#like can you just image how unbothered he is by it all...

[capinejghafa]

something super funny to me is how everyone is like i wish the hargreeves siblings were happy... and arguably the only one who had the happy ending was diego.

[frmisnow]

✧˖ ?!— TWO WHORES IN A ROOM, THEY MIGHT KISS. - (SUGGSTV.)

— ‧₊˚ — 🎸: "punch me in the gut, might be the only chance you'd ever have at wrecking my insides ??"

summary. having a lil punching sesh with the arrogant man-whore you oh so despised was not an easy game but def. a fun one at that !

notes. i don't know boxing like thattt so if this sounds a lil stupid i'm sry 😭😭 anyways boxer jk???? SJSPAAKMP

warnings/includes. (MDNI) non idol! jungkook x f! reader, hate fuck if you squint, enemies to lovers??? kinda, DEGRADING from both sides, slut, whore + man-whore mentioned, grinding

you don't know how long you've been circling around eachother, throwing insults left and right - yet nobody had landed the first punch yet. "you know for a man who keeps on yapping about being the best boxer in this shitplace, you're pretty damn scared of me" your eyes never leaving his, box gloves so tight around your hands, your tone sweet in that mocking tone, "you know you've got a pretty big mouth for somebody who claims they're not a slut" he responded no chalently as you didn't even shiver or visably reacted to the insult.

"you sound like you'd die to feel my precious mouth on you" you pouted sarcastically, the circle continuing once again.

"is that a threat or an invitation?" another one-liner fired back, your eyes narrowing - he may look serious but you know he's enjoying every second of this.

and right then and there- in the second he was waiting for you to reply, unfocused for just a split second you throw the first punch.

you immediately bring your fist back, landing a decent hook across his jaw. his head is forced back and eyes widened as he's obviously surprised, though he doesn't react much to the hit. he seems to quickly regain his composure and his eyes narrow sharply, a grin sneaking it's way onto his face: "well what do you know, the pussycat can fight"

it frustrated you that he wasn't fighting back - like you weren't deserving of a punch or two in the first place, like all you were deserving of were little mind games to rile you up but if he could play the game, you could too.

"no fucking shit, i've won more this year then you could dream of, you're just a man whore who thinks having abs and chicks on your dick are personality traits"

his eyes widen just a tiny bit and for a split second you feel you can see actual anger in him, before it's quickly replaced with a sly smirk as he's trying to play cool. he steps forward, getting so close and in your personal space to look taller on purpose, to tower you- to make you look weak, smaller, inferior to him - looking down at you, leaning in even closer and staring right into your eyes.

"you're a lot more fun when you're pissed off you know that?" he looks down a bit more and raises his eyebrows suggestively, "i just have to find the right buttons to press on you"

you're unaffected on the outside, he hasn't even reached any territory that could actually hurt your feelings - "you awfully sound like your talking about my tits, even in your mind there's an image of me permanently printed in, you can't stop thinking of me- you might need to get that chronical sexual obssesion checked at a doctor, that unhealthly ego might as well too"

jungkooks jaw tightens as you can see he's biting his tongue, trying to not react to your insult. looking down again, not saying anything for few seconds as he's processing the response. you can see him trying to not smirk in the corner of his mouth as he's trying to find an insult to answer back-

you took just the time: "huh? did that hurt? does the little pussyeater-for-a-living feel offended? do i need to bring you back to your mommy?" in a whiny tone like you're mimicking him yet still so insanely mocking.

kook tried his very best to sound calm and unbothered but his neck veins were already visable, a little frown on his face as well, ""i think i'm starting to actually get irritated"

"what? like it's hard?" you held eye contact with him without a problem, tension oh so heavy then adding, "c'mon punch me in the gut, might be the only chance you'd ever have at wrecking my insides"

he gets even closer, so close that his forehead is touching yours, still making that suggestive smirk as you see his jaw is clenched so tight. "i'd love to beat that pretty face of yours," he utters at last.

"oh but then there'd be no face for the men to kiss, is that what you want- oh, is our little kook jealous?"

his voice gets raspy and low, "jealous?" eyes remaining on yours ´, not breaking away even just once till he whispers (though there weren't even any people in the training room you both were in) like he was talking personally to you, he was trying to get under your skin: "you think a pathetic little whore like you would make me jealous?"

you're not hurt- not at all, i mean- if you were a slut, he was just the same. jungkook just had to little of reflecting skills or general understanding to coprehend just that- you punched him onto his stomach, him now stumbling just a bit now on more of a distance from you.

you can see he's struggling to not fall down from the impact of the blow. he clutches his abdomen, looking away from you to not let you see just how effective it wasbafter his lungs get the chance to refill with oxygen, he utters words with more passion than before, trying to mask the pain, "pathetic little whore, i thought you were better than this. but i guess you should stick to the dick, you can't fight like a man"

you roll your eyes at his tiny tries of regaining control: "your jaw that i punched just a few minutes ago says something else, c'mon knock me down- i bet you'd love to just be on top of me yet you're to afraid to even just fight and that's what i call pathetic"

that's where you reached his ego's final straw, lunging forward in rage knocking you down in a turn of events and pinning you to the ground, trying his absolute best to hold you down.

he's basically sitting on your body middle, straddling you in a way, you grinned like you weren't even afraid of him on top or you on the ground obviously you could feel his cock pressing hard against you "oh you got such a boner it's funny"

you saw him play with his left lip ring just how he always did when he was particulary focused, responding: "oh don't act so high and mighty, i bet you ruined your damn panties by now"

now you were the one silent, you truly didn't knew what to respond as.. he was right, fuck- maybe this turned you on more than you thought.

seeming a bit amused by that, his smirk becoming a cocky grin as he starts speaking again, in even more suggestive tone, "what's wrong, little slut? you're not even denying it"

he grinded onto you just a little, just so little against your core that it brought just the tiniest bit of pleasure but left you yearning for more, faster, harder leaving you to put your hands onto his hips, hands looking relatively small on his body.

he looks at you from his position, a mischievous smile on his lips as he moves his hips some more in a slow, grinding motion, while blabbering on and on, "not even i thought it was gonna be so easy to top you"

he tried his best to hide a moan by laughing that only half-working, hips continuing to grind onto you, bringing his lips to your neck, mumbling against the soft skin:

"i won"

[jeoncopi]

• — freedom overseas — •

GET INTO IT: feeling carefree each time he traveled shouldn’t be different for jungkook. as much as he wishes to feel like this back home, he can’t help but restrict himself at all times. - one thing about you working abroad and his schedules matching your timezones (better when it hits same destination), he could only wish and live for the best. ‘cause that’s exactly what he’ll get.

pairing: jungkook x reader.

word count: 3.4k

be aware of: graphic smut and unprotected sex (be always safe). reader can’t resist jk, car sex, jungkook smokes here so uhm.. y-yeah..

author’s note: since this is supposed to be a drabble (lol). hopefully my next work will end up being with more than 2k (lol) kisses and let me know what you think 😇. istg this story changed 2837 times hajaja

when you step outside the restaurant walking towards jungkook who’s smoking, footsteps froze at the sudden image.

he smokes? since.. when?

bewildered, you blink twice as your eyes carefully watch him take another hit of the small nicotine. this is definitely a whole new side of him you didn’t know about.. completely new, but it got you confused. you’re not crazy to remember him talking about his hate for cigarettes because of how much his dad used to do it back when he was little.. right? like that wasn’t a dream. you’re pretty sure he has expressed his disgust to you. almost agreeing with you.

sigh..

the more you look at him as you approach him feels like you can’t even get mad at him.

..why? well.. pinocchio wouldn’t be proud of you if you say he didn’t looked hot doing it.

ugh! what are these thoughts!

you definitely despise the smell of cigarettes! you even hate the sight of it, but why does he gives you quite the view? - you blame it on the way he carries himself with so much confidence yet— is so unbothered when he opens his mouth talking with your friends. his outfit too and how an all black combo always look so good on him.. but then, the simplest thing as him holding that tiny folded paper around his pointy and middle finger touching in between his soft and natural pink lips with a very boyish smile almost made you feel like having a lucid dream. why? because.. well, you were definely wet now.

what..? no!

yes, you are. you could feel it now. if only he could feel it through your panties..

mm.. no!!

mm.. yes!! you hated daydreaming fantasies with him like this but your body and mind could be very uncontrollable sometimes. feeling a single drop down your panties.. what can you do now? aren’t you supposed to hate this? you do! but why is your body reacting this way? it’s not wrong but it isn’t entirely right either considering you don’t like cigarettes.

deciding to ignore all the carnal thoughts running through your mind, you keep walking straight to him. as sticky and annoying as it feels.

“so.. is this your way of getting fresh air?” you start as soon as your friends started parting ways. tone rather calm compared to the troubled mindset you had a few seconds ago.

startling him, softly so. “ah.. ha. this.” he responds. eyes blinking on beat as soon as he grins. you watch carefully as his hand shakes the little tobacco rolled paper.

“yeah.. this.” shyly pointing at it, “how long has this being going on?” voice still calm, you didn’t put too much effort in questioning him. it’s his body at the end of the day and you know just how stubborn your boyfriend can get.

“mm..” smoke exhaling from his mouth and he’s mindfully careful when he does it tilting his head up for the smoke to follow that direction and not be even near close your entire face. “not long ago, actually. taehyung once brought this one vaper and i was curious by its smell each time he used it, so I bought one. strawberry ice cream, to be clear,” he laughed, you do too. “it was weird but I liked it.”

“hm..” slowly crossing your arms around your body you lean against his car in thought. not breaking eye contact even a second, jungkook could feel it. “what made you change your mind? m’not gonna lie. I’m surprised. I remember you once saying you hated it.”

and it’s like your gaze is looking for answers and jungkook can clearly see that. knows you too much. thinks it’s so cute too. the way your curiosity rises each time he takes another hit, he can trust your mind being full of unanswered questions for him. he knows what you mean as well as knowing how much you don’t like it either. but the fact that you aren’t mentioning none of it to him it just makes him look at you with nothing more but warm eyes. thinking he loves you too much.

“so do you.” he states by wanting to make that clear. so you know that he knows. so you know that he won’t and isn’t getting crazy about it, that he’s aware. but you could only understand that if he really explained why.

so that’s what he does.

“remember that day when I texted you about living one life?” you nod. “well, I decided to just give it a try. I want to try everything that I can when it comes to things that I want. be it temporally or not. during my whole life.. as long as I live, there’s probably not gonna be a second chance right?”

“right.”

“at least not in this body,” and he’s so soft spoken that when he shakes once more what’s left of the cigarette’s butt before taking his last hit, the sound of a familiar plastic sound resonates through your ears and that’s when you see him pull two tiny tabs of what seems to be gum off his pocket. and you can’t believe he just did that. suddenly the image you were seeing right now, not matching with his current actions. so you can’t help but give a small smile as soon as he handles one tab for you to take with his pretty big eyes.

he continues, “even though it damages my body a little, there’s a balance thing called in life. i’m not getting addicted and I don’t do it excessively-“

“I was worrying about that, actually..” you voice out, interrupting him. “you tend to get obsessive over things.”

it makes him smile, softly. “I know. but I won’t, I promise. you know my thing is drinking alcohol anyways.. even though that isn’t entirely good either..” making you laugh in unison as you lightly punch him.

“at least you’re aware.”

“hey!” he hugs you side ways. “candy isn’t so much good for your health either..” walking towards the side of his car so you can go.

“but i’m not obsessed.” you huff about it.

“could be. you do get a bit obsessive.” bopping your nose.

“stop!”

making him laugh, “okay.. hop on.”

“I hate you.”

“show me how much.” and.. he closes the door with the biggest playful smile.

oh.. no, not again.

and there you are, left with a big hysterical smile plastered on your lips as you try to breath in, breath out the sudden rush of your body. — come on! it’s not as if you weren’t fucking wet a few minutes ago as soon as you saw him do the things you hated the most.. right? ..you totally got this..

but who.. who were you lying to? it’s not like you could control your body when you haven’t seen him in weeks anyways..

yeah.. you were a mess.

still, you tried to play it cool. “are we heading back towards the hotel, right?” genuily asking.

he responds as soon as he closes his door. “yeah, why?” staring at you now. “wanna go somewhere else?” one palm touching your bare thigh when he asks.. you know there’s nothing wrong with it, and it should be normal at this point of your relationship too, but your hormones were getting the best of you so you just play it off, gently pulling his hand away as much as you didn’t wanted to. deep inside.

“not actually, was just asking.” it’s the truth, but jungkook only squinted his eyes before resting an arm on top of the handbrake, his face’s closer to yours. not enough for you to loose your sanity but close enough into getting a whiff of his rich cloudy scent. although, you can’t deny how fine he looked staring at you like that, his eyes always seemed to shine no matter the situation. only that this time around, everything you could sense from it was nothing more than desire flaming throughout his dark orbits.

“you know we can go wherever you want, right?” staying like that for a couple of seconds, all you can answer is a slight nervous “I know.” and jungkook can sense your sudden shyness. thinking is cute but this could only go one way or the other.. if you both play your cards right.

staring at you for a couple of seconds, jungkook’s piercing gaze switch between your lips along with your boobs and neck before getting ready to turn on the car.. making you exhale a little air after, as if you didn’t know you were holding your breath.

“originally, I wanted to get back so I could brush my teeth or something to be honest.” talking about smoking. “I’m not much of a fan of the aftertaste,” he laughs. “but if you want to go somewhere else,” a hand slides through your thigh.. again. only this time, he squeezes it two times. “I’m down for it too.”

one hand on the steering wheel, another one on your thigh.. it’s moments like these when you question if he knows how effortlessly irresistible he is.. sure, it might be something simple. he’s not doing much either. is just that his side profile and the way his hair lingers in his face and overall the way he’s shaped and how you can literally see the bump of his chest pop for how much he works out mark through his shirt that it makes you want to trace his pectorals with your fingers forever makes you want to eat him and that’s it but.. uh, isn’t that the definition of being so stupidly effortlessly hot?

when you softly press both your legs together, his hand seems to scalate close to your inner thigh..

oh jungkook.. perhaps, are you having the same thoughts as me?

still, you try your best to ignore it. “ah.. so that’s why you have gum with you, isn’t it?”

