirei gets in his mouth’s proximity, and he melts back into the couch cushions like he’s never sat on anything so comfortable in his life.

Nirei pointedly sits in the middle of the two and keeps the Pocky they have in his hands, feeding them into Sakura’s mouth himself so Suo wouldn’t get any ideas that could jeopardize the safety of his home. Suo pouts at him slightly, but there’s no budging the blond once he makes up his mind.

Sakura agrees to still play with them, a little red climbing back into his cheeks as he selects Mario, making a small noise of intrigue when Nirei shows him how to change the skins.

Nirei and Suo hold their breath at the roundness in Sakura’s usually-sharpened gaze. There was this childlike wonder that softened his features, a quiver to his grin that tugs at something in them, this need to smother him and show him everything he’s ever missed almost overbearing in its intensity.

Suo feels a little bad for making fun of him earlier. That’s a subtle apology to be made later, though, because all he can do now is let his eye soak in this image and try to replicate its splendor again and again in the future.

They’re drawn back in when Sakura looks at them, puzzled about what to do to proceed to the fighting part of the game.  

They pick their characters—Nirei has Meta Knight and Suo picks Bayonetta, hitting start and snagging a map before Sakura can even begin to process Suo’s choice.

The round goes long—mainly between Suo and Nirei. Sakura falls off the map once or twice before he commits to button-mashing for his third life. He’s not great at getting Mario to move the way he wants him to; he’s caught in the crossfire of one of Suo’s attacks and he is out, scowling at the screen and flipping Suo the bird. Suo takes his hand off the controller to blow a kiss for half a second, which Nirei uses as a chance to hit him with his Ultimate.

Suo laughs airily and starts his next life in stride, continuing where he left off with a strategy that suits him perfectly: dodging, taunting, blocking, and spamming his B-attacks until Nirei flies off the stage cleanly.

“Suo-san, I thought you didn’t play video games often.”

“I don’t, but I never said I’m bad at them.”

Nirei has a fire in his eyes. “Well, I won’t lose!”

He doesn’t. Suo is not the best at getting to the Smash ball, and Nirei is able to tear through his last life.

“That was awesome, Nirei-kun. Good job.”

Sakura mumbles his compliment. “That was kinda badass, I guess.”

Nirei sparkles. “Sakura-san…”

Sakura looks interested in playing again, but seems reluctant. Nirei knows Sakura is a little sad when he realizes, after Nirei explains a few things about playstyle, that Mario isn’t really the best character for him. Suo is able to distract him a little by explaining why he likes some of the specific characters he plays, to which Sakura listens attentively.

They don’t really get it, but that goes for a lot of things about Sakura—they don’t really need to.

Sakura is relieved that they don’t ask.

(Sakura was 15 when he went into a game store with his classmates and found out that devices can be repaired.

Nirei told him he’d give him his old consoles, asked if he wanted to play anything specific.

Sakura said no, but Nirei gave them to him anyway. He tried to leave the bag behind at Nirei’s desk, but Suo snuck the bag into his apartment, so the decision was made for him.

When the floor felt too hard and cold and he couldn’t sleep, he grabbed the WiiU and tried to play a game.

It was the most normal Sakura had ever felt.

It was the best gift ever.)

++++++

This is the first fic in a series :)

[haechanhues]

Well Wishes

pairing : jay x reader 

genre : fluff (with a hint of angst) 

warnings : kind of sad. hints of reader being sick/injured (not specified)  

summary : jay will do anything for you because he loves you. 

word count : 778 words. 

dedication : happy exchange event - (hosted by @kflixnet​)  @stuck-in-hypna​ I hope you enjoy this <3 (fingers crossed) 

main masterlist

You startle, the sight of Jay scaring the sleep away from your eyes. He smiles, his eyes lighting up at the sight, you look so cute like this after all. 

“Hey baby,” Jay hums, your hand wrapping around his finger with a small squeeze of acknowledgement, “Did I wake you?” 

You shake your head, “What do you have?” 

Jay’s lips smack together before he casts a quick cheeky glance at the door before he turns towards you, “I brought you some snacks and.....cue the drums.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your boyfriend before playing along, not without a fond roll of your eyes at his antics, before you start the rhythm on your lap. 

“Kimchi jjigae!” Jay celebrates. Your eyes widen and you can’t help but let your mouth drop. 

Now, the glance at the door makes sense. 

“Jay!” You lecture weakly, but the smell has already made its way to your bones and you are hungry for some actual food.  He smirks before pulling out the cutlery and creating the table for the two of you, hoping that your food is still warm. 

“Eat up,” He demands, resisting the urge to spoon feed you himself. But he watches you take the first sip and your first bite diligently before his own stomach warms at the way you greedily inhale the rest of your bowl. 

You pout at the emptiness of your bowl, before looking towards your boyfriend who is mindfully taking in each spoonful. He’s pretty like this. He’s usually quite a stern looking person, logic brained to a fault. But then as a boyfriend, he’s soft. He wears his hoodies so that when you steal them, it still smells like him. He brings you food from shops he’s discovered on his weekly review search. 