“caught.” rising both hands up as played guilty.

and as you stare at him.. you notice once again, he looked fine. your legs squeeze and you slightly arch your back when your gaze is back on the street still trying to ignore the finest hottie beside you. - jungkook, on the other hand, just smiles to himself and starts driving. you can’t help but give little sneak peeks at the way he gently but confidently grasps the wheel with one hand.. as soon as the other one approaches your thigh once again.. - he always did this but you were uncontrollable tonight. can’t help but immediately give him those eyes as soon as he reaches your beloved red light.

you swore going back to the hotel wasn’t the main priority. you wanted him now. - so slowly tilting your head to the side, your voice is airy when “babe..”

“mmh?”

and that’s when he sees you. you don’t say a word but he already knows what’s that thing you’re craving the most, and that thing it’s him. he doesn’t speak either. just staring at you under the red light, his hand traces a path towards your slowly opening legs. when you bite your lips into a smirk, his fingers are already pushing your panties to the side. confirming his most prominent thought. you’re wet as fuck.

“were you waiting for this?” eyes gazing up and down your body, his voice is cheeky when he asks. biting down both of his lip rings. “fuck. just how long were you this turned on?” playing with your clit “and why didn’t you told me..” as your body twitches. “it makes me crazy..” whispering more to himself.

—

when you’re gripping the head of his seat increasing the pressure between your arms so you could balance your jumps more deeper and precisely above him, he feels like he could cum in any moment. controlling his breathing, he tries to concentrate in order not to but the way your breast bounce and how you manage to leave quick steamy kisses over his neck makes it so hard. mostly when he has this desire to kiss all over your chest and suck on your titties. but his hands are also gripping so hard at the side of the seat, he barely touches your legs and he feels like a teenager are over again.

the fuck is this coming from him not wanting to last? he blames it on the long time you haven’t seen each other. 3 weeks exactly without your kisses and physical touch.. when he remember fucking almost (if not) everyday when you stayed at his house or he stayed at yours. - there’s always this deep desire whenever you’re close to each other, jungkook doesn’t think it will ever go away and to be honest he doesn’t even want it to ever disappear. always thinking about if it’s you, then everything will be okay.

but as you’re both very into it, something similar like a flash, lights up a little the dark street jungkook managed to set you up. - you both ignore it at first but after two more times, you stop bouncing hard on him switching to slow circular movements that still makes jungkook bite his lips for how good you feel.

“don’t stop.” he’s confident, palming your ass.

“I think there’s someone watching us.”

“I’ve notice too.”

but you both end up stopping your movements regardless.

quickly looking around, the flashes has seemed to be gone but as you keep searching for someone, jungkook just stares at you only to caught your attention back by squeezing your ass two times. making your eyes meet as he mischievously smirks.

“I couldn’t care less from last time, you know it.” sensually kissing your lips. he’s provoking you all over again.. “let them have a show. it’s what they want.”

and you know he’s referring to that one time you both fucked on a balcony being overseas too. - paparazzis had caught you fucking and while you were worried about him getting bashed for it (for the blurry clips that spreaded back then), he ended up being so calm about it to the point of fighting with his company saying he shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to fuck his girlfriend. - and while he understands the depth of why they asked him to be careful, he still thinks it’s just bullshit and that the people who love him for him, will just accept and be happy that he’s happy experiencing what every normal person does. so why everybody can be happy but him? he’s just the same human with needs and desires..

“but this isn’t-“

“stop worrying about me. I know you can’t help it, so let me just say there’s nothing wrong with us wanting to fuck.. I bet they’ve their own experience so why can’t we have ours?”

when you hold his face, you know what he means. knowing how hard it is for him to tell you to stop worrying about it since he once told you he couldn’t just tell that to you because it make him feel careless about your feelings, but you do really get him this time..

when it comes from his personality, a part of you loved that. love that he doesn’t care, love that he always chooses his happiness because at the end of the day he knows he might only have this one life. and even if he don’t, he still wants to enjoy it at his best and that’s why when he motions your hips to move by gripping the side of your waist, both of your bodies stick so close to each other that the image of him biting his lips as he contemplates your body makes you not want to regret this and so you don’t. realizing you’ll only have this from time to time.

“fuck this.” you moan to his ear when jungkook kisses are needy and steamy, confirming just how badly he wanted to try this.

talking about it it’s something but actually experience this feeling of sex in such a limited place (even when this car is very spacious) was really hot and adrenaline reaching. windows foggy and all, it almost feel like a movie. you believe that at this rate it’s even difficult to look at inside the car so if those strangers were really filming or whatever, they’re footage will be already ruined.

you smiled a little because of that. but it didn’t lasted long when you suddenly feel both of jungkook’s hands around your hips manhandling the way you were going to start bouncing on him.

“let them see if they’re so interested in me. I couldn’t care less.” he just doesn’t give a single fuck right now and that only makes you want him more.

see, whenever he’s on his ‘I don’t give a fuck’ moment.. you believe that’s when he’s the most sexiest and dangerous. - maybe you were too into him but each time he showed this side of himself.. you can’t help but love it and be turned on for it at the same time.

—

while he treats you like his personal fucktoy, he does gives you times were you could move at you own pace. but the sounds and the way he touched you were making it hard for you so there’s nothing left when you say, “I- I want to cum.” with such a tiny desperate voice, it makes jungkook grin.

“do it.” voice tender compare with his hot-messy image. “mm, i’ll cum too if you do.” moaning afterwards.

and the good thing is that he really can make himself cum once you do. all he has to do is concentrate in the way your walls contracts into him as if they were gonna swallow, he loves it each time. say it feels too rich, too tight for him to handle. - so when you’re both done, after driving for a while, you don’t see more cars trying to follow you.

“gonna sleep so well tonight, i’m so fucking happyyy” he singsongs as soon as he lays in bed, pulling you into his chest for a hug. “no more nightmares,” he kisses your forehead. “my princess is here.”

smiling to himself, you feel so shy and loved at the same time. gently kissing his lips. “I can say the same.” lovey-dovey eyes looking at him.

he caresses your hair. ”my pretty little princess.”

you smile. “I hope you don’t go hard on yourself.” saying after knowing what’s coming if there really was someone witnessing what happened earlier.

“don’t worry.” softly smiling, “I told you I didn’t cared, didn’t I?” caressing one of your cheeks.

“hm. but still.”

it makes him look at you with warms eyes. “keep being cute. i’m grateful that you worry this much about me..”

“don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you. it’s the truth.” pause. “I just love how caring you are because that means you really must love me..” tone serious.

“of course I do, silly!” you tease him, making him laugh.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“let’s sleep now. we’ve so much things to do..”

“..and so much little time..” you follow.

“I know.” he sighs. “but we can make it.”

“we always do.” you proudly smile, he does too.

“I love us so much.” he says once again.

you laugh. “okay, let’s sleep sentimental boy.”

“you love me this way.”

“you know I do.”

and after teasing each other for a while, you both end up falling into your sleep for a brand new, busy and maybe more exciting day..

[megistusdiary]

wrio mains and lovers... kicking feet and giggling. this is so self-indulgent

size kink with wriothesley

dom!wriothesely x smaller sub!fem (anatomy/pronouns) reader

warnings: smut (mdni), size kink (dom>sub), blowjob (+ throat bulge), dacryphilia, a little grinding, obligatory manhandling, power play, fingering (sub receiving), a tiny bit of asphyxiation (mostly just his hand on your throat), missionary, doggy style, messy tbh, praise ♡

"what's the matter, sweetheart?" wriothesley smirks, thighs spread wide as your hands rest atop them. he seems unbothered even with your nails digging into his skin.

his hand trails from the top of your head down your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. his other hand has occupied itself behind your head, keeping your mouth wide open around his cock.

"doing such a good job, baby." he coos, the hand on your cheek going to lightly touch the bulge he's made in your throat. "look so pretty trying to take all of me...is it too much?" he asks, knowing very well you can't talk with the way he holds you firmly on him.

your eyelids flutter shut from slight embarrassment at the way his eyes haven't left you. "hey, don't do that. look at me." he reminds you.

when you finally open your eyes you feel his thumbs gently swiping under your eyes to collect the tears. he allows you to pull away slightly, lips glossy with saliva and slick as you pant, catching your breath.

wriothesley groans at the image of you before him. "aren't you just gorgeous, huh? come here." he pats his lap, but he picks you up himself.

"hold on-" you try to protest, but he sets you down like you weigh nothing at all.

"cute, sweetheart, but i can handle it." he leans forward and kisses your cheek, then your lips, tasting himself on you as his tongue slides over your own.

he mumbles praises in between kisses, his larger hands splayed over your hips as he gently grinds you against his dick, your own wetness rubbing onto him. your hands come to wind themselves around his neck, leaning your head towards his shoulder as you whimper into his ear.

wriothesley sees fit to pick you up again, depositing you onto the bed with a soft thud as he leans over you. he distracts you with his lips on your own while his hand trails down your chest and stomach, gently rubbing your inner thigh, pushing your legs wider apart as he smiles into your mouth.

his fingers slide across your pussy, gathering your slick, teasingly dipping his fingertips in once they're wet enough, just to pull away again.

he slides them back up to swirl around your clit, coating it in wetness as you writhe beneath him while he captures your moans with his lips. he takes his time, sliding his fingers in, spreading your slick until it's across your pussy and onto your thighs.

wriothesley stretches you out, reminding you just how much of a stretch it'll be when you take him. "don't wanna hurt you, baby, just relax." he coos.

"i can take it, come on already!" you huff, but your frustration dissipates when his hand comes to lay over your throat, very lightly squeezing the sides. your moans turn into breathy little whines, gripping his wrist softly as he continues to stretch you open, easing three fingers in and out of you.

he insists it's all to prepare you, though you swear it feels more teasing, the way he crooks his fingers and swipes a thumb over your puffy clit.

when he finally deems you ready, he's gently pushing into you, giving you ample time to adjust. despite all that prep, you still find yourself gripping onto his locks, tugging gently at his hair, then switching to claw at his back.

his breath is warm as he leans down, softly panting against your shoulder, mumbling about how good you feel around him. your eyelids have long since fluttered shut as you grip onto him while he fucks you, legs wrapped around his back, heels digging in.

the noise that you make when he suddenly pulls out is downright pathetic, only to turn surprised when he maneuvers you instead on all fours. he's pushing your back down with one hand to force you into a pretty arch all for him. "so pretty for me." he smiles behind you, easing his tip through your folds teasingly before sliding back in.

he maintains the pressure on your back, sliding up to your head to keep your cheek pressed to the mattress. he watches the way you grip tightly onto the sheets in your fists, listening to every single noise he can draw out from you.

his own head tilts back, a groan escaping him when you tighten around him suddenly when he angles his hips just so, leaving you a whining and whimpering mess. he leans over you, bare chest pressing into your back, grunting lowly into your ear before kissing your neck and cheek over and over.

"so good for me, sweetheart, so good.."

[jeannineee]

Could you do headcanons on the Bat Boys + Lucien and Eris where reader puts them on a sex ban? Like how would long would they last until they start basically begging reader to let them touch reader.

I feel like Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t last that long and start trying to find ways to get reader give in lol.

Sex Ban with the ACOTAR Men…

a/n: this was actually really funny to write

nsfw under the cut (18+ please)

Rhysand:

He’s lasting maybe a week. MAYBE.

Rhys would also be cocky enough to think that you weren’t serious about banning sex

And then he’d be shocked when you follow through

He’d pretend to be unbothered

But he’d quickly turn to endless flirting to try and make you change your mind—mostly with his daemati abilities.

You’d be at an inner circle meeting or at lunch with friends and he’d send mental images of him fucking you, or you on your knees for him, etc.

“I bet you miss feeling me inside you,” he’d say into your mind.

You’re not leaving the bedroom for a couple of days when you finally lift the ban

Cassian:

Poor Illyrian baby isn’t making it more than a single day

He has a high sex drive so this would be a nightmare for him LMAO

He definitely pouts. Not obnoxiously, but he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind, placing wet kisses along the crook of your neck, murmuring how much he wants to feel you wrapped around his cock.

And when you say no, he continues telling you all the filthy things he wants to do you, smirking as he scents your arousal.

Tons of lingering touches—a kiss on the cheek, or a light squeeze on your ass as he walks by you.

When he’s finally had enough he’ll press his hardness into you from behind, practically whining.

And the way he nips at your ear makes it almost impossible to deny him.

Azriel:

He could wait for quite some time, honestly.

He has the self-control for it!!

However!! The longer you make him wait? The longer he edges you when you finally give in.

MAN he would have a field day when you finally lifted the ban.

He’d waste zero time in tying you up, be it with rope or his shadows.

For Azriel, he gets a lot of pleasure just from watching your pleasure. So he’d bring you to the edge, be it with his tongue, his cock, his fingers.

Only to pull away at the last moment. He wouldn’t stop until you’re begging him.

And boy does he love to hear you beg!!

Once he finally lets you come, he’s overstimulating you too.

He’s a lil mean but we love it.

Lucien:

Like Azriel, I feel like he could wait quite a while.

But he tries his absolute hardest to get you to break!!

Whispering what he wants to do to you when the two of you are at an important meeting or out in public, where you can do nothing about it.

Walking around the house shirtless—bonus points if he just finished showering or working out.

He definitely gets a bit more touchy than usual, constant hugs and kisses.

But when he’s finally had enough, this male is not above begging.

Good luck walking the morning after you finally give in ❤️

Eris:

He could go maybe two weeks before he becomes feral.

Definitely uses touch as a way to try and get you to give in.

Heated makeouts, his tongue exploring your mouth, as his thumbs caress your nipples; grinding against you, etc.

And then he’ll grumble when you deny him.

“Don’t forget how easily I can turn you into a mess,” he’ll say.

He definitely proves that statement when you end the ban!!

When you finally end the ban, he draws at least 3 orgasms from you back to back, and makes you beg for each one.

[dawndelion-winery]

Thanks for the Flowers

You send them a little prank thank you text with flowers they never sent

Ft: Alhaitham, Arlechinno, Childe, Scaramouche, Wriothesley

Alhaitham:

You thought it would be a funny prank to send him a stock image of flowers and a small thank you

"Glad you like them."

He smiles to himself, but then immediately deleted his message when he sees the attached image

That wasn't the bouquet he sent

His smile drops so fast because who exactly is sending you flowers apart from him?

"Throw those out, they aren't from me. Don't you like the one I sent more? I got your favourites, my love."

He gives the house a cursory scan the moment he steps in through the front door

It's only after you've given him his welcome home kiss and a hug that he starts looking for the bouquet for some trace of who the sender might be

At first he doesn't believe you when you say it's a prank because he wouldn't put it past you to just want to allay his worries

He'll come around though, and then he's annoyed

"That's childish and you know it, you can have my attention if you just ask for it."

Arlechinno:

This is her sign to publicly announce that you're with her because this sort of idiocy wouldn't be an issue if people knew you were spoken for

Initially chuckles to herself as she glares at the offending image

"Do you like them?"

Of course she's not telling you the weren't from her if you like them

The poor sucker who sent them to you deserves no credit anyway

If anything, they deserve her personal thanks for helping her gift you something!

Of course she needs to know their name and face to express her gratitude in person <33

In a totally genuine and non-threatening way (lie)

She ends up coming home late that day, having scared off any of your potential suitors just to be safe

"Had some unsavoury business come up, dearest, sorry to keep you waiting. Have you had dinner yet? No? Shall we dine together?"

She never brings it up though, so you sorta forget to ever tell her it was a joke

Childe:

At first he doesn't process that he didn't send you the flowers

It's not like he doesn't pay attention, but he has his subordinates send you so much stuff as he comes across it that it's really hard to keep track

For all he knows it might have been something he came across and spontaneously thought of you liking it

And your likes were pretty much needs to him

"Love you, my pookie <33"

And then he stows his phone away

Only to remember he hasn't gotten you any flowers that day

"My honey drumlet darling-kins, there doesn't happen to be a note attached to the flowers, is there?"

When you insist that no, there isn't, and you've checked thoroughly, he makes a mental note to look into anyone who's ever had a crush on you

For a friendly spar, of course!

He just needs to make sure his competition is even worth noting (they aren't)

He comes home, thoroughly disappointed that none of them could even hold their own against him - few even dared to try, scared shitless by the sudden appearance of a harbinger demanding they fight

Sweaty and tired, he's all over you, whining about his day and how everyone wants you and can't take a hint that you're so happy with him ("You are, aren't you? I'm your favourite.")

Of course you cave and tell him it was only a prank

He scowls at first, but then breaks out giggling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck

"It doesn't really matter because I think they're all scared of me anyway. Some of them took one look at me and blanched. Unlike you, of course; the sight of me excites you, doesn't it?"

Ah. There's your bastard ginger.

Scaramouche:

"Wrong number, I think you meant to text your side hoe."

Sends you the most unbothered replies

Is actually overthinking

He knows logically this is most likely a joke because he swears he has seen that bouquet somewhere on the internet when looking for flower arrangement inspiration

But what if it's just a really similar layout and someone actually did send it to you?

Horrible. He doesn't want to think about it

But of course he does anyway

Brings you flowers because he planned to sneakily replace the stranger's bouquet

Wriothesley:

"Honey, please tell me this is a joke."

Seething inside

Who in their right mind dared to covet you while you were happily dating him??

Don't even try evade his interrogation, he needs to know every detail

From the exact time the flowers were sent to the arrangement and paper quality

Don't mind him, it's just a small investigation he'll carry out in his free time

The sooner you come clean the better

Not that you'll go unpunished...but hey, confessing to your crimes must at least lighten the sentence, yeah?

Taglist: @ryuryuryuyurboat @yinyinggie @mx-kamisato @chaosinanutshell @haliyarobin @irethepotato @boundedbyfate @favonius-captain @aqui-soba @tiredsleep @sadlonelybagel @mastering-procrastinating @lemeowade

[lady-ashfade]

I’m your soulmate.

Day 21 of celebration marathon

Yan!percy Jackson x soulmate reader

-♡ ask: So, I've had this on my mind since I read Percy × Reader as soulmates. Can you do something where the Reader doesn't care about rejection? She's unfazed by Percy rejecting her.(And maybe a bit of Percy being jealous? Perhaps even a bit Yandere.)

-♡ words: 823

-♡ warnings: yandere behavior, rejection, reader being unbothered, percy being a toxic, hc’s, soulmate au.

in all honesty you never cared about soulmates and if you had one. some people had soulmate, some didn’t and that was the way things were and you couldn’t care. the thought did cross your mind and if you happen to have one but you weren’t waiting around for them, you focused on yourself and the moment. plus, being a half-blood meant you had more things to worry about then love.

so your trained all you could to be prepared for anything life had to throw at you. you made friends, you had family now and a place that welcomed you with open arms.

If anyone were to ask around about you, everyone would say how chill and non caring you were about things. it was like life had little grasp on you for doubts and fears. when you started training it didn’t matter how many times you failed because you just got up and smiled then tried again.

percy talked to you before he found out you were his soulmate. you helped train him at the start. you didn’t care about gossip and rumors about him or anyone. he swears when you spoke you sounded so carefree and he admired you. though, he didn’t know you well. he was too caught up in saving the world and realizing his feels for annabeth to think about you much.

but the moment he looked into your eyes when the truth came out he couldn’t seem to feel the way the world wanted him too. he wasn’t one that liked being told what he should do or feel. but what caught him off guard was your lack of sadness when he told you that he wasn’t going to be with you. and that he liked annabeth.

“I get it dude, soulmates aren’t my thing either.” You nod understanding and patted his shoulder. “No hard feelings Jackson.” And you walked off.

that moment played in his head more then it should have, he spent day and night with the image of you walking away from him so easily. and then he started to notice you around more and how you smiled, or how beautiful you were, he seemed to slowly forget about annabeth. how could he when he constantly thought of you?

while he was thinking of you, you still remained carefree and didn’t seem affected by what happened one bit. you treated him like normal, you hung around your siblings and friends, and he realized how little he must mean to you.

percy’s sudden feelings for you turned into something deeper and darker in his chest. he followed you around without mentioning it. you wanted to train? cool, he’ll be a few feet away from you. no matter what he needed to watch over you. when you laughed he tried to pick up on what caused it so he could make you laugh. and over all, he started to get jealous of anyone around you.

he had to stay away but here they are, taking advantage of you?

the final straw was how you excepted a flower from a boy from another cabin and smiled at him. the boy was pathetic to try steal his soulmate away from him. you did look stunning but no one should be able to look at you without thinking of him, your soulmate!

with his hands balled in a fist he walked over to the both of you and grabbed you by the arm without saying anything. his grip was harsh and his face was flared with anger and you tried to keep up with him but he didn’t stop. a few minutes later, of you screaming at him and trying to stop, you both were alone in the woods and he could talk to you now.

“What is wrong with you?” For the first time he saw you angry and something in him was proud to gain your attention even if it was bad. “I would’ve come with you if you asked nicely like a normal person.” you ran your hands over the area he pulled you from.

“We need to talk about how you’ve been acting,” that caught your attention quickly, “you are acting like you don’t have a soulmate at all! Like I mean nothing to you.” he shouts and you wonder if he was hearing himself.

“Because you are in love with annabeth. You said you didn’t want us to be a thing, and I respected that. Sorry percy if I don’t die over this type of thing, but you made your choice.”

“I don’t love her, I love you! You have been in my mind for weeks and you can’t spare even a glance.” His voice gets stronger as he starts to step towards you. something about him makes you want to walk away from him.

“You belong to me wether you like it, and i wouldn’t let anyone take you away from me.”

Taglist: @maria699669 @purplerose291 @itzmeme @ravenmedows @repostingmyfavs @anonymouslyawesome25

[jongseongsnudes]

twenty nine.

warning; ✨smut✨ 2.1k words. masterlist.

“so how did you do it?”

“does it matter?”

the man’s nonchalant answer makes you turn to him, a frown on your face while it’s the complete opposite on his.

“i’m serious sunghoon, i want to know.”

he smirks and enters the lift that had just arrived, leaving you to hurry and follow blindly behind.

“shareholders. as long as they favoured me, i could do anything. me dating han sooji helped a lot with that, so when the annual company meeting rolled around, i had most of them on my side to kick my father off,” he shrugs, unbothered, “technically he still holds the highest position but i make all the choices.”

“you must’ve had a hard time because of me,” you sigh, hands naturally reaching for his arm, “i’m sorry...”

“i don’t want to talk about work, i’ve done enough of that today,” sunghoon also sighs before turning his entire attention onto you, his body now moving closer towards you, “i want to do something else.”

“what-”

his lips were on yours before you could say anything else, kissing you with so much force that your body slams back into the wall behind. you’re now cornered in with sunghoon’s body pressed harshly against yours, his hands already grasping onto your waist to hold you down.

it’s suddenly so hot inside the lift, the air ridiculously thick and heavy. your entire body feels as though it’s about to burst, your heart beating at a mile a minute. and that's just from sunghoon kissing you.

you’ve missed him, a lot. his kisses, his touches, his smirk, hell even his shitty personality. you’ve missed everything about the man, so much that apart of you is beginning to think this was an illusion. that you’re just going crazy.

his cold hand suddenly grasping the back of your neck brings you out of your delusional thoughts, a soft whimper emitting from your lips at how harsh he was being.

“w- we’re almost there sunghoon…” as much as you wanted him, you were very aware of the cameras and having this somehow leaked was not on your current to do list.

the man stops but doesn’t pull away entirely, his hands resting at your waist. he smiles down at you, something your very weak heart wasn’t ready or even expecting to see. this sight of him was something you’ve come to love so much, an image engraved forever into your mind.

a happy sunghoon.

“it better be me you’re thinking of inside that small head of yours or else you shouldn’t be smiling like that.”

of course the man was an expert at destroying good moments, always has been with that big mouth of his.

“the only head associated with your name is headache.”

“wow. funny,” he says with his signature smug grin, his grip on your neck tightening. it immediately sends a shiver throughout your body, not only because of how cold his touch was but also because of how rough he suddenly was. a complete switch up from the sunghoon a minute before.

he holds you there, your eyes unable to be anywhere but on him.

“i can think of another head associated with me and it starts with you getting on your knees princess.”

gulp.

shit.

“oh? my baby so shy all of a sudden?”

it’s crazy how one specific word could affect you so much, your clenching core being the very proof of that.

luckily for him, you and your panties, his floor was quickly approaching, something sunghoon also caught notice of. he reaches for your hand when the doors open up, pulling you inside the one place you never thought you’d see again. his apartment.

not even two steps inside the home and you’re pushed up against his wall, his body pressed on yours, his hands grabbing at every one of your curves. he kisses you immediately, giving you no time to register what was even going on.

*ring ring ring*

you let your phone be inside your clutch, too busy with sunghoon’s lips to care but it rings yet again, and again. curiosity eventually gets the better of you, your hands pushing sunghoon back a little but the man only pushes forward instead.

“sunghoon let me see who it is-”

“you are so annoying,” the man rolls his eyes a little too dramatically before fishing for your phone himself. the face he makes is unreadable, the raised brows and smirk that follows tells you it must’ve been someone unexpected. “of course fucking choi would be the one to interrupt.”

“wait-” you were quick to grab his arm, stopping sunghoon just as he was about to throw your poor phone, “you already broke my phone once, remember!”

a smile appears on his face as he continues watching you, tauntingly. he doesn’t throw it, instead holding it up to your face, waving it about.

but then he does it anyway, throwing your phone across the hallway floor like trash.

“park sunghoon!”

“forget it, i’ll buy you a whole phone store if you want,” he says it so casually, brows furrowed over as he leans back into you, “now shut up and let me fucking kiss you-”

“no! you don’t get to be a dick then still get what you want.”

despite your yelling, the man begins laughing instead, only annoying you further. the audacity in this man always surprised you but then again... did it really?

pushing him off, you storm away like an angry child, only for him to pick you up just two seconds later. the man has one arm around your waist, easily holding you up as he walks over to the couch where he throws you onto it. like he did to your phone a moment before.

“i’m park sunghoon baby, i always get what i want.”

your next complaint is caught in your throat when he begins to undo his tie, throwing it aside like his suit jacket and white button up that followed soon after. now you’re too stunned to even speak, with your mouth hung opened at the new sight of a topless sunghoon.

he smirks at your reaction, that stupid smirk that you can’t for the life of you explain why you find so attractive. only park sunghoon could ever.

“you’re thinking of me now aren’t you?” he steps closer, one leg kneeling on the couch as he pushes your body into a lying position. the man hovers over you, his face barely an inch away but it’s definitely close enough to drive you insane.

“n- no.”

“you just love to annoy me,” he chuckles but it’s his gaze that catches you off guard. the way he looks at your face all over, with heavy lidded eyes, ones some may label as bedroom eyes. “this face. all the shit i’ve had to do for this stupid pretty face.”

“are you... insulting me or complimenting me?”

“take it however you want because stupid or not, doesn’t change the fact that you’re pretty.”

“hey-”

sunghoon leans right in, closing the small gap, kissing you yet again. his lips feel so unbelievably soft, so smooth moving against yours. you’d kiss him forever if you could.

you’re so lost in the moment to realise sunghoon had undressed himself, the man having done it so fast. he’s now lying on top of you naked, with one hand already grasping your upper thigh, thanks to how high the slit of your gown was.

“you look so good in this... i’m going to fuck you in it.”

and true to his words, his hand is immediately in between your legs, eagerly kneading you through your evidently wet panties. the coldness of his fingers against your core evokes something from you, a different side of you that only park sunghoon could ever bring out. a horny, desperate you.

“sunghoon... please.”

you really needed him and you needed him now.

“please what?” the man grips your jaw as he asks, holding your face still so he could look directly into your eyes, “tell me.”

“sung- sunghoon please- i need you.”

as if a switch went off in his brain the moment you said those words, his gaze instantly going from playful to serious all in two seconds. silence overtakes the room, the only sound being the deep breath he takes as his lips press together tightly.

“you...” he leans down to you, lips just hovering above your ear as he positions himself at your entrance, his tip rubbing you just a little, “you drive me insane.”

the noise that leaves your throat is one you didn’t even know you could possibly make, one so breathy, so sinful. every part of you begins to fall apart when he enters you at a record breaking slow pace.

you know he’s just toying with you, he always does, but god did he always manage to make you feel good. even through frustration.

his name is the only thing you manage to mutter, your voice so embarrassingly whiny as he thrusts right back into you. hard and fast this time. white washes over your eyes at the new sensation, each one of his thrusts filling you more and more.

“you’re- it’s so big...”

you don’t mean to boost his ego but he is big, your pussy never seemingly ready for him ever. you could always feel yourself stretching around him, your walls clenching so desperately to feel more of him, something you knew for a fact he loved.

“but you take me so well,” he says breathlessly against your skin, the ends of his lips immediately curving from the way your body reacts to every one of his words, “baby you were made for me.”

there’s nothing left on your mind, your body completely on overdrive with every one of his thrusts. words are no longer a thing for you both, replaced by moans, groans and the sound of him pounding into you resonating throughout the entire apartment.

it’s so hot, sweat forming in all possible places but you don’t care. hell, you wanted to be as humanly close to this man as possible.