Washing your sadness away with happy experiences. Pretty experiences. Things that full your life wholeheartedly. 

Which is why you’re not surprised when he lets out a loaded cough, “So…” 

You giggle, and he momentarily pauses in his slow building excitement to glance at you bewildered, “What?” 

“No,” You cock your head, the teasing smile on your face remaining, “You’re just cute, is all. Cute and predictable.” 

Jay’s lips purse and he cocks his head back, “I don’t know about that-” 

You wave him off, “Now I’m curious on what you were gonna say-” 

Burying your teasing, his excitement builds as stands up from the bed, “So- I know you wanted to go to that concert and couldn’t....and I like doing stuff for you.” 

He pauses as he reaches into his backpack, putting on a scary looking cut out mask thing of Wen Junhui and a karaoke microphone that gives a little warning screech. He hurriedly turns it off, and pulls out his newly made Spotify playlist of SEVENTEEN songs that you enjoyed. 

You pause, a whole world of light surrounding the two of you as you look at him with glittery eyes that hold all the warmth of your heart. 

You’re so lucky to have him. 

“This one goes out to my partner whom I love-” 

The night is filled with makeshift strobe lights (ones that landed him in a future lecture with the nurse), quietened cheers and good times. Even though it wasn’t SEVENTEEN, and you were still disappointed that you couldn’t go, you still enjoyed yourself and you loved your boyfriend even more despite. 

You fell asleep easy that night, a smile remaining on your face as Jay dedicated yet another song for you. One that wasn’t SEVENTEEN’s song but his own. 

Soft. Loving. 

A little sad. 

His eyes pool with tears as he continues to sing, his voice merely a whisper. His gaze streaming across the lines of wires behind you, helping you heal and recover. 

A small knock pulls him from his reverie, and he’s delighted to see his father’s face who’s lips form into an ‘O’ at the sight of you asleep, ‘Are they asleep?” 

At Jay’s confirming nod, his father walks into the room with a bouquet of flowers and a ‘Get Well Soon’ card which he places quietly onto the cabinet surface. He eyes the room and makes note of the warmth and the coziness, “It’s a nice room.” 

He makes eye contact with his son, who seems to have trouble holding back his tears. 

“Dad, I-” Jay chokes and his father rounds the bed to meet his son with a tight embrace, a needed embrace. 

“They’ll be alright, Jongseong-ah.” 

Jay’s eyes squeeze tight as his arms wrap around his dad who holds him and at 21, he proves to his father that he is still his baby with a gentle heart. 

[faygodealer]

Stream of consciousness ramble (poem? Maybe? Not really lol) but there’s words in my brain and I need to get them out. So. Here’s this I think only one person will understand this and maybe they won’t still lol

You tell me you've left everything behind for this-

how often do you outrun your own skin?

Roll yourself up like a carpet,

lean over the parapet,

Don’t drop the match even when it burns

because you like the way it smells.

Crucify yourself on your suffering

Let me witness your rebirth

And then try it myself.

How do you replace yourself

atom by atom,

lungs burning smoke and car ride wind

whipping laps around our only eden left

Can’t move away from yourself when she still lives in the back of the van,

lights your cigarette for you

and hands you a beer.

She rocks in the dark,

eyes glowing like embers and watches us smoke

and pretend not to see her.

What kind of a specter haunts herself?

You think she’d find a more inviting home.

Hold her face in your hands,

scrape the kerosene running from her ears

back into her head like it'll hold this time

Don't ask why she stays

If a ghost knew how to move on

Wouldn't they?

Let the silence hang heavy in the air.

Dissolve your fantasy on my tongue,

wash your stories down with a feast.

Cut away the bruises,

either eat your pesticides or let the bugs

make home in your stomach,

not the only ones who are hungry.

Sustain yourself off of memories gone rotten,

go to bed starving when you can't bear to look at them.

Bare them on your own in the dark.

Pick stars out of your foam tile ceilings

Pick at your skin until it goes sore

Train tracks rumbling through your veins.

I'm driving along the coast,

the shoreline holds me close,

stuck at the top of this ferris wheel with you.

Thunder rolls over my hips,

eclipse my view of you

all wind in your hair,

liquid fire on your lips like liquor,

doting on little nothings.

Towns sail past

across seas of grass,

palm trees,

snowcaps.

Give me the director's cut of my own life story,

help me memorize my lines in the backseat.

Read me your bedtime fantasies and I will play along,

make believe myself any role you cast me.

Roll down the windows,

cast away our umbrella to the darkened sky,

distract me from the cold with the embers of your voice.

Let the heat of your cigarette make home on my skin,

scorched earth where there once was a garden.

Melt me down clean, build me up again,

breathe your life into my empty lungs.

Heat before a storm steams our windows,

precipitates down your cheeks,

licked clean by the cool breeze.

I roll over myself in the slow thud of a speedbump under the tires.