“sung- sunghoon-”

a familiar knot in the pit of your core tells you that you’re almost there but not quite. you needed that last push and thankfully for you, sunghoon knew exactly how to get you there and could so with such ease. like every other time.

your eyes roll to the back of your head when he suddenly angles himself better, hitting you in one specific spot, over and over, edging you closer and closer to your high. you haven’t been with sunghoon many times but the man knew your body so well, even more so than yourself.

“my baby.”

and that did it for you.

you claw at his shoulders, eyes now shut tightly as everything becomes too much. your body shudders beneath him as you finally reach that cloud nine high, your mind completely blank, unlike your heart that’s currently beating like crazy.

it’s not long before the man also comes crashing down with profanity and the low calls of your name on his own lips. he fills you, full to the brim with his load. so much so that you could feel bits of it already leaking out onto your gown and the couch.

seeing him rest his head into the crook of your neck, you naturally begin to thread your fingers through his hair, hoping it’d help in some way. instead of complaining like you fully expected him to do, you feel his heavy breathes on your skin, his lips leaving behind a soft trail of kisses.

“stay here with me,” his voice is so soft, barely audible but you can hear every single one of his words so clearly, “be with me.”

it was no doubt now how much this man meant to you, how much you wanted him to be in your life. but the possibility of that happening now seemed even more out of reach than before.

as much as you wanted to tell him everything, that what you felt towards him now was much more than a simple crush... you just couldn’t find it in you to say it.

and you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to say it at this point.

end.

-

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2024 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.

[cypressvs]

HEAD EMPTY, JUST WANNA FUCK YOU PT. 1

pairing: blade/f!reader, luocha/f!reader, sampo/f!reader (separate)

cw: (all) sexual fantasies, unconventional turn-ons, they’re all pervs, established sexual relationship, (blade) biting, marking, dry humping, man handling, fingering, mean dom!blade, he calls you ‘sweetheart,’ pussy slapping, (luocha) finger sucking, hypersexualizing water?, m!receiving oral, m!masturbation, hand job, off-screen p in v sex, (sampo) public sex, size kink, clothed sex, nipple play

wc: 1.3k, 400~ each | join the taglist

minors do not interact

BLADE's expression doesn't change when you abruptly barged into his room looking absolutely disheveled and you do not think twice before voicing your complaints. You have been temporarily stationed in the Luofu and much to your luck, the synthetic summertime season was at its peak. Doing the most minimal of movements has caused sweat to bead over your heated skin, sliding down in little streaks and disappearing between the valley of your chest. Ever observant, the tiny phenomena didn't go unnoticed by your partner as he immediately zeroes in on the sight, completely ignoring your rambling in favor of indulging in his descending thoughts. You think he's unbothered—uncaring even—but if only you knew that it's all a calm front over the brewing storm that sends sparks and blood rushing to his cock. It's instinctual; the way he comes alive as his brain began conjuring images of the nights you shared buried under the sheets. It's salty on his tongue but he licks a fine strip over the crook of your neck anyway before sinking his teeth in you. You moan and he digs his dull fingernails into your hips a tad bit deeper, urging you to rut into his clothed dick again. Blinking out of his delirious reverie, Blade stands up from his side of the bed to approach you. Sweet, innocent you were too busy bending over your drawer to notice that he was already close enough to roll his hips against your ass. He's so generous with it too, letting you get a clear feel of his raging hard-on before pushing you forward by the nape and shoving his face into your moist skin. Your complaints about being dirty go unheard because sweetheart, that's how he likes you and he makes sure that you know that as he growls out all the things he'd do to you while sliding his palms over your thighs tauntingly. He pushes the flimsy fabric of your ruined panties aside before rubbing small circles over your throbbing clit. You whimper and he asks if you like it, grinning into your exposed neck as he breathes in your scent and the way your perfume becomes washed out by sweat—so alike the air he breathes in sex. It's almost enough to break his restraint but Blade just adores the tiny, pathetic whimpers that spill out of you when he goes agonizingly slow so cut him some slack if he ignores your begging to suck a bruise over your pulse or if he slaps your pussy when you start grinding into his hand for more friction. Be patient, he whispers mockingly before he nibbles on your ear, or else you won't be cumming at all tonight. And you know—you have to know that Blade never lets anything come out of his mouth if he didn't mean it at all.

LUOCHA hates himself for the lewd, debauched way his cock springs to life as you moan through a yawn. You have only just woken up and thoughts of shoving his fingers into your mouth and pressing them against your tongue and telling you to suck and— Luocha, snap out of it! He chastises himself for acting so needy first thing in the morning but he just can't help it! He offers you a glass of water and while you gulp it down, all he could see is the way it spills at the side of your lips, dripping teasingly slow and staining the dress shirt you stole from his closet. You thank him with an ignorant, little smile but his eyes can only see the moistness of your mouth. It's so eerily similar to when you lick your lips at the sight of his cock, flushed and leaking fluid at the mere sight of you on your knees ready to devour him for all that he's worth. Clearing his throat, Luocha excuses himself under the guise of wanting a morning shower. If only you knew that behind the steamy fog in your bathroom, your pretty lover was sliding his hand up and down, up and down over his throbbing dick. He goes slow, gasping with his air knocked out of him as he rubs his thumb over the slit on the head but continuing to edge himself over that lustful cliff of pleasure. Droplets of water from the showerhead slide down his skin, tracing past his strong abdominals and making his hair stick so prettily over his pale skin but it does little to bring clarity over his hazy mind and his dick. It's so vivid and whenever he closes his eyes, he sees you pumping him instead, lips parting before suctioning around the bulb and rolling your tongue around it. Slowly—the same rhythm of his hand—before you're suddenly sliding further and further down. You twist your soft palms around what you cannot take and he swears that he'd loop the unholy sound of the slick and gags that come out of your mouth forever if he could. Luocha imagines your teeth grazing his sensitive skin lightly and he comes, pearls of white coating his hand only to be swiftly down the drain washed by the shower. It's better that you don't know what went on behind the bathroom walls because what you don't know can't hurt you—or your pussy that's still recovering from his madness the night before.

SAMPO ignites, from nerve to flesh, when he hears you mumble a curse. It's heavy with emotion, a need that should be quelled before you erupt into an uncontrollable fit of anger. He feels bad for the salesman who tried to scam you; feels bad for the people who began looking your direction out of curiosity. But above all, Sampo feels bad because he can't bring himself to sincerely feel bad about the way blood rushed into his cock, throbbing with need underneath his tight pants. It's so uncomfortable but he could only watch with half-lidded eyes as you argued with the stranger. Oh, how your voice drives him crazy! It knocks all thought out of his head as he's overcome with the urge to fuck. It's such a nasty little word but the way you ennuciate it, the way your lips press and part to say it...Sampo's dick jumps at the thought. It was only what... an hour ago that he was forcing a "F-fuck... Hah... Mhmm...Feels so good—! It feels so good, Sampo!" out of you and he already wants more. He's so greedy but he knows what he wants and how to get it so Sampo wraps an innocent arm around your waist with a sly, little smile. "Don't worry," he says, "your reliable man Sampo will take all your worries away." And Sampo Koski always keeps his promises. Unbeknownst to you, Sampo just promised to fuck all your anger out of you. He'll take you to a back alley and push your panties aside to shove his hot, heavy cock inside your twitchy hole. He'll use his big, strong body to keep you against the wall, no escaping until your cute mouth can only babble naughty curses about how he's so good at melting your brain with pleasure. You'd like it a lot, won't you, especially when he tugs your bra down to tweak at your hardened nipples, coaxing sweet moans out of you when he suddenly shoves them in his mouth, coating it with his drool as he continues rutting into you like an animal in heat. You're just so cute, he thinks, as he shushes you lightly. So ignorant of his plans and so heated over such petty matters. You don't know a single thing about how easily you can make him act out like a virgin all over again but don't you worry your pretty head. Your big man Sampo Koski is about to change all that.

© 2023 CYPRESSVS. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms.

[notjustjavierpena]

Doesn’t javier’s wife get tantrums when she is pregnant?

Unreasonable (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: She sure as fuck does. Javier is too in love with the idea of her carrying his child to get mad about it though.

Summary: First-time pregnancy and a husband who breathes a little too loudly is enough to make you rage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, pregnancy and all the following symptoms (e.g. puking), pregnancy rage, cravings, kisses, reader is hormonal and unreasonable

Word count: 1.5k

Unreasonable

“Could you breathe a little louder?” You ask from the bed. You throw your novel to the side, unable to concentrate, while sending daggers in your husband’s direction. 

You are sitting against the headboard of your bed with all the decoration pillows scattered across the sheets, unable to find one that seems to do the job of supporting your aching back during your first pregnancy. This second trimester is hell on Earth; morning sickness, sore breasts and back, hormones running amok in your system, and no way of getting comfortable. It doesn’t help that Javier seems physically unbothered, daring to move around with ease in your shared home while folding laundry. 

“Honey,” he says gently, turning towards you with a smile that you find provoking, “I’m not breathing differently than I usually do.”

You seethe from your position because you know he is right. The book you were reading amongst several candy wrappers lies face down next to you as if it’s hiding before Javier has figured that is what he should be doing too. You cross your arms over your chest but your boobs feel too big and sore for you to do it the way you normally would. Every instinct in your mind is telling you to attack because you have no way of seeming reasonable in this, “Do you have to squeeze a soccer ball out of your pussy in three months?”

Javier raises his eyebrows at your crude choice of words and your terrifying mental image, “No…”

“That’s right,” you huff and then suddenly you are off into a scolding interrogation that Javier can do nothing about but endure. Your stare can freeze the sun, “Let’s see. Do you have to pee all the time?”

“No…”

You go on, “Do you find yourself crying over commercials on the TV with no way of stopping it?”

“No.” 

“What about your pelvic floor?” You think smoke might be coming out of your ears, “Do you feel like it is going to rupture when you try to reach something you have dropped on the floor?”

“Honey…”

“Does your back hurt so much that you contemplate if it’s easier to just pee your pants instead of getting up?” You ask. Ironically, you have the biggest urge to get up and pace around the room like a caged animal.

“I could massage your back,” he suggests so sweetly but not even that can calm your rage. 

“Haven’t you done enough?” You growl, “This is your little fucking love-goblin growing inside of me and all you had to do was grunt like a caveman and roll over.”

Javier blinks, trying a feeble protest, “Baby… I don’t think tha—“

“Don’t you ‘Baby’ me!” You rage against him, heart beating rapidly in your chest, “I am here either suffering in bed or waddling around like a goddamn incubator! The least you can do is try to make me feel better!” 

“I just offered a massage that you declined so maybe you want some time for yourself instead?” He tries again.

“Time for myself? How on Earth am I supposed to spend time for myself when you are breathing so loudly that our neighbors can hear it?” You avoid his gaze. 

He opens his mouth to speak but you are not done.

“Not to mention the nausea that follows me everywhere I go. Quality time with good old nausea!” You throw your hands up in the air in exasperation, “If I had a dollar for every time I have puked up my guts since you put this baby in me, I could buy myself a private island and be rid of your wheezing airways!”

You inhale deeply and frantically as you run out of breath. It’s then you decide that you are done, scooting further down on the bed to lie down on your side with one of the pillows supporting your pregnant belly. 

You fume quietly. Javier stands immovable. 

Eventually, you pout too. Your husband moves to stand by your side but he doesn’t touch you, “How about we order some food? Do you want to order some food?”

“Actually, Javi, no, I don’t want to order some food,” you reply, still with an attitude. 

“Are you sure, baby?” He gently presses on. 

“Yes, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t say it.”

“I’m gonna order some food for myself then,” he lets you know, walking back to pick up the laundry basket. 

“Yes, fine, whatever,” you sigh loudly, “I don’t care.”

But you do care. As soon as the doorbell rings with Javier’s food delivery, you have thought about the million different things that he might have gotten for himself to eat and it has caused your stomach to rumble. You pout for real this time. 

Eventually, it becomes too much and you get onto your feet, tiptoeing down the stairs to satisfy your curiosity. You don’t need the food; you just want to see if your guesses about Javier’s dinner menu are correct.

You peek out from behind the door frame, staring into the kitchen where he is placing the delivery bag on the counter. The whole house smells like pizza and fried food, the scent having dragged you downstairs to gaze longingly as your husband is rummaging through the plastic bag to empty it of its contents. 

You spot the box of french fries next to a strawberry milkshake and frown, shifting slightly where you stand and trying not to feel emotional about your stomach growling for food. You lean your cheek against the doorframe and sigh loudly. 

“Hola, mi amor (hello, my love),” your husband suddenly says and even if you purposely made him aware of your presence in the room, you still feel on the spot when he notices you. 

“Hi,” you try to get a better glimpse of what he has ordered for himself, “What are you having?”

“I decided on that pizza place on the corner where you also get your haircut sometimes,” he says nonchalantly and you curse your emotions for getting the better of you earlier. You love that place. 

“Really?” You whimper. 

“Yeah,” he continues and stuffs a few fries into his mouth as he takes out a pizza box from the bag, “I really wanted one of their shakes. You know… the ones made from three scoops of ice cream? And then I thought I might as well get some fries because you taught me about dipping them into it, remember that?”

“Y-yeah,” you suddenly feel your bottom lip starting to tremble. The idea of not having a strawberry shake in your hand and their pepperoni pizza with a stuffed crust is close to torture, making you so unbelievably upset that you start to cry big and ugly tears. 

Javier tenses. He abandons the food on the counter the second he hears you, taking long steps to get to you quickly. He wipes his fingers in his shirt so he can brush tears away from your face, cooing softly as you wail, “Honey, shhh… There’s no need to cry.”

“I’m sorry, I was so mean,” you blubber to the point where you are heaving for breath, pregnant belly jumping as your whole body trembles, “I didn’t know that I wanted their milkshake and pizza so badly and now it feels like I am missing out. It’s really stupid but… The baby wants that strawberry milkshake, Javi.”

“I know,” he soothes and laughs softly as he brings you into his arms, giving you a hug whilst you continue your miserable crying, “That’s why I got you one.”

“What?” You sniffle, pulling back to look at him and showing off your red, puffy eyes. 

“I got you a shake,” he clarifies with a small smile, “And I ordered you a pepperoni pizza too.”

Relief washes over you and you cannot help letting out a little, shaky laugh amidst your tears, “You did?” 

Javier nods, eyes soft and smile warm, “Of course, I did. Te conozco (I know you).”

“With a stuffed crust?” You ask, suddenly shy and looking innocently through your lashes. You feel like you’re thirteen again, crushing on your husband all over. 

“Stuffed crust,” he confirms and the smile turns into a grin. He presses a kiss to your cheek and blows a raspberry until you giggle, “No need to cry. El bebé sabe que su mamá está triste (The baby knows their mom is sad)."

“Can’t have that,” you wrap both arms around him and repeatedly kiss his face; nose, cheeks, lips, chin. He closes his eyes, taking each with a sigh that’s nowhere near annoyed. You kiss his lips in the end, “Gracias, esposo (thank you, husband).”

“De nada, mi amor (you’re welcome, my love),” he lets go of you after one last kiss, walking to dig out one more strawberry milkshake from the plastic bag and then handing it to you. 

You take a long sip and do a happy dance without thinking. Meanwhile, Javier gets out your pizza too and suddenly all memory of why you were so angry earlier is gone.

.

.

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[hannie-dul-set]

YOU’RE MY BUCKET LIST.

p — SHEN QUANRUI x fem! reader. g — humor, fluff, lovestruck! ricky trying his darnest to be cool. w — swearing, secondhand embarrassment what did you expect from me. 2.8k words.

note — rewriting the backstory of his leopard print shirt. my loser idolverse is expanding. no one is safe. who should i throw into the depths of patheticness next.

ricky doesn’t believe in bucket lists.

what need is there for a list of things he wants and wants to do before he dies when he can get and do everything he wants in an instant? if he wants to go bungee jumping, he can go to gangwon-do this afternoon. if he wants to date, he’s got a couple dozen numbers he can pick and choose to call. if he’s craving for authentic italian wine right out of the cellar, he can book a flight and visit all of europe with his phone as his only luggage. 

he lacks nothing, and therefore he wants nothing. ricky doesn’t believe in bucket lists— he didn’t believe in bucket lists. at least not until that damned day of reckoning, when the nonexistence of his list suddenly came to existence, harboring one thing and one thing only. 

there’s only one thing he’d like to tick off before he dies. one thing he wants as soon as possible. something that isn’t instantaneously achievable. something that unfamiliarly feels out of his grasp.

ricky, more than anything in the world, wants you to take him fucking seriously.

“you’re so pretty today.” 

is what he says, the moment you enter the office. well, two moments after you enter the office because he had to take the first moment to admire how pretty you are before verbalizing it. he’s down horrendous, he knows— totally outside of the image he’s perfectly curated for the past six months since entering university. you’re the chair of his department’s council, a third year, and by some mystical force or another (read: being stupidly whipped) he volunteered to help prepare for a department event and managed to drag the rest of his friends into it.

said friends being gyuvin and gunwook, who are looking at him in judgment and disgust after completing his daily routine of complimenting your face.

“aw, how cute,” is your reply. ricky wracks his brain for another word for pretty, but you’re quick to move one and leave him in the dust. “thank you, ricky! you’re so sweet. anyway, matthew, how’s the—”

gyuvin snorts. “hey, at least she thinks you’re cute.” ricky throws him a punch but it falls weak from the mental damage. 

cute. he hates it. he’s grown to hate it after it became the symbol of you thinking of him as nothing but your cute junior. are his daily compliments not enough of a giveaway that’s he’s lowkey fucking in love with you? what else do you want? a truckload of roses? a barbershop quartet illustrating through song how stupidly down bad ricky shen is for his unbothered senior?

knowing you, even if he gets on stage in front of the whole university and perform a three-act play of how he fell, head first with scraped knees, into the tunnel of torture that is you and your pretty smile, you’d probably just ruffle his hair and coo, “good job! you’re so talented, angel!” because he’s so cute, so lovely, so never going to be boyfriend-able in your eyes and it eats his despairing soul.

maybe if he rips his heart out of his chest and you see the gaping, you-shaped hole it’ll leave behind, you might finally get the idea.

“quit being a drama queen,” gunwook says, throwing a ball at ricky’s bedroom door that’s been locked shut for a good hour now. it bounces right back into his palm and gyuvin is laying flat on the floor next to him. “it could be that she knows you’re into her, but she’s just trying to reject your advances gently because she doesn’t want to hurt you.”

gunwook and gyuvin hear a crash from inside ricky’s room. 

“that’s— that’s, no. i don’t even want to think about that!”

they’re waiting for him to finish changing (if he is just changing. the crashes in his room are becoming sources of concern). you invited them for a nice buffet dinner to celebrate the success of the event. however, the three of them are already thirty minutes late for the restaurant appointment, and hanbin had to come over and pick them up with taerae in tow after hearing the news that ricky shen— cool guy extraordinaire— is having a breakdown over a girl. 

there are now four men waiting in front of ricky’s locked bedroom. gyuvin gets sick and tired and starts banging on the door. “hurry up! do you want to keep the love of your life waiting?”

“damn, you guys were serious,” taerae posits. “is he actually in love with her?”

“i’m afraid so,” gunwook solemnly shakes his head. 

hanbin hits another concerned knock on his door, and lo and behold, ricky finally cracks open his bedroom door and walks out—

walks out in an ensemble that they can only unanimously describe as jarring. 

leopard print. leather pants. gold chain necklace. a pair of shades are hanging on the way too low cut shirt and they wonder if he’s gonna wear them indoors. he’s got a leather jacket folded over his arm and it’s twenty four fucking degrees.

“what do you think?” ricky asks, eyes proud, expectant, and sparkly. hanbin doesn’t have the heart to break it to him. “i read somewhere that the pattern symbolizes, uh, confidence and sexiness, i think. this will make her stop thinking that i’m cute, right?”

“yeah,” gyuvin replies. “she’ll think you’re hideous instead.”

“google tells me that the leopard print is a symbol of, and i quote, absolute femininity.” gunwook has his eyes trained on his phone. he looks up and gives ricky a once-over. “if you’re trying to go for the femme fatale look, then you’re doing a good job.”

it takes a moment for ricky to react.

when he does, his reaction consists of grabbing onto the hem of his allegedly ugly shirt and starts pulling it over his head.

“whoa, whoa, whoa— what are you doing?!”

gunwook quickly tries to stop him from stripping. gyuvin is laughing his ass off. taerae has a hand covering his mouth. hanbin is stressed. “quit picking on him! ricky, you look fine!” ricky is not fine. his styled hair is not disheveled and he’s visibly upset and sulking. gyuvin is losing his mind. he’s on the floor and hitting the ground.

“are you trying to be cute right now?” taerae asks. this just scrunches up ricky’s brows even more and makes his bottom lip jut forward.

“n...no…?”

“well, shit,” taerae laments. “it’s a genetic disease. she’s never gonna take you seriously.”

the only emotion ricky knows is despair.

he’s supposed to be hot and sexy and handsome, why can’t you see that? do you have a pink filter when you look at him, or something? is that it? that’s gotta be it, right? because why else would you be so unaffected when he feigns nonchalance, brushing through his hair at a precise timing when he notices you starting to turn to his direction. it’s your heart that should be beating like crazy when he greets you with a half-smile and a nod— not his, not his, not his when you return it with a full-smile, so bright and beaming, of your own.

“oh, you’re finally here!”

ricky doesn’t believe in bucket lists. he lives in the moment. he doesn’t want things so desperately to the point where he writes them down on a checklist taped to his desk. the list definitely doesn’t have the words “get miss department chair to fall in love with me” written on it with scrawled letters. and he doesn’t didn’t give himself a deadline to date you by the end of the year.

he’s given himself until the day he dies because the moment he met you was the first time he imagined watching someone walking down the aisle. 

yes, he’s down bad. yes, he sings hopelessly devoted to you in the shower five times a week and replaced the word you with your name. yes, gyuvin has a recording. 

“ah, we’ve been waiting for you, kids,“ you say once they’ve all settled on their seats. kids. he scoffs. insult to injury. he’s pouting and picking on a plate of galbi. he feels like shit even though you’re sitting right across him all pretty and sweet like the strawberry shortcake you ordered— which he’s trying his damn best to not steal a slice from because he’s pretty sure you’re just gonna go, “oh! you really like strawberries, don’t you? so cute,” and he’d much rather choose physical over emotional torment, thank you very much.

“they were caught up in something,” taerae responds to your initial statement. your eyes gloss over them with curiosity.

“why? what took you guys so long?”

four sets of eyes are on ricky and his patterned shirt. the bossam wrap in his mouth won’t swallow down his throat. it was too late for him to change out of the symbol of femininity. mid-strip, hanbin got a text from you so he got dragged out, guilty in leopard prints and gold, out of his apartment.

don’t you fucking dare, ricky glares at the suspicious look gyuvin is wearing as he brings a glass of water to his lips. gyuvin clears his throat, “we had to wait for ricky who was dressing to impress y—” and is subsequently elbowed and chokes on his water.

hot. ricky feels hot. not the sexy kind, but the icky embarrassing kind because he wants to cover his burning face and stab gyuvin with a fork in the process.

“oh?” you voice out from across the table. you’re plucking out wads of tissue paper for a dying gyubin but your eyes are trained on him. oh my god. he wants to rip this shirt off and die, but he can’t do that. he can’t. he hasn’t been working out enough lately due to stress. “not everyone can pull off animal prints. it looks really good on you.”

huh.

“and you’re not wearing your usual silver! you look cool today, ricky.”

oh.

what.

“you really think so?” gyuvin, who has now recovered, eggs you on further in behalf of his malfunctioning friend. there’s steam rising to the ceiling and it’s not from the open grill. he exchanges glances with gunwook and taerae. they catch the signal and press on. “doesn’t he look—”

“—would you dare say—”

“—handsome?”

“hot?”

“sexy?”

you let out something in between a cough and a laugh. 

they don’t miss the flustered jitter filtering the sound coming out of your throat.

mission success.

“ahaha, what are you kids saying?” ricky doesn’t miss it either. the initial shock of you not calling him cute has worn off and now it’s up to him to finish what his friends have started. he doesn’t miss the way you try to brush them off while fanning your face with your free hand, the way you reach out for a glass of water with the other and there’s a nervous bob in your throat when you swallow. “a—anyway, let’s make a toast for the success of our event!”

when he clinks his glass with yours, ricky  maintains eye contact amidst the noise of the cheers. his gaze is deep and you’re caught off guard— escaping with a laugh and turning away as you down half of your beer glass in one go. holy crap. holy shit, it’s working.

ricky can see it. there’s hope for his bucket list. he’s gonna swear by leopard shirts and gold chain necklaces if he continues to get this kind of reaction from you.

“it’s not because of the ugly shirt.”

gyuvin snaps him back to sanity once dinner concluded and they start leaving the restaurant. “it’s because we manipulated her brain waves into finally noticing that you’re hot,” gunwook inserts. they’re all outside now. you’re bidding the other members goodbye and gunwook nudges him forward. “you’re welcome. you owe us a meal.”

now, even with the newfound confidence and hope, ricky’s knees still buckle when he approaches you from behind. why is the back of your head still pretty? why?

at the moment, it’s taerae’s turn to receive your goodbyes, wedged between two cars, one of them his. he notices ricky’s looming nervous wreck of a presence from over your shoulder. “ah, and this is my cue to leave,” he says. “thanks for the meal, miss chair. get home safe.”

“you too, taerae! thanks!”

when you turn around, you bump into him. maybe he intended it, maybe not, but god damn the uncharacteristic flutter of your surprised eyes is destroying his plans to act cool, act nonchalant, act totally unaffected with how prettily you’re looking at him under the dim parking lot lights and the night sky. “oh!” you exclaim after reformatting, after putting on your doting senior voice again and it kills him because that’s a night of progress down the drain. “are you kids heading out now? oh, sorry, this is your car, right? i’ll get out of the way.”

he frowns. totally uncool, perfectly non-nonchalant, and completely affected but he doesn’t care anymore. 

“what do you think of me?”

the words jump out before he knows it. screw his bucket list. he’s gonna proclaim his undying love for you even if it kills him.

you blink. “what?” a laugh bubbles from your throat— a mix of trying-to-brush-him-off but nervous at the same time. “ricky, what do you mean?”

his face is knotting up. he’s totally pouting right now which he’d rather be caught dead than doing, but he’s now twice the dead man. ricky takes a step forward. you take a step back until no more steps can be taken because your back hits against his car, and he’s grasping at the straws desperate to get even an ounce of a hint of a sign that you’re finally taking him seriously. “what do you think of me?” he repeats, voice a little lower this time. your expression is completely taken over by peaches of fluster, this time. no sign of the composure you’ve usually perfectly maintained.

“oh, uhm.” your hands are unsure and held hostage in the air because his arms serve as a barricade around you, palms pressed tightly against the cold glass of the front seat window. you’re nipping at your bottom lip. ricky just died thrice. “what—what i think of you? well, uh, you’re a very good, very cute, very hardworking junior that i adore, and i—i appreciate all the help you’ve offered to the counci— oh!”

ricky lets out a noise and buries his nose into the crook of your neck, arms that were once caging you are now completely wrapped around your waist. he’s putting all of his weight onto you. he is a corpse. he mumbles something unintelligible into you skin and you ask him to repeat it. “i don’t like it,” he says more clearly, still muffled, whiney all the same. “i’m not cute. i’m cool and handsome and totally in love with you but you just don’t get it.”

it’s quiet. ricky is anticipating the worst, which would be you calling him lame and a loser, but you don’t do that. you don’t push him off either.

“how can i not think you’re cute when you act like this?”

instead you pull him in closer. his eyes widen, and he feels your fingers digging into his hair, a tender touch on his nape, and he feels himself melting and turning into stone at the same time. 

“i never thought you were being serious every time you greeted me by calling me pretty. i thought you were just being playful and trying to earn extra points from me,” you hum. he sinks further. the only thing propping him up is you. “but calling someone pretty every day is barely a confession, ricky. how was i supposed to get anything from that? gosh, you’re so cute.”

“it usually works,” he mumbles. he doesn’t want to show you his face. he probably looks stupid right now. “i thought my new shirt worked too. gyuvin and gunwook don’t agree.”

“i think it’s cool.”

you finally pry him off, hands on his shoulders and he feels himself buckling. he’s pretty sure he looks stupid right now— pink and flushed and dizzy, but your face harbors no judgment. “i think i prefer the shirt owner over the shirt though.” only a familiar gaze of fondness and god, he’s so in love and you finally understand that. “now, why the hell are gyuvin and gunwook still loitering out here?”

ricky didn’t believe in bucket lists. at least not until that damned day of reckoning, when the nonexistence of his list suddenly came to existence, harboring one thing and one thing only. 

now, he’s got that one thing crossed out. he’s thinking of adding more.