Shouldn’t have been walking by the road,

you tell the stain on the pitch.

Black lump in the rearview mirror fades into hindsight.

Shouldn't have been driving so goddamn fast.

When god closes the car door

he turns on the radio

and water pours out like static

but when the chandelier

shatters against the dancefloor

you're the only one still moving to the silence.

Cigarette sparks swirl a constellation over our opium den backseat,

sitting prone and scantily clad on the lap of luxury.

Call hedonism by any name you want,

I’d say if i wasnt too high to speak.

Say something pretentious and circular about

moral ambiguity and

how i dont see with clarity and

ill laugh my way through the bystander effect and

Stare into you like the sun and

let your after image eclipse the rest of my life

Pull the van into the sand and let it fill the open windows,

cover us in what was once the sea.

See stop lights and spot scenery and

throw yourself against the crashing waves

like they’ll hold you gentle,

once they see that its you.

Fall asleep in the night before,

Wake up two weeks into the wrong end of a long drive,

with cop lights

and road signs

and ghosts reflecting off glass

like shards of fire.

Tires leave ash dark stains on the melting asphalt,

you know it like the back of your hand.

Wash it free,

Fight to keep me clean,

take off your lens cap

and shift my world out of black and white,

burning color against the night,

Make love to me the whole way home.

[nabesthetics]

Soo, may I ask your honest opinion on the new tale, please? 🫢

Well.

I slept to reset my brain, went through some of the options I was missing, and the conclusion is still the same: it's… empty.

The plot: nothing happens

So these two go to the Magic Realms in search of a spell, supposedly get sent to the past, meet pre-plague Asra, get a vague warning about the spell being dangerous, find out that they didn't get sent to the past, and end up with a decision on using the spell or not.

If you cut out the fluff, look at only the plot side of it, we get two options: either the MC vaguely fucks up, or… nothing happens. Let's go through the latter first, since it's supposed to be the "good" ending.

So, option 1: they decide to not use the spell, the Magician gives them some other advice, and they go back to the Palace to tell everyone else that they need to.......clean up the beach. That's all they gain from this entire adventure.

Option 2: they ignore the warning, cast the spell, summon some monster, and we end up with an, again, very vague hint at "there are some other consequences".

That's it. This is… this is all that we gain, all that the characters gain. I guess in the "bad" ending there's a lesson of "don't use a fucking time-altering spell when your past self tells you not to", but we don't see the consequences, so this gives me nothing either. In the "good" ending we just get to carve a heart on that one poor tree.

The characters: DO Y'ALL FEEL ANYTHING??

This is the most weird part for me actually. Look, I don't think a short story needs some intricate plot to be good (although if it involves time travel yes it does but that's besides the point), but the characters have to react to things around them for the story to feel… to feel.

Asra and MC are too busy getting all over each other to express any sort of strong emotions. They have a stronger reaction to baby turtles than to time travel. Asra thinks that he meets his younger self, and he doesn't react. "Other Asra" (Coraline theme plays softly in the distance btw) is told about the incoming plague and he just kinda goes "damn". Other Asra also mentions that pre-plague MC is somewhere in the city, and it's never acknowledged by any of the characters!! You'd think the MC would at least have some thought about the opportunity to meet that version of themselves!!! But no. They nap about it.

The dialogue:

The plot: I have questions

We're never told why and how Asra really erased the spell from his memory. This could be fixed as simple as with a hint that he tried to use it once to bring the MC back, or to bring back their memories, or to fight the Plague, anything. But no it's reduced to "it's dangerous and forbidden time magic".

btw if it's forbidden why does babby Asra have it in his spellbook

So how on earth did MC and Asra talk to Past Asra and walk around Vesuvia if it's all supposed to be a memory/illusion/etc?

if there are hundreds of baby turtles hurried to get to the sea then it means that there are natural turtle predators in the Magic Realms. Entire realm animal ecosystems. In this essay I will—

Since when does the Magician just hand over entire spells? Or sea restoration instructions??

Scout literally didn't have to be there, leave the poor dog out of this

Conclusion: i'm tired

Look I don't want it to be bad. I'm not sitting on the edge of my seat hoping for Dorian to fail. I'm starved for content and would love nothing more than some actually good new tales from the "canon" sources. Hell, right until the "time travel illusion memory" hit, I was even hopeful! It didn't read great, but with some editing to the dialogue I did in my brain it was alright! But it all fell apart as soon as we got to the "meaty" part of the plot.

Will I read the rest? Well, Julian's and Lucio's for sure, the rest will probably depend on how others feel about them.

Idk how to end the post, that's it that's the opinion. I'm gonna go play with my dragons

[nevergonnabemuchmorethanweather]

What's your favorite and least favorite thing about each main character on BTVS and Angel?

I can really only answer this for BTVS. I have seen Angel, but not recently, and it just doesn't resonate with me the way BTVS does. Turns out, when there's no Buffy, I don't care.