YOU’RE MY BUCKET LIST. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[luveline]

Hey gorgeous! I think I saw somewhere that you’d be open to taking a shot at Steddie x reader and I have this fall idea that’s been stuck in my head :) all 3 are together getting ready for a Halloween party but Eddie and reader argue about how to do Steve’s makeup and everyone gets totally distracted ❤️

ty for your request! steddie x fem, 1k

"Yes," you say, more to yourself than Steve as you close his bedroom door. "Quick, babe, while he's gone." 

Steve sits back in his bed unbothered. "You know I'm not gonna kiss you while he's gone. He gets antsy." 

"Not kissing. I'm gonna do your vampire makeup, duh." 

"That's an even worse idea," Steve says, though his protests die as you climb onto the bed and over his legs. "We'll get in trouble." 

"Eddie wants to make you look goth. I want to make you look like a vampire, not like someone from KISS." Truthfully, you're not trying to do Steve's makeup because you think you know better —you want to do it because Eddie will get fake mad with you and maybe throw you around a little bit. Teasing him is your favourite girlfriend's duty. "Am I too heavy?" 

"Shut up." 

You bring your hand to his bare face, stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. "So loving. Did you put moisturiser on?" 

Steve saves you from having to stand up again, having moisturised well. If you needed to you couldn't anyhow, his hands on your hips and locked like he's worried you're gonna topple off of him and fall the three feet to the floor, injuring yourself grievously. 

You start with white powder over his face, darkening the hollows of his eyes and cheeks with a dark purple colour for fun. He sits patiently, letting you turn his face this way and that.

"You want lipstick?" you ask, holding his jaw in one hand, a whisper so as not to disrupt the quiet that's fallen. 

"How about you put some on?" he asks. "That way I'll get some eventually." 

The image of you trading kisses for lipstick is inescapable. You want desperately to dig your face into his neck and kiss him, but the white make up transfers. "You owe me one for that." 

"Liked that, huh?" he asks lightly. 

"Liking it less." You sit back on his thighs and look him over. "I'm no good at mascara on other people, Eddie'll have to do it." 

"Eddie won't be able to do it," Steve says, and there would be pink to his cheeks if he wasn't covered, "you know what he's like, he can't not kiss you if he's close enough." 

You have a hickey on the side of your neck to prove it, skin purpled and yellowed from nights of being the little spoon. He doesn't mean to go so far, but it's hardly like you mind. As long as he doesn't go too high to be covered by your collar, he can kiss you whatever way he likes. 

Speaking of, your dark-haired boyfriend finally reappears, shirtless and yawning, three coat hangers in his hand that hold your clothes freshly steamed for tonight's party. "Hey," he says, looking down, his back arched backward as he shakes out your dress. He doesn't have a clue how good looking he is or how warm his bad posture makes you feel, how it emphasises the slightest muscle of his abdomen and the slimmer outline of his waist. "Y/N, I don't think the creases are ever gonna come out of your dress." 

"That's fine. You're just gonna douse me in syrup anyways." 

Eddie looks up smiling but his eyes quickly narrow, tossing your clothes over the dresser with a betrayed squeak. "You fucking sneak! I should've known you were gonna do it while I was gone. Babe, go wipe that shit off so I can do it again." 

"I can't do that," Steve says. 

"Why not?" 

"Uh, because that's, like, a cardinal rule? Happy wife, happy life."

"What's the rule about heartbroken boyfriends?" Eddie asks. He's talking and looking at Steve but he's approaching you, grabbing your hands in an attempt to steamroll you back into the bedsheets. 

You laugh, putting up a good fight for a time, but your laughter has you weak and it's not long before Eddie's pushed you down onto Steve's bed, a knee between your thighs as he clamps your arms flat on either side of you. 

"You'd look so fucking sick in the Star Child makeup, please let me do it." 

"How about you guys go half and half?" Steve asks. 

Eddie turns his gaze to you, glaring, a loving quirk to his lip as he bends over you. "You're such a fucking sneak. I swear, you do it to piss me off." 

"That's exactly why I do it," you say, squirming in his tight grip. He squeezes you as if to show that he's stronger than he looks, getting closer and closer as your defences wane. "You're an easy target, how is that my fault?" 

"I'm an easy target? Which one of us is pinned down right now, sweetheart?" 

"Guys," Steve says, defeated through laughter, "you always do this! You fight and make up and someone decides to take my clothes off and we never get anywhere!" 

"Who said we're taking your clothes off, Stevie?" Eddie asks. 

"He's so presumptuous," you murmur agreeably. 

"Right?" Eddie nips down to kiss you, his smile a tight line pressed to the seam of yours. You kiss up and he relaxes ever so slightly, his hands loosening at your wrists to take your hands and hold them instead. 

"Forgive me?" you ask into his mouth. 

Eddie kisses a sharp stripe from the corner of your lips to your eye. "Nope." He punctuates with one last kiss before sitting up, and again, he can't know that the pose he's in could sell magazines, head tipped back and your joined hands held to his naked stomach. You sit up to be as close to him as possible. "I accept your half and half deal. You'll look like an idiot." 

You offer a hand to Steve and he accepts it. Eddie looks at him like he might try to eat him, but there's a real, soft love in his eyes as you both look up into Steve's pale face.

"She didn't do your eyes, huh?" Eddie asks fondly. 

"You'll do it for me, right? I can't do that shit, the wand. I'll blind myself." 

"Obviously I'll do it for you. Imagine the tension." 

You giggle happily and drop back down, yanking on their hands as you go. "Well, don't be too tense. You guys still have to pour that jug of fake blood on me." 

[sumikatt]

(Has alt text.)

AI has human error because it is trained on “human error and inspiration”. There are models trained on specifically curated collections with images the trainer thought “looks good”, like Furry or Anime or Concept Art or Photorealistic style models. There’s that “human touch”, I suppose. These models do not make themselves, they are made by human programmers and hobbyists.

The issue is the consent of the human artists that programmers make models of. The issue—as this person did correctly identify—is capitalism, and companies profiting off of other people’s work. Not the technology itself.

I said in an earlier post that it’s like Adobe and Photoshop. I hate Adobe’s greedy practices and I think they’re evil scumbags, but there’s nothing inherently wrong or immoral with using Photoshop as a tool.

There are AI models trained solely off of Creative Commons and public domain images. There are AI models artists train themselves, of their own work (I'm currently trying to do this myself). Are those models more “pure” than general AI models that used internet scrapers and the Internet Archive to copy copyrighted works?

I showed the process of Stable Diffusion de-noising in my comic but I didn’t make it totally clear, because I covered most of it with text lol. Here’s what that looks like: the follow image is generated in 30 steps, with the progress being shown every 5 steps. Model used is Counterfeit V3.0.

Parts aren’t copy pasted wholesale like photobashing or kitbashing (which is how most people probably think is how generative AI works), they are predicted. Yes, a general model can copy a particular artist’s style. It can make errors in copying, though, and you end up with crossed eyes and strange proportions. Sometimes you can barely tell it was made by a machine, if the prompter is diligent enough and bothers to overpaint or redo the weird areas.

I was terrified and conflicted when I had first used Stable Diffusion "seriously" on my own laptop, and I spent hours prompting, generating, and studying its outputs. I went to school for art and have a degree, and I felt threatened.

I was also mentored by a concept artist, who has been in the entertainment/games industry for years, who seemed relatively unbothered by AI, compared to very vocal artists on Twitter and Tumblr. It's just another tool: he said it's "just like Pinterest". He seemed confident that he wouldn't be replaced by AI image generation at all.

His words, plus actually learning about how image generation works, plus the attacks and lawsuits against the Internet Archive, made me think of "AI art" differently: that it isn't the end of the world at all, and that lobbying for stricter copyright laws because of how people think AI image gen works would just hurt smaller artists and fanartists.

My art has probably already been used for training some model, somewhere--especially since I used to post on DeviantArt and ArtStation. Or maybe some kid out there has traced my work, or copied my fursona or whatever. Both of those scenarios don't really affect me in any direct way. I suppose I can say I'm "losing profits", like a corporation, but I don't... really care about that part. But I definitely care about art and allowing people the ability to express themselves, even if it isn't "original".

[nariism]

come out and haunt me

pair. itoshi sae x ghost!reader

content: fluff, angst/comfort with a happy ending, reader is a ghost, platonic + romantic interactions, strangers to friends (to more?), slight pining

synopsis. sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over.

wc. 5.7k

You are dead.

As it comes to all mortal humans, you have died. You can't remember when, or how, or why— only that it is your duty to haunt this home, that you are abysmally cold, and that you are dead.

You don't know if you had any last words, what it was like to draw a breath, or how to stop feeling so cold. Cradling yourself somehow makes it worse. But you are dead, so what does it matter if you can't remember?

If you had aspirations and meaning in life, then you suppose you should try to find them in death, too. So you float around empty halls, deliberately bump into things just for the fun of it, and pretend that you aren't dead. It is purposeful enough.

There's a boy who lives with you.

You are dead, and he is alive, yet he seems completely unbothered by your loud, obnoxious presence.

Sae feels more dead than alive.

He is 13 years old when he moves into his temporary home in Madrid. It's old and worn. It is all his parents could afford with Yen in a foreign country.

His new home is despairingly lonely. It makes the heart in his chest sink into the pit of his stomach. He misses Rin. His parents. Japan.

He should be thankful. He doesn't mean to be a brat. But the small apartment is cramped and cold and smells like mildew. He's allergic to something in the walls. His light buzzes horribly when it turns on.

And, well. The place is haunted.

You are a ghost haunting an old, rickety apartment in Madrid.

You've never seen your reflection in the mirror, but you're pretty sure you look scary. There has been others before him— a young couple with a dog; a retired carpenter; a businessman complaining about how shitty work is over the phone. Each and every one of them have left you the same way: screaming, crying, colour drained from their faces and packing their suitcase before you could even say hello.

It's a little lonely, being a ghost. Sometimes you wish you came off a little friendlier. You have no ill intent, you're just bored. Bored and lonely and wishing to know why everyone thinks you're so terrifying.

The boy who lives with you is the first. He's the first to look you dead in the eyes and shrug you off. He's the first to fall asleep knowing your presence is watching. He's the first to leave out a bowl of warm, steaming rice for you even though he seems to know you can't physically eat it.

His company is silent, as is yours. It's better than nothing.

Sae is 13 years and 5 months old when he tells Rin his apartment is haunted.

"A ghost? Seriously?" Rin sounds unimpressed even through the static of the phone call. Take it from the kid who watches horror movies in his spare time. Freak, Sae thinks.

"Seriously. I have a picture."

He can hear his brother pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the image he just sent. The call goes quiet for a moment, and then Rin is scoffing in the microphone again.

"Quit messing with me." The younger Itoshi sighs. "This isn't funny."

Rin is only 11. He lives at home with Mom and Dad. He's not alone right now, in a place where everyone speaks a jumbled language he can't decipher yet.

He doesn't understand that even if Sae isn't being haunted, he shouldn't crush his brother's hopes that someone, or something, is watching over him.

"I'm not," Sae deadpans.

"Yeah, okay, and what does this ghost do, then?" He still sounds skeptical.

"Mostly just knocks over my books and stuff."

From his couch, he watches you bristle in embarrassment and scurry away into the darkness of the hall.

You are some sort of untethered soul, unsure of where your actual body rests. It could be 10 meters from this apartment. It could be in Antarctica, for all you know.

Okay, well, Antarctica is a bit of a reach, but you're certain that your body is somewhere. You wonder what kind of clothes you used to wear; what kind of music you used to listen to; what kind of hairstyle you used to prefer.

You wonder if these things are anything like Sae's.

He's all you have right now. It would be nice if you had some things in common. Maybe you could be friends, if he was ever going to acknowledge you to your face instead of gossiping to his brother.

You watch him quietly from the kitchen table, waiting for your bowl of rice. You must make some kind of face when he instead places a plate of eggs in front of you.

He almost laughs, you think. He hasn't shown any sort of emotion in response to you thus far, so it's hard to tell.

"Coaches told me I have to be stricter about my diet," he says out loud. It's the first words he has ever spoken to you. It's the first words anyone has ever spoken to you.

He eats his bland eggs silently after that remark, eyeing them disdainfully.

You have that in common, at least. You miss your warm bowl of rice.

Sae thinks you are funny.

He's only ever known ghosts to be malicious, benevolent beings. Things stuck in purgatory with no way out, forced to wander the mortal plane and thus turning into baneful monsters. Watching spooky movies with Rin has ingrained this into him—  hardwired his brain into giving him goosebumps whenever you're around even though he knows you're harmless.

He has to wonder how anyone could ever find a ghost like you genuinely scary, with your avoidant eyes and that patience while you wait for breakfast.

He doesn't mind doing twice the amount of dishes. Not if it means he doesn't feel alone.

You do silly things, like shoving his belongings over when you want his attention, or sitting on the floor and blowing bone-chillingly cold air into his face when he's taking his midday nap.

He's discovered that your inconsistent corporeal interactions with the world are quite amusing.

"What's your name?" He asks one day over eggs that he's shoving around on his plate.

Silence. Of course.

"Don't have one?"

You shake your head, but really, you don't know. You can't remember.

Sae has never been the talkative type, but for some reason he just can't keep his mouth closed. Being a complete shut-in and not having anyone to talk to outside of his team would do that to him, he guesses. He's thankful that you at least don't seem to have a language barrier when he speaks Japanese.

"Should I name you?"

Your offended expression screams: What am I, a pet?

He just smiles, placing his fork down and observing you carefully. And the name he decides on dances at the tip of his tongue, sounds so sweet coming from his lips.

You can't help but think the name was meant for you, in life or in death.

You like listening to Sae talk.

He has a voice smooth as silk, so charming and boyish. He's young, you think. He told you once that you also looked rather young, and asked you how old you were when you died.

Even if you had an answer for him, it's not like you could have told him.

Sae is famous for his age, you discover one night while watching television with him. You're sitting on the floor and he's on the couch. You cause the TV to frizzle and crack with static but he doesn't shoo you away. Maybe he finds your presence more valuable than the background noise of the screen.

He's in a recording, playing what he calls "football"— light blue uniform, eyes wide with adrenaline, sweat sticking to his forehead and a proud shine in his expression. He isn't smiling by any means (you've also discovered that he rarely does), but you can tell he's happy.

"I'm going to be the greatest striker," he says from the couch. He talks about his dreams a lot, which is apparently what he used to do with Rin, but you don't mind filling in that role temporarily. "I'm going to be the best in the entire world."

You don't know anything about football, but you believe him anyways.

Sae is 14 years old when he gets his first contract payment.

This is his chance, he realizes, to move out of his shitty little apartment and into an actual livable home.

He has to consider if you'll feel lonely, if you even can feel lonely, and if you'll like hanging out with your next housemate, whoever it is that's unlucky enough to have a ghost befall them.

He's getting soft. If it were any other point in his life, Sae would have taken the chance to move out without hesitation. But you've been there for him since day one, kept him enough company — no matter how quiet — for him not to go literally insane.

You're the only thing he has in Madrid that he can come home to right now. You’re the only reason he even comes home at night instead of just sleeping in the locker rooms.

If not him, who else would feed you crappy bland eggs in the morning?

You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. At some point, it became his routine.

"I was thinking of moving out."

Your head tilts to the side. You seem perplexed by his statement.

"Like, leaving. Leaving here."

You blink at him, head tilting the other way. There's a look in your eyes that tells him you understand. There's also a look that tells him it's not your first time being abandoned, left in this terribly lonely, smelly apartment.

"I can never tell what you're thinking," he huffs.

You're still for a moment, just staring at him as if you suddenly can't understand Japanese. But then you get up from the table, walk over to the container of dry rice that's been untouched for so long that it's gathering dust, and knock it over.

"Hey," he scolds sharply, chair screeching as he stands. "I have to clean that, you know?"

You start moving the spilled rice into place. He watches curiously as you sort dry rice into a pile. You don't know any Kanji, he isn't surprised. But you know enough to draw him a universally understood symbol.

When he peers over at the messy counter, he finds himself staring at a giant X. Stay, it means. Don't leave.

That night, when he knows you've retreated into the closet where you seemingly go to sleep, he crumples up the lease for his new place without signing and burns the paper.

It's because he needs to make you eggs tomorrow morning. Only he would know to do that.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?"

You raise your head from the edge of the bed. You've made it a new habit to protect him in his sleep, from what he can tell. Perching yourself on the floor beside the mattress and resting there, head in your arms, making his sheets cold.

You shake your head. Of course not, he internally smacks himself. What a ridiculous notion.

He rolls himself over onto his side, looking at you from under his duvet. "So when you sleep, you don't see anything?"

Another shake of the head. He isn't sure you're understanding him. There's another pause as he peers at you, and then he sighs, eyes sliding shut.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?" He asks again, this time emphasizing his words in a different way and hoping you'll answer him the way he wants.

Your eyes shift away for a second, as if pondering. When you look back he's surprised to see that you look... bashful?

You point at him, then at yourself, then shy away again.

You. Me. Friends.

Sae feels silly that it makes his heart ache a little— the sadness carried in your face and a loneliness so powerful he feels it rattling in his own bones.

Well, the two of you have a lot more in common than he thought. How long had you been alone? Was that really all you ever dreamed of? Having a friend?

Suddenly, his doubts about his own dreams feel immeasurably small.

He reaches out to pat your head. His hand goes through you.

Sae is 15 years old when he packs up his belongings for a flight to Japan.

"I'll be back," he promises with a small smile. You believe him. He doesn't lie to you.

You wait patiently at the door for him for two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours. When he comes home, he finds you sitting on the floor like you always do with your head in your knees and a sleepy expression on your face.

He seems colder. More withdrawn, for some reason.

"Miss me?" Sae asks, but he's not even looking at you. He makes his way over to the kitchen and dumps a cup of rice into the cooker, suitcase abandoned at the door unpacked.

You trail behind him curiously, watching him in confusion as he washes it in the sink. He pauses, finally glancing at you before reaching over and dumping a second cup of rice in.

"I stress eat. Don't tell my coach."

The words don't make much sense to you, but you nod anyways.

For the first time in months, he places a bowl of warm rice in front of you. You do as he does, say thanks for the food in your head even though you can't eat, and observe him. You both sit quietly in the dim light of the apartment, moonlight beaming through your single rickety window.

He only gets four bites in before he puts his head in his hands and sobs.

You've never seen someone cry so hard before. Usually, they only do it when they first catch a glimpse of you and flee in terror. You've never known it to be such a painful sound— like a bird singing for the sky but never finding it.

Sae sits there for a long time just crying to himself, not caring that your presence is still watching. It's not like you'd ever judge him or have the voice to speak this secret, anyways.

"Fuck—" he hiccups, wiping up his face. "—Sorry."

You look at him funny. He has no reason to apologize. He's just a kid. A 15 year old kid who needs to stress eat in the solitude of his lonely apartment right now. It makes your chest squeeze; an unfamiliar, horrible feeling that's completely new to you. You wonder if this is what all the anime he watches calls a heart.

By the time he finishes crying, his rice is cold. And when he looks up, his eyes widen. Your lips are trembling and you look like you want to shout at him, but you can't. You are dead. You're a ghost. You can't yell some sense into him, even if you tried.

In the pale moonlight shining into the room, he can see tears illuminated on your cheeks.

Sae is 16 years old when he meets his first partner.

"They're nice," he reassures you as he slicks his bangs up with gel. You shake your head in disapproval and he rolls his eyes. You always liked his bangs down, thinks he looks better that way. "Well, I can't stay single forever."

You scowl at him and swivel on your heel to stubbornly deny his claims. He just laughs.

"You're seriously jealous?"

You shoot him a glare.

"If you really don't like them, you could always scare them away. You are a ghost, aren't you?" He reaches up to pat your head as he always does. And as always, his hand phases through you.

He turns around to fix his hair again, leaning into the mirror to see himself closer.

You're not sure if you even have human features. You can't see them in a reflection, anyways. Even if you did, you're sure they're pretty scary.

You glance at Sae in the reflection. He looks as good as ever, no longer a scrawny little 13 year old kid who eats rice for breakfast every morning. You wonder if his partner is pretty like he is.

He must notice the chill in the air grow ten times colder— a telling sign that your mood is dropping. He turns around to see what has happened, only to find you sulking.

"What?"

You pout, gesturing to the mirror. He looks to the vanity, then to you, and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he says as if this was a conversation he's been waiting for. And then he talks. Talks more than you've heard in a long time— since he came home from Japan, probably.

He's gotten meaner over the years. He was always a rude little kid, but being pushed around in football must have given him thicker skin and a sharper tongue. You've never known him to be a saint of a human, someone who speaks so eloquently in their descriptions. But here he is now, defying your every expectation like he always does.

He tells you what colour your hair is. Compares the shape of your head to a fruit you can't recall an image of. Gives you a detailed explanation of all your flaws and marks and why he thinks they're so perfect because it proves that you were indeed alive and human at some point.

"You're beautiful," he concludes casually, as if he's not turning the entire world on its head right now.

Silence fills the room as he waits for your response. You don't do anything but gawk at him, and he chuckles.

He doesn't show up to his date that night.

"Your hair got longer," Sae points out one day while he's scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes flutter open from where your head rests on the coffee table. You hadn't even noticed. Can ghosts grow? 

"You know, I used to think you'd stay the same forever, but you've been growing up with me. It's cute."

Have you? Is it cute? Are you seriously so tethered to him that you've been unconsciously changing to match him?

Sae puts his phone down at your confusion. "Should I give you a birthday if you're going to grow up?"

You don't know what a birthday is. When he tries to explain it, you're even more perplexed. Ghosts don't have birthdays. They have... deathdays.

He puts a cake in front of you anyways and lets you blow out the candles.

Sae is 17 years old when he gets the eviction notice.

Four years. Four long, hard, unbelievably painful years later, and he's finally being kicked out of his house.

13 year old Sae would have celebrated. All he feels now is despair.

He doesn't tell you. He can't. How can he explain that he won't wake up every morning at 6am sharp to make you eggs? That you won't have someone around who will tell you every little thing that's changed about you from the last day? That you won't be able to doodle him little incomprehensible blobs with dry rice anymore?

He shouldn't care so much. You're not chained to this Earth. You might just disappear once he leaves, inperceptable to anyone else. The thought makes him so sick that he throws up that night. He tells you he ate some bad food.

Sae doesn't want you to feel sad or lonely, but it's not like he can just become a squatter in this place. His dream is to play football, not be thrown into jail.

You wake up one morning, and he's gone.

There isn't a note. There isn't an explanation anywhere to be found. There isn't even a trace of evidence that Itoshi Sae ever lived here.

Well, except for the plate of eggs and bowl of rice sitting on the stove.

You thought you would have been used to being alone by now. For some time, you were used to it. But that was many years ago.

You're not sure how long you've been haunting this apartment in Madrid, nor do you know how much time passes after Sae leaves. The world seems to come to a halt, actually. Without him, what fun is being a ghost?

Now you're just a lost soul like all the others. There isn't anything special about you. You're just the ghost that used to haunt Itoshi Sae and wake him up from his naps.

For the first time in years, you only know one thing. A singular fact that keeps you bound to this world: it's your duty to haunt this home. There is nothing else.

No one moves in after Sae leaves. No one new comes to be haunted. No one dares to set foot into this apartment. You remember that there were moments when life flickered inside of you, if even for just a fraction of your infinite time. The reason for that has abandoned you without explanation.

There's a knock on the door one day. You can't open it, and the person outside doesn't bother sticking around to see you phasing through the door to look around.

There's a birthday cake on the floor with candles that say '19' sticking out of it.

Only one human in the entire world would have deemed today to be your 19th birthday. He's nowhere to be seen.

He moves back to Japan on his 21st birthday. Sae is having trouble remembering what you look like, despite seeing you in his dreams every night.

It's a terrible realization. So terrible that it makes him sob into his pillow at night when no one in the world is awake to hear his anguish.

Japan is lonelier than Madrid. He never thought it would happen, and he blames you entirely.

He doesn't have anyone waiting for him when he opens the door to his luxury penthouse apartment. He only washes one plate in the morning. He wakes up from his midday naps undisturbed and rested.

Sae misses you deeply. And he can't help but wonder if you feel the same.

(You don't know what the yearning ache inside of you is. You don't know what to call it.

You miss him, too. You just can't put a name to the feeling.)

He doesn't stop seeing you in wisps; little blurs in his peripheral that make his head turn fast as lightning. Wherever he looks, you're gone.

It's not fair that you're a ghost who both literally and figuratively haunts him. He'd like to move on in life and forget about those 4 miserable years he spent living in that damned apartment.

He can't. Sae is incapable of moving on from that place. The irony of it is that you actually can't move on from that place, for some reason.

He would give anything to have you haunting him again. It doesn't matter where in the world the two of you are, if you were together everything would be okay. He's impossibly lonely without you.

You start to think that you're the selfish one.

The idea of leaving this terrible apartment in Madrid scares you to your very core— whatever soul is resting in your incorporeal body. It's not fair to place the blame entirely on Sae. Not when you're too wimpy to leave this place and find him.

Death is lonely without him.

One step forward, one day at a time. It's the advice Sae used to mutter to himself while getting ready in the morning.

One step forward, one day at a time. One step forward, one day at a time. And day by day, you're slowly inching closer to the door.

Sae talks to Rin and all he can think about is your confused smiles and head tilts. He talks to his parents and all he can imagine is how cold the room would be if it were you. He talks to his fucking therapist and thinks that all of her shitty advice can't compare to your quiet understanding— that your tears of solidarity are the only thing that could make him feel better.

It's fucked up, really, that he can't move on. His body is in Japan going through the motions: playing football, being famous, being interviewed and going home to nothing. His heart is in Madrid. You took it with you and refuse to let go.

You're the closest thing to love he's ever felt, perhaps— his only friend in Spain. His only reason not to leave. A ghost from his childhood that protected him in his sleep and ate bland eggs for breakfast across the table from him every morning. A ghost that would sit on the floor and wait for him to come home every day. A ghost that kept him company when he had no one else.

He loves you. He doesn't. He needs you. He doesn't. He misses you. He doesn't. Whatever. What does it matter now?

"So playing football has always been your dream?"

Sae stares blankly at the interviewer. He's reminded of a distant conversation: he is laying in bed looking at a ghost with a lump in his throat, and then he makes his first and only friend in Spain.

"Yes."

"And now that you're back in Japan, will you be playing for the national team?"

"I have no interest in playing on such a weak team." In other words, he has no reason to stay in Japan.

"So where will you go?"

Anywhere but here, he wants to say. In reality, he doesn't know where to go anymore if not to his old apartment in Spain. He just knows that he wants to come home to your sleepy face.

(That night, he makes two bowls of rice. He cries like he's 15 years old again and just ruined his relationship with his brother.)

You've never been outside before.

You've heard about it, almost entirely from Sae but also from little snippets of anime he liked to watch. It's brighter than you imagined it to be, and warmer. You're not sure you've ever felt so warm before— it's hard to when you are a walking freezer.

There isn't anyone to tell you where to go. No one pays you any mind. You wonder if you even exist anymore outside of the small confines of that old apartment.

Something tells you that you do.

You don't know where to start looking. He could be all the way across the globe for all you know, though he did used to talk about his home country.

You have no map. You have no sense of direction. You have no one to ask for help. 

All you have is the soul caged within your ghostly body tugging in one direction, and wispy feet dragging your body along in response.

Sae is 23 years old when he finally signs the contract to play for Japan, after months of being pestered by Rin about it.

His relationship with his brother is complicated. On one hand, he feels as though Rin will never truly forgive him for what he did when he was 15. On the other, he looks so ecstatic to be playing football together again that Sae wonders if their discourse was imaginary.

Japan is just a smidge less lonely with Rin in his life.

He wants to tell you all about it. That everything worked out and it's fine now. That you can stop weeping for him and to wipe up the tears that fall into nothing.

He counts the distance between you. Fourteen thousand kilometres separate him from telling you how he's living his new dream: playing football with his little brother again.

Fourteen thousand kilometers, ten years of needing you, and a reminder set on his phone to buy you a birthday cake again this year.

His heart aches.

Japan is loud and busy and everyone is always in a hurry to get places.

You have to wonder if Sae really grew up in a city like this, and how he turned out so calm and unmovable. The street names are all in Kanji you can't read, but your soul tells you that you're going the right way, anyways.

There's a crowd gathering when your feet finally come to a halt. Lights flash and there are fancy looking people with microphones clamouring toward the center.