Buffy:

I love so much about Buffy Summers that it's hard to pick a true favorite trait. I'm going to go with her intelligence because it's so often overlooked even though, in many ways, she's the smartest character on the show-- and the one who actually uses her brain when everyone around her is being utterly irrational and falling for every trick in the manipulative villain handbook.

My least favorite thing about her, by far, is what a doormat she can be sometimes. It's so frustrating watching her take so much shit from her friends and family and forget her own strength over and over.

Giles:

This is difficult to articulate, but I like that Giles chooses to be one of the good guys despite clearly having the capacity not to be, and how his own moral grayness gives him an understanding of the nuances of human nature that the others lack.

My least favorite thing about Giles is his emotional cowardice and immaturity. He does so many harmful and downright stupid things trying to run from his feelings. He never quite learns to put on his big boy pants and deal with his issues, and his being decades older than the rest of the cast makes it really glaring.

Willow:

I love it when Willow cuts down to the core of a situation and exposes everybody's bullshit. Her rant to Giles and Angel in Reptile Boy, reading Faith for filth in Choices, and shutting Parker down in Beer Bad are some of my favorite moments with her.

My least favorite thing about her is that she's actually incredibly self-centered and entitled a lot of the time. She expects the world to stop for her when she's in pain and when she thinks she's right, she's not interested in what anyone else has to say or silly things like basic human rights and autonomy.

Xander:

His bravery. Despite having no powers and no particular skill set, he ends up accomplishing some pretty impressive things through sheer balls and determination, and it's hard not to respect that. Trust me, I've tried.

My least favorite thing about him is almost everything else about him, but I guess that's kind of cheating. If I had to sum it up into one trait, I think I'd say it's his blatant hypocrisy that bothers me the absolute most. He doesn't even try to live up to the standards he sets for other people.

From here on out, my take on who is and who isn't a main character is going to be pretty arbitrary. For instance, I'm not including Tara, even though I adore her, because I couldn't think of anything bad to say about her and that probably means she wasn't fleshed out enough to be a true main character. If I skip a character you wanted my opinion on, I'm always open to more Buffy asks!

Dawn:

Her loyalty. My girl does not mess around when you mess with the people she cares about, and she doesn't play that 'don't take sides' crap. If you hurt someone she loves, you're going to hear about it. I know, I know, Empty Places, but she was clearly being manipulated there and if you look at her behavior overall, she's absolutely a ride or die and I love it.

Her expectations, especially of Buffy, are extremely unreasonable sometimes and it causes a lot of misery all around. I don't count it against her too much because it's a pretty normal teenager thing, but if there was one thing I could change about her, it would probably be that.

Angel:

His insight. He's very good at channeling his own emotional turmoil and self-loathing into understanding others-- usually Buffy, but not always.

His martyr complex and constant self-sabotage are super annoying. Though I love him, I do totally understand people who can't deal with his Man Pain.

Spike:

Devotion. I have all sorts of problems with him but he does have a capacity for sacrificial love that transcends all else-- including soullessness and demonic influence.

And my least favorite thing about him is really just the flip side of that same trait. He's simultaneously creepily obsessive and eye-rollingly sentimental and dramatic.

Thanks for the ask!

[burdened-boy]

2086 :: death rings thru my cell phone

Limbo, on a whim, journeys out to the wasteland to kill a random guy in cold blood. For money, of course.

Death Rings Thru My Cell Phone

I can imagine the orange sunlight painting the grass and dirt around me as fire. Gasoline pumped into the eternally hungry Toronado, the price of this fillup soaring into the three figures in under a minute. Even out in the wastelands, fuel of the most impotent quality was still so fucking expensive. Me and the car were alone at the sketchy old Gulf station, an empty concrete island floating in the aforementioned burning landscape around me. The flames around me raged on, giving way to a nighttime that was as dark as nuclear winter.

Silently, I watched the little wheels of the gas pump spin faster and faster, like a slot machine. On further thought, gassing up my car here was a lot like gambling; who knew if my supercharged block of 1970s iron would even run on this soup of various ethanol, additives and detergents?

Feeling a buzzing sensation on my thigh, I slid my phone out of my pocket. My cracked glass screen displayed a grim message: there was an open contract in my area. A future victim, running on borrowed time from the moment I felt my phone vibrate. I ruminated on the message for a moment, debating if I wanted to even bother with this clown or let someone else have it. Harsh white LED lights cast a shadow from my hand and wrist and onto the concrete slab on which I stood. Noticing the natural sun setting, I decided not to rest on my laurels just yet. The moment I stop is the moment I lose touch. 

With a click, the car was full. Jackpot. I nonchalantly slammed the nozzle back onto the pump, and muscle memory naturally lifted my finger to press the “no receipt” button. However, for a brief moment, instead of asking me if I even wanted a receipt, the phrase, “YOU WILL REAP WHAT YOU SOW” suddenly appeared, flickering and jarring like an old VHS subtitle. Heart jumping, I took a second look at the message, only to find that it was instantly gone. The screen on the gas pump went black all together after that, leaving me to look at my own reflection, completely dumbfounded. There was nobody around, not even an attendant to mention this to at this credit-card-only station.