It's only a fraction of a second that your eyes meet, and then someone shoves him into the back of the car and they drive off.

He must be famous here, too.

Sae is 24 years old tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if you were just a figment of his imagination or if you were truly standing there under a streetlamp watching him.

It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed you into existence; on some occasions you feel so real that he nearly reaches out to attempt to pat your head, like he always used to do when he was younger.

He goes back to that spot a couple hours later. The crowd is long gone and it's the dead of night— no one would be around to witness Itoshi Sae looking psychotic.

He doesn't find you in that spot. Instead, you're two blocks down and crouched in front of the window of a 24 hour shop. There's an ad for sparklers, and though you can't read the poster itself, the picture makes you stare with wide eyes.

He crouches down beside you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

"Do you want one?" He asks. You look at him in a strange way and his knees grow weak beneath him. You nod.

He comes out five minutes later with a few packs in his hand, walking away from you down the street to the park. You follow him quietly as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

Sae holds one out, flicks the lighter in his pocket open and ignites the first sparkler. You watch it in fascination, ghostly form illuminated in warm orange and yellow light.

He smiles at you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

When the sparkler dies out, he lights another. And another. And another, until he's gone through all the packets he could afford with the Yen in his wallet right now.

As if 7 years of distance never existed between you, he reaches out to pat your head. His hand falls through you.

You think Sae's new apartment is pretentious, but it's clean and open and doesn't smell like mildew.

It's hard to imagine what kind of purpose you had before him— all your memories are flooded with his hands and eyes and bangs and small smiles reserved for you. You think that the only reason you were ever materialized into the mortal plane was to haunt him, and only him. Itoshi Sae's permanent looming presence.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you've noticed he's been smiling more lately since you started waiting for him to come home by the door.

Sae is 25 years old when you fall asleep beside him in his bed.

You don't care that he's a kicker or a blanket hog in his sleep. It's not like either of those would affect you. He watches your sleeping face carefully, waiting to see if he would ever wake up from this blissful dream and be alone again.

But every time he wakes up, there you are.

You've grown since he left you in Madrid— you don't look like some lost little kid anymore, at least. He wonders if your souls are truly so intertwined that you would change alongside him, regardless of the distance.

Your eyes flutter open and his breath catches in his throat. You blink at him slowly in the pale moonlight, brows furrowed.

You point at him. Then yourself.

You. Me.

He nods in understanding.

When he drops a plate of protein pancakes in front of you for breakfast, you look confused.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want rice?"

You shake your head. You don't care what's for breakfast, as long as you're sitting across from him while he eats it.

"I'm going to be the world's best midfielder," he tells you one day. You're on the floor and he's on the couch, and it's like time had never even passed.

You don't know what that means, but it's his dream so it must be important. The most important thing in the world.

What you don't know is that it's not his entire dream. World's best midfielder doesn't mean a thing if he can't come home to tell you all about it.

You are dead.

You're a ghost haunting Itoshi Sae— one that followed him from Madrid all the way to Japan. You don't remember how, or when, or why you died. You can't remember what your face looks like either, no matter how much Sae tries to describe it to you. 

You are dead. You're a ghost knocking over Sae's belongings to get his attention when you want it. You're the ghost curled up in bed with him even though he has to wear two layers to stay warm because of it. You're the ghost watching him rotate through different breakfasts that he says could never compare to a good old warm bowl of rice.

You are a ghost, and Itoshi Sae gave you a name. A birthday. A purpose greater than being a loud nuisance.

You are a ghost who likes to watch him light sparklers on his balcony. Who feels the things described only in the books he reads to you. Who learned to love somewhere along the way.

You are dead, and somehow alive at the same time.

(One day, Sae will be brave. One day, he will tell you he loves you. One day, he will thank you for waiting for him at the door when he comes home.)

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[weebsinstash]

Now don't get me wrong, I like how... calm and unbothered Alastor is, or at least tries to pass himself off as being

but like.... we know he's a drinker.... and we know certain details about him having an alcoholic abusive father who was cruel to his mother which heavily influenced his whole Dexter serial killer morality bs... and I can't help but think of a fic idea where Reader and Alastor are together and, suddenly without warning you break up with him BECAUSE YOU CHEATED ON HIM. you're like, legitimately heartbroken and missing him but you broke up for a good reason and, time passes and you dont see or hear from him, you're basically just going on with your life, and, MEANWHILE HE'S JUST SLOWLY DEVOLVING IN A PATHETIC LITTLE MEOW MEOW

His radio show comes on and he's SLURRING and people are aghast. Alastor is usually such a classy gentleman, so careful with his image??? Meanwhile he's in his radio station with several glasses of whiskey and staring at a wall lined with your photos while he's broadcasting, "ohhhh hEeeEy LiSteNers!! How-how are you all doing this.... 😡LOVELY😤 evening. Isnt..... isn't it... so nice to... spend time with loved ones when you need them? 🥴 WELL I WOULDNT KNOW HA HAH HA" *cue 30 straight uninterrupted seconds of unhinged laughing from a man clearly having an emotional crisis* "so on tonightsssshow I was-i wasszzz hoping to-to discussss-"

Like imagine tuning into his show after avoiding it because it broke your heart and it turns from him like, having an actual topic and planned structure of his show, to then, one day you overhear a broadcast and he's just occasionally slurring, saying really really vague shit about how "real men are supposed to be strong enough to protect and hold onto those they hold dear" and you can occasionally hear the THUNK of his whiskey glass hitting the table meaning he's already drunk but still drinking WHILE broadcasting and, oh honey you already sound so wasted you don't need more--

You guys don't understand. I want this man having a very PUBLIC very MESSY mental breakdown because he was CRAZY IN LOVE WITH YOU and you sat him down and told him you love him deeply but you need sex and you've cheated on him REPEATEDLY and EVEN THEN he was HARDCORE COPING, "w well as long as you promise it won't happen again-" "I cant and i won't. I love you but i cant repress this part of myself" LIKE YOU DECIMATE THIS MAN. Alastor's just beside himself because like, not without valid feelings but you're basically dumping him to fuck strangers. Like. I just. What if he literally had a ring box or was starting to realize he's demisexual on the ace spectrum and was starting to have Those Feelings for you and you're just. Breaking up with him, and all he hears is "sorry but having these disgusting men I don't even know hunch over on me grunting like disgusting animals and defiling me who is definitely way too good for them is way better than being with you my respectful funny classy charming totally-not-husband"

I want you to be walking down the streets of Hell and Vox suddenly comes on their equivalent of a jumbotron and he's visibly beside himself with excitement, "BREAKING NEWS, THE RADIO DEMON IS PISS DRUNK IN THE GUTTER LIKE A FUCKING LOSER, MORE NEWS ON THE SCENE" and it just snap cuts to him facedown in the street somewhere. Have you ever seen Intervention. You can have grown ass adults with successful careers and loving communities and when they find something that breaks them you'll be seeing shit like, children finding their mothers literally passed out in the yard because they were too drunk to get into the house or even WALK properly. So. You just. See him in this legitimately pathetic absolutely humiliating state and you can't help but feel that that's YOUR fault, meanwhile Vox is living his best fucking life, GOD FORBID VOX SEES YOU STANDING THERE CRYING ON THE SIDEWALK, he's then broadcasting your crying face all over Hell, "Hey Alastor even your EX is CRYING AT HOW PATHETIC YOU ARE, GUESS THAT'S WHY THEY LEFT YOU HUH" and like. The live feed of Alastor shows him just, struggling to even lift his head to look up to, wherever, and see your image there, looking absolutely devastated, looking at him with pity and heartbreak. oh, his sweet beloved, looking so distressed because you see him so weak...

Vox is just living it up mocking both of you but he's made several enormous mistakes by putting you on the air, especially looking like THAT, especially with Alastor in this mental state, and ESPECIALLY to mock you when you're already looking so broken. The feed cuts. All the TVs read "LOST SIGNAL" and nothing comes back on the news for the rest of the night. Less than a week later, the radios are on again, and Alastor sounds... completely back to normal? Chipper, even? And at first you're happy to hear he's all good and well, but, there's something about some of the things he's saying that are making you a little.... nervous?

"You know folks, it took me an EMBARRASSINGLY long while to realize that, a true traditional man puts the needs of others above himself, and especially the needs of his special somebody! One can't truly care for one's loved one properly if you're too boggled down with, FEELING SORRY for yourself right? How else are you going to... defend what's yours if you just lie down and take it?"

"So while I was off the air, good listeners, I was doing quite a bit of, spring cleaning, let's call it! Yes, I was... unfortunately very busy, having to wrangle up quite a few.... disgusting, insignificant, dirty, thieving PERVERTS!!!! ....but now that that's all good and done with, I'd certainly like to think these streets are a little more... respectable!"

"To end the broadcast tonight, a final word to all my fellow men out there. If you happen to discover that, for whatever reason, your beloved has run off with another? It was because you deserved it for being WEAK. You allowed another man to just, COME IN and... DESECRATE what is precious to you? Disgraceful. Pathetic. Ill-mannered. You cannot call yourself a worthy partner if you simply allow your beloved to waltz themselves into the mouth of danger, can you? So, a little piece of advice from your humble host here tonight: Take back what is yours. Take them back, do not let them go, and do not let anyone EVER soil your love ever again. ........Also hey! Don't forget that the annual Cannibal District Cook-Out is this coming weekend so be sure to--"

[willowser]

okay but imagine one day the little one goes up to his daddy and tells him you introduced a guy to him and how much he doesn’t like this man. It doesn’t even have to be a romantic partner it could just be an old friend but lil one and ex!husband bakugou instantly assume you have a new man in your life

omg. the heart attack bakugou is having.

your son is standing on his little step-stool in front of katsuki's bathroom mirror. meant to be brushing his little teeth, but he's mostly chewing on his toothbrush, poking around in his dad's cologne and aftershave and deodorant. at least he's put his pj's on by himself.

katsuki is finishing up his own shower, glancing at him every now and then as he washes the shampoo from his own hair, and when he's finally done, the little boy hasn't gotten any closer to having clean teeth; now he's drawing mindless little shapes through the steam that's built up on the glass.

"oi," he only has to say it once and then your son is letting out a little sigh before brushing the way he's meant to — even if katsuki knows the there's not a lick of toothpaste on that thing.

"dad," he says suddenly, distracted as he turns around to face him. "mommy doesn't let me take a shower."

katsuki moved on from bath time rather quick. in the very beginning, it was fine, because he washed his squirmy son and then wrapped him up in a towel and that was it, but in the last year or so it's turned into "how many toys can i bring with me this time, dad?" and then sitting in the water until it's run cold. it's much easier to get him in the shower at the same time, to shampoo his head and scrub his little butt and then kick him out.

"oh, yeah?" he murmurs, adjusting the towel on his waist. "s'cause mom's better at baths than me."

the little boy only shrugs, before continuing. he's in a small phase right now of 'dad? hey dad? um, dad?' every time he's got something to say, and katsuki finds it both cute and a little exhausting.

"hey dad?"

katsuki hums.

"mommy had a man in her shower."

the first image that comes to mind is of himself, in your shower; the many times you'd taken one together and hugged him beneath the warm water; how it clung to your eyelashes and sat in your cupid's bow. warm, made soft and tender in the steam, like he could mold you against his body forever.

— and then his stomach is swooping so hard, he thinks he might be sick.

"what?" katsuki asks, voice loud and affronted, snatching all his son's attention. "sorry, 'm sorry," and then because his son is still looking at him with wide eyes, he pulls him up close, rubbing his back once before setting him to stand on the counter — which he never gets to do.

guilt twists in his stomach for yelling, though his son seems unbothered now, at new heights. katsuki grabs him by his little tiny shoulders and tries to keep his face smooth and calm, his pending heartbreak hidden.

"who was in mom's shower?"

but your son is smarter than that, can read katsuki like an open book, somehow. as if you passed all your understanding down through the womb; he came out of there knowing exactly what dad was thinking with a single look.

your son only shrugs, averting his eyes to katsuki's shoulder as he lightly pinches his wet skin.

"'m sorry," he says again, shaking his little body around until the boy is laughing. "i'm not mad. i just..." katsuki sighs and tries not to pout. "wasn't expecting that."

"are you mad at mommy?"

the divorce isn't new, and katsuki's not stupid.

you've been on a handful of dates, been open about it, encouraged him to do the same. not that he's bothered, but anyone with eyes and half a brain would try to swoop in on someone like you, so — as much as it makes him want to knock some fucking teeth in — can't say he should be surprised.

he shouldn't be, at all.

still feels like shit, though.

"no," he finally says, tugging the little toothbrush from his tiny fist to put some actual toothpaste on it. "'m not mad at anybody."

"are you sad?"

maybe it's another purposeful distraction, to get out of doing what he's told, or maybe he's probing at nerves because he's too young and too curious, or maybe he just knows his dad too well.

katsuki frowns at his big eyes, staring back at him, before lightly patting his little hip. "brush your teeth, i ain't tellin' you again."

he tries not to think about it, but that just makes it worse. can't stop imagining you in the arms of some other asshole, what stupid shit they must be doing to flirt with you, how they're making you laugh; just the image of it alone — you, besides some fucking bozo, head thrown back the way you do, laughing louder than you ever did with him — makes his stomach hurt.

it makes him dread the hand-off, too. his house is gonna feel too quiet now, after a week with the little brat, and that's a big enough wound to leave him with nothing to say — but you always try to insist on katsuki finding someone every time you get back out there.

it makes him physically ill, just watching the side of your face as you buckle your son into his car seat, all grins because your house gets to be lively with him.

and when you close the door and turn to him and mutter out your little, "hey, by the way....", he has half a mind to just walk away, right then.

"your son," you start off, lightly punching him in the shoulder. "got into the dryer sheets last week and flushed a whole bunch of them down the toilet."

oh.

"oh," katsuki says, and then he narrows his eyes at his son through the window, even though he's not paying any attention.

(on the nights when the little boy can't sleep, is more emotional than usual, katsuki calls you because that's what your son really wants.)

(very relatable feeling, katsuki thinks.)

"yeah," you smile, "and my coworker's husband is a plumber, so i was able to get it all taken care of. just...thought i would let you know."

katsuki shrugs like he could care less, but you see right through it all, of course. the both of you, mother and son, too understanding for his own good.

almost like you were made for him, like you're supposed to still be his.

"yeah, good," he nods once, glancing over your shoulder to see your son finally sitting up a little bit, peering through the window with his big, sad eyes.

just watching the two of you. just knowing.