The open can of Red Bull in my cup holder still fizzed as I eased myself into the driver’s seat. With a turn of the key and quick pump of the gas pedal, the supercharger before me whirred to life as I started the car, confused, and wondering if what I had just seen was even real. My head unit switched on and started playing my music, but as I eased out onto the desolate highway and floored it, I turned the volume all of the way down. I wasn’t planning on making some money tonight, but then again, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.

Hits in out in the wasteland are rare, which, come to think of it, make bugging out here a pretty solid idea if someone ever wants you dead. Just don’t expect much company. Or running water. My headlights sliced through the gloom as I sailed further and further away from the gray walls of Los Angeles, and out into the irradiated wasteland. 

A few minutes later, and the last verse of Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now slowly faded away. In my peripheral vision, a small flash of light gets caught by my rear view mirror. It was an ultralight aircraft, a flimsy, triangular job existing somewhere between the form of an airplane and a powered paraglider. The mystery aviator was positioned at what was roughly my eight o’clock, and traveling in the same direction as me. Deep in my electronic brain-bucket, my eyebrows frowned, and my stomach dropped. I glanced at my surroundings, pondering just how desolate they were. A small, low-flying aircraft, out at this hour, over the dangerous wastelands? My first instinct was the raiders. They were reconnoitering me, and coordinating a roadblock not too far ahead. In this scenario, I would have tried to shoot the plane down, and use the hopefully injured pilot as a bargaining chip. This, in reality, was delusional, though. For one, none of my guns could reach that far. It was also entirely possible that this was some insane, incompetent hobbyist, and I would be wasting ammunition and courage on someone that was completely oblivious to what was happening. Even if it was a civilian, they shouldn’t have been out here.

Worse still, I couldn’t even turn off my headlamps. It was getting dark, and barreling into a raider blockade at highway speeds was obviously not how I planned to die tonight. I sighed, loaded my shotgun, and turned this into a race. According to my GPS, I was only on this empty highway for about fifteen more minutes. If I could shave some time off my ETA, maybe I would reach my target’s house before the hypothetical blockade would be completed. Then again, that was assuming they weren’t already ready for me, and more than fifteen minutes out. There really wasn’t all that much I could do, other than to be ready for a sudden stop and an armed confrontation. I wondered if these scrawny, meth-crazed jackals knew who they were dealing with.

Nevertheless, I pushed on, the yellow glow of my headlamps burning like eyes in the night. Gradually, the little airplane began to slip away, but it remained in my peripheral vision like a floater in my eye. Dread pinched my stomach, but it slowly began to fade into a dull numbness. The white lines of the highway blurred into a translucent beam, dashing past my mirror while the engine droned in my ears. I yawned; paranoia is exhausting. 

Suddenly, I saw something. Instantly, my foot went to the brake, and both hands gripped the wheel. On the left side of the road, a large, rectangular object, with the outline of a pickup truck parked beside it. I braced myself, ready to broadside a possible assailant and let them have it with my gun. Closer and closer it crept, my supercharger whooshing as I let off the gas. Noticing motion on my phone’s screen, I glanced down, and immediately felt like an idiot. I had arrived at my destination. There were no raiders, no blockade. All I had to worry about was murdering someone. 

I let the shiny black door of my Olds clap shut, kicking up a puff of grit into the air. By now, the sun was just barely peeking out from behind the horizon, and darkness had taken over for the most part. The air was cool, and my surroundings peaceful. Silently, I thanked my lucky stars that this hit didn’t appear to involve a dog. In my worries about the raiders, I had forgotten to consider that I might have to contend with a German Shepherd as soon as I pulled up. If you live in a dangerous area, your most vital asset is a dog. Tiny begged me to set up this space-age security system in our house that probably wiretaps our conversations and steals her fingerprints, but I think the best way to protect your shit is to buy a mean looking dog from the pound.

After checking for tripwires, a few good whacks turned the trailer’s paper-thin door into tinfoil, and I’m inside. The flashlight on my shotgun is already on, flooding the pitch black single-wide with holy white light. It was two paces to the drab trailer’s only bedroom, and a single steal-toed kick to the door sent it open. My target, asleep and surrounded by empty bottles, barely stirred as I leveled the shotgun at his face. I squeezed the trigger, my gun letting out two consecutive booms. The murder shakes glass, soils sheets, and pounds my eardrums, but as soon as the violence is here, it’s over. My stomach flooded with a familiar soup of satisfaction and easily-dismissed disgust with my actions. Another faceless stranger wasted by another faceless stranger, all because I opened a text on Telegram. I didn’t even check to see if there was anyone else in the trailer; this settlement’s design was far too rudimentary to even bother. The master bedroom didn’t even have a closet - my target’s clothes were scattered on the floor amongst aforementioned booze and codeine cough syrup bottles. 

In the kitchen, I could already hear my colleagues calling me a coward for killing a man in his sleep. Let it be known now that I am beyond caring. After all, the other guy having a gun or a knife doesn’t get me any more money. Their jeering voices prattled on in my head as I cranked all of the knobs on the stove wide open, and stepped outside. For good measure, I popped one of the lines off the trailer’s air conditioner, and let the flammable refrigerant out. My movements were robotic and methodical as I assembled a molotov cocktail out of some junk I found strewn across the property, and as glass shattered and the house burned, I checked my phone. The pictures of the crime scene I had sent had been received, and the precious bounty for tonight’s work was instantly deposited into my bank account. The transaction was labeled “second hand Macbook Pro.”

Slowly turning around, my heart jumped as I spotted the ultralight from earlier. However, instead of stalking me from above, its skeletal outline was comically parked in front of my car. Swallowing, and steeling myself for further confrontation, I drew my 9mm and pointed it at the masked occupant unbuckling themselves from the seat. The pilot must have seen me, because their body language hardly changed upon having a gun brandished at them. 

“It looks like the early bird gets the worm, Mr. Limbo,” a female voice cooed. She reached up to take her helmet off, but by the first syllable of her quip, I already knew what this was. I recognized this assassin’s tone, but I didn’t know her personally. 

“Yeah, but the second mouse gets the cheese,” I muttered, walking towards my car. 

“Your pictures were incredible,” the aviatrix called out after me, “I just saw them now. You’re so…efficient.”

Oh, geez, thank you, I wanted to pipe up sarcastically, but I could already feel the adrenaline fading. Instead, I remember muttering something under my breath and slipping away in my car. 

[luvxiem]

deezneyland date with...

word count ! ~1k pairing ! luca x gn!reader genre ! fluff

.｡.:*☆ LUCA KANESHIRO !

when luca said he's never been to an amusement park before, you were excited to take him on his first trip. the backpack the two of you brought was filled to the brim with water bottles, heat-safe foods to snack on in lines, and sunscreen. it was heavy as shit, but luckily you had your big, buff himbo boyfriend to carry it for you. there was always the option of asking one of his henchmen to hold onto it for you guys, but he insisted on doing it himself. you had a feeling he wanted to show off.

once you guys got through the metal detectors and bag check, you took luca's hand and made a beeline for space mountain's fast passes. the line was already getting long, so the two of you left for matterhorn bobsleds in the meantime. you were excited to have luca experience his first coaster and was sure that he would be getting off the ride with a newfound love for thrills.

oh, how wrong you were.

luca got off the sled with shaky legs and wide eyes, grabbing onto your forearm for stability. you had to focus on keeping a straight face when he wobbled over to grab your backpack, swinging it over his shoulder with ease.

"that was SO unpog!" he cried, turning to you with a pout. he frowned when he saw you struggling to stifle your laughter, but eventually he couldn't hold it in either. he laughed with you, although that didn't stop his whining.

"babe! stop laughing, you ass!" but you kept giggling as you led the two of you off the ride and toward the carousel. luca let go of your arm in lieu of intertwining your fingers. he shot a quick glare over his shoulder when a random dude bumped into you quite roughly, but the smile was back on his face when he turned back to you as you spoke.

"how was i supposed to know it would go that badly? i thought you said, 'this is gonna be so fun! pog!' huh? what happened to that?" he flicked your forehead in retaliation, laughing when you rubbed the spot with a pout.

"i meant fun for you, duh. use your brain, dummy- oh! babe look!" luca steered the both of you toward a row of game booths—the definitely, very much so, 100% rigged game booths. the blonde looked down at you and grinned.

"do you wanna play?" at his excitement, you couldn't help but smile fondly in response.

"play what, babe? there are a lot of op-"

"play with deez nuts," he wheezed. you stared at him in shock for a moment before you burst out laughing, attracting the eyes of a few passerby.

"no but seriously, i really wanna get one of those huge plushies," he explained. "there should be a throwing one here somewhere—the one where you knock down the bottles!" luca scanned the booths eagerly, quickly tugging you in a random direction.

he did manage to win a jumbo plush. luca won three, in fact, and the worker had to ban the two of you from the game so that your boyfriend didn't take all the prizes for today.

the rest of the day went similarly to that, with luca dragging you to various spots that piqued his interest, and the space mountain fast past you got went unused. he laughed loudly at the buzz lightyear astroblasters ride, yelling "pog!" at every successful shot. his hand gripped yours tightly in the haunted house. snacks were eaten and water was drunk in the line for autopia.

after the sun set and the two of you were pleasantly full of park food, you settled down in a relatively empty spot to watch the fireworks. it got quite chilly once the sun went down—luca had you throw your legs over his lap so that he could wrap his jacket around both of your shoulders, your head tucked under his chin and resting against his chest. the three stuffed animals sat neatly in a row at luca's feet along with your backpack.

the mafia boss rubbed your arms gently as the two of you watched the fireworks light up the sky. luca's face was cast in soft reds and blues and greens with each blast, his eyes almost sparkling in the night. his hair moved gently with the subtle breeze and he let out small gasps and wows with every bright spark. the two of you sat in comfortable silence until the fireworks show ended and the crowd slowly slipped out of the park.

holding one of the three plushies to your chest, the two of you walked side-by-side back to the parking lot where one of luca's men stood waiting next to a sleek back car. sliding into the backseat, you and luca cuddled up in the plush leather seats as the chauffeur drove back to the base.

"did you have fun today?" luca asked gently, leaning over to peck your forehead with a sweet kiss.

"did you have fun today?" you countered, since this trip was more-so meant for the blonde than yourself. he grinned sleepily, nodding in response.

"yeah, i did," he mumbled, the exhaustion from today seeping in. you scooted over to the edge of the seat so that luca could lie down and rest his head on your thighs.

"that's good," you said softly, running your fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp. he sighed contentedly at your ministrations. "you can sleep, babe. i'll wake you up when we're back."

but he was already knocked out cold. you laughed quietly at your cute boyfriend, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

what a dork.

but he was your dork <3

WRITTEN ! 071821

[astaroth1357]

Cuddle Time w/ the OM Cast

Baby Simeon woke me up from my slumber. That card is fucking adorable, I want it.

Lucifer 

The fact Lucifer doesn't immediately throw them off whenever they try to snuggle should be proof enough of his love.

Cuddling is mostly done in the privacy of his bedroom. Occasionally he'll allow it in his office, but only if he's not busy.

He prefers to do it on one of the many chairs or cushions he has by the fire. Between the warmth of their body and the heat of the fireplace, he'll relax into it in seconds…

His favorite position is face-to-face with them on his lap - it's a way for him to "hand over" control while still feeling perfectly in charge. Sure, they can trace his jaw or fluff his hair as much as they like, but it's his arms holding them in place.

Gets beyond grouchy if they get interrupted... First, it's embarrassing, but second, who even has the right? If he gets pulled away for anything less than a house fire, someone (usually Mammon) is getting tied up to the chandelier...

Mammon 

Jumps at cuddle time, but always tries to play it off afterwards like an indecisive puppy.

Like Lucifer, he prefers his bedroom or theirs, but he'll do it in the Common Room too if he really needs a "pick-me-up." It's just that they usually get interrupted in there, so…

Likes to cuddle in bed or on couches, any place that's long enough to let him stretch out a bit. He wants to monopolize as much MC as he can.

Favorite position is laying on them so that his head is on their stomach or chest, kind of like a blanket. Like I said, the MC Surface Area to Mammon ratio is very important to him. More than half of MC must be cuddled for supreme satisfaction.

Whines like crazy if they get interrupted (and they usually do). Nearly every brother has an automatic gut reaction to toss him across the room if they see it happening, but that never stops him trying.

Leviathan 

Levi had to warm to cuddling but after that he was all-in for life.

Really only does it in his room (duh). He gets so nervous about trying it anywhere else that you'd think it was scandalous or something...

Actually prefers to cuddle on the floor - on beanbags or pillows of course. It's not terribly comfortable to cuddle and play games together in his bedtub and he needs the multitasking.

Favorite position (scratch that, the only position) is with their back to him and his arms around them in some way, probably also gripping a controller (or vice versa). They can do it laying down or sitting up, but that's what he can muster. His brain stops functioning if they ever try to face each other...

Not above vague thoughts of homicide if they get interrupted. He already doesn't like letting go, so add on the depletion of his all important "MC Meter" and he's going to be very grumpy indeed…

Satan 

Cuddles a bit like a semi-social cat. Less big on full-on snuggling, but he still requires physical contact.

Much more relaxed about the PDA than the others, but his affection style is more casual looking as well. He'll cuddle right about anywhere, but mostly whenever he's reading.

Couches or loveseats are easiest. Chairs are less so, but manageable as long as they can sit close to each other. 

Favorite position is to have them sit next to him with their legs over his lap. He only needs one hand to read so the other usually roams around mindlessly while he's engrossed in a book. He may rub their thighs, hold their hand, or play with their hair.

Hates being interrupted with a burning passion. The death glare he'll send to anyone stupid enough to try could curdle milk… Give Satan his MC time if you know what's good for you.

Asmodeus

Needs cuddle time like he needs air, but would you expect any less from the embodiment of Lust?

Down to cuddle anytime, anywhere - zero shame and no hint of hesitation. Sometimes he'll come over and latch into them in the middle of someone else's conversation...

Fond of using beds but he's also mastered cuddling in the tub, his bathroom is certainly built for it. Nothing beats a nice hot bath with his nice warm MC! 😘

Favorite position is really any of them. He's hardly going to be picky - though if given the choice, he'll pull them to the nearest bed and wrap himself around them so tight that they may get stuck together.

Whines louder than Mammon if they ever get interrupted and pelt the intruder with pillows or shoes to make them go away (it rarely works though…). 

Beelzebub 

Always happy to cuddle with MC!... as long as they don't mind his stomach growling from time to time.

Prefers to cuddle after he's downed some big feast. When the food coma is setting in, it's really nice to hold MC for a while… They make him feel full for at least five extra minutes!

He tries to incorporate MC into his training sometimes so his favorite position is to have them latched onto him like a kola while he goes about the House. If their arms or legs get tired, he'll carry them over to a couch and just continue from there.

If he's got to be still, then he prefers to cuddle in a bed, ideally one where Belphie is. Nothing warms his heart more than having the both of them clung into him in some way, it's very therapeutic. 😊

Not AS bothered when they get interrupted… If anything he's just disappointed. He was probably having fun, but they'll come back, right...?

Belphegor 

Look, all time is "Cuddle Time" and any other activity is just a distraction. If Belphie could hot glue the MC to his body, he would. 

Being cuddled to sleep is a MUST. He thrives on their proximity and the sound of their heartbeat is the world's best lullaby.

Unfortunately, he doesn't even need to be particularly comfortable to get cuddling in… He has been known to just collapse onto their lap if he's tired enough, all else be damned.

His favorite position is any way that lets them be his pillow. Any particular soft parts of the body like the stomach are fair game. He'll use their thighs like a neck pillow if he wants to (and hope that they don't try choking him out of revenge...).

There's really no interrupting Belphie. If someone needs MC, he'll latch onto their legs so they either stay put or bring him too. The others have to use magic or spatulas just to pry him off...

Diavolo

Big on cuddle time. HUGE on cuddle time! This man has hardly ever been touched, so this is a dream come true!!

Look, he's the king so he'll cuddle them wherever he damn well pleases! (That's a lie, Barbatos won't let him do it during work hours… Otherwise it's fine.)

He's very enthusiastic but uh… kind of inexperienced so a lot of things (like convenient location) don't occur to him right away. Like sure, they could go cuddle in a big ass bed, but he really wants to hold them RIGHT NOW so they're just going to have to do this in an empty ballroom somehow...

His favorite position is probably best described as the "Teddy Bear," where they just sit on his lap and he hugs them from behind. He'll even rest his chin on their head if he can. It looks vaguely like he's holding them hostage but they actually seem happy about it.

Unless your name is Barbatos or Lucifer, you do not interrupt them. As far as he knows, there's still a snake in the dungeons and you don't want to be the person he sends to check…

Barbatos

A spot of quiet intimacy is quite rare for him… but never unwelcome.

Assuming Barbs even finds the time in his schedule to sit still for a while, he will almost always opt to do so when utterly alone (sometimes even in deserted timelines). It's very embarrassing to be caught procrastinating at work...

Ever the pleaser, he'll claim that he has no real preferences but if he were being honest it's when they're curling up together on a cushion or loveseat. It's comfortable, but still allows for some proper conversion.

Unlike others, no matter what position they take he'll always want to be face-to-face. When he gets to be with them so rarely, why would he ever want to see their back turned…?

NO ONE interrupts them. No one. Short of Diavolo needing him desperately, if someone sees the two of them together they will turn around. Even an irritated Barbatos is scary, an angry one is terrifying…

Simeon

Oh man… This is the height of intimacy for an angel. Cuddling with Simeon is just as sweet and relaxing as it sounds - it's an almost photogenic level of serenity, fit for the brushes of Renaissance painters trying to define what divine love is...

Naturally, because it's such an intimate act Simeon will only do so in absolute privacy. He doesn't even want Luke to see, it's just that personal...

Part of why he's so guarded is because it's one of the rare times he'll let his wings be free. They're very delicate, so he has to sit on stools, logs, or other backless seats to even let them out but it's worth it.

His favorite position is to have the MC sit across his lap while he holds them as close as possible. He'll beat his wings for a nice breeze on hot days or fold them in to shelter the MC from cold ones. No matter what, their movement is so glimmering and graceful that they're practically mesmerizing…

To him getting interrupted is legitimately so mortifying you'd think he got caught streaking. Even the brothers - sans Satan - will avert their eyes if they find them like that… while still telling him to back off but at least they're considerate about it.

Solomon

Solomon's softest moments come when he's cuddling MC… but he's still a little mischievous no matter what.

They pretty much have to do it in secret because if any of the brothers see them, they'll throw a fit… So snuggling in cramped storage closets or "so-high-up-in-the-air-no-one-can-stop-us" it is!

But when he wants to poke buttons, Solomon will magic them onto his lap dead-ass in the middle of RAD, like, two minutes before a class starts just to watch the world burn…

If he had a favorite position, it's sitting wrapped up together in his cape. It feels intimate, warm, and the starry-sky pattern makes him feel like there's nothing in the universe but them…

Interruptions are frequent - thank the PDA police - but only in the Devildom. In the human world, though? They're all his and he soaks up every minute of it... Sorry fellas. 😏