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lycheeflavr · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii i js stumbled into your blog and its superr cutee!! I really love your writing was wondering if you were open to wrote about Tsukishimaa? If not, its okay :))

Heiii, first of all, thank you very much, and also thank you for the request <3 yes, of course!! I honestly had so much fun writing this, also I didn't know if you would like some smut as well, so I added a little smutty bonus scene at the end. You can skip it, it doesn't really matter to the story :)) now I hope you have a lot of fun reading this!!

The Bones Beneath 🧢🐠

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima kei x GN!reader tags: slow burn (ish), mutual pining, coworker tension, art & science themes, tsuki being a secret softie, slight angst with comfort, banter & emotional closeness, confessions without confessing, fluff if squint, reader is an exhibit designer/artist, tsuki is an AV tech/paleontology nerd, almost love, quiet longing summary: You were never supposed to get attached to the quiet AV technician helping set up your fossil exhibit. He was there to wire the lights. You were there to make bones beautiful. But somewhere between late-night fixes, museum shadows, and cups of burnt breakroom coffee, something between you began to take shape—slow and fragile and maybe a little ancient in its own way. word count: 5.8k

Tsukishima Kei liked his hours quiet and his fossils older than God.

The museum opened to the public at nine, but he was always there by seven. The early mornings were his: no chattering tourists, no interns asking questions he didn’t care to answer, no toddlers smudging glass with sticky hands. Just silence, bones, and the low mechanical hum of the lights flickering to life row by row.

He walked the exhibit floor with a mug of instant black coffee and a clipboard he didn’t really need. The Tyrannosaurus rex stood tall in the center of the room, jaws frozen in a permanent snarl, ribs exposed like cathedral arches. Tsukishima paused beneath it every morning like it was ritual. One sip of coffee, one glance upward. The bones never changed.

That was the point.

He liked things that stayed the same. Fossils. Labels. Dust motes in the morning light.

At exactly 7:43 a.m., he opened his laptop behind the front desk — not where the general staff worked, but the tucked-away station he’d unofficially claimed. It had the best Wi-Fi signal and worst chair. He preferred that no one else wanted to sit there.

Emails loaded slowly. He sipped his coffee and scanned subject lines. One caught his attention, marked URGENT – EXHIBIT SUPPORT REQUEST. He clicked it without much enthusiasm.

To: Tsukishima KeiSubject: Visiting Artist Collaboration | Exhibit Support

Kei, You’ve been assigned as the museum liaison for our upcoming interactive exhibit, “Extinction Echoes.” The guest artist arrives tomorrow to begin work on the installation surrounding the T-Rex centerpiece. Please provide access and assist as needed — you’ll be their primary point of contact.

Let us know if you have questions. — Ms. Fukuda

He stared at the screen. Then took another long sip of coffee.

Artist, he thought, in the way someone might think pest infestation. They always asked too many questions. They moved things that weren’t supposed to be moved. They cared about aesthetics over accuracy, emotion over science. It made his teeth itch.

He clicked the artist’s attached bio and scanned the page.

You had a list of gallery credits longer than his patience. Installations in Kyoto, Seoul, Paris. Something about “immersive spaces challenging temporal experience.” He didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care enough to pretend. There was a photo of you attached — mid-laugh, head tilted back, paint-splattered hands. You looked loud, even in stillness.

Tsukishima closed the tab with a sigh.

This was going to suck.

He stared at the skeleton of the T-Rex for a while longer, like maybe it would offer sympathy. It didn’t.

Back to his feet, clipboard tucked under his arm, he continued the routine — checking casing screws, labeling touch-up requests in pencil. As long as you stayed out of his way, maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster.

Maybe you wouldn’t talk too much.

Maybe you’d cancel last-minute and spare him the headache.

He doubted it.

The fossils, at least, wouldn’t leave him unread.

The next morning, Tsukishima arrived five minutes earlier than usual.

Not because he cared. Just to set the rules. It was important that people knew their place in a shared ecosystem — especially the kinds of people who used phrases like temporal fluidity and wore too many rings.

The exhibit hall was still empty, the bones calm and familiar in the blue-toned light of early morning. He was mid-sip of coffee, debating whether he had time to finish it before the chaos arrived, when—

“Hi!” a voice called from the far end of the gallery.

He turned, already bracing himself.

You were a splash of color against the muted sandstone walls — all layers and movement. A long, oversized coat in a shade too bright to be taken seriously, mismatched socks barely visible beneath wide-legged trousers, a bag slung across your shoulder like it weighed more than you did. One hand held a battered sketchbook. The other, naturally, clutched a drink in a cup aggressively labeled LAVENDER MATCHA in bubble letters.

He blinked once. Then again.

“You’re Tsukishima, right?” you asked, walking toward him without waiting for an answer. “Sorry I’m early — I just couldn’t sleep last night, I was too excited. This place is incredible.”

He nodded once, clipped and formal. “I know.”

That stopped you for half a second. Then you laughed.

“Oh, cool. Confidence. Love that.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned and started walking toward the control panel, trusting you'd follow.

You did, footsteps echoing lightly behind his. “The bones are even more haunting in the morning. Kind of like they know they’re supposed to be asleep, but they’re still here. I mean, isn’t that sad? In a poetic way.”

“I’m pretty sure the skeletons don’t have feelings,” he muttered without looking at you.

“Well, someone’s a morning person,” you teased, grinning.

He resisted the urge to sigh. “I assume you read the layout brief?”

“I did, but I don’t do great with maps,” you said, flipping open your sketchbook and holding it up like proof. “I just take notes like this. Shapes, light impressions, space planning... it makes more sense to me.”

He stared at the mess of charcoal strokes and layered watercolor swatches that resembled absolutely nothing useful.

“This is your system?”

“Mhm.”

“It looks like a bird flew into a window and died.”

You snorted — actually snorted — and Tsukishima narrowed his eyes.

“Wow,” you said, grinning. “Are you this charming with everyone, or am I just special?”

“I’m not charming.”

“Well, you’re something.”

He stared at you, unreadable, then said, “Let’s get this over with.”

You followed as he walked, still chattering, unbothered by the blank expression he wore like armor. He gave you the tour — exhibit boundaries, restricted zones, lighting rig limitations — and you nodded along, eyes darting between him and the bones above like you were seeing a world he couldn’t.

“This place feels like a cathedral,” you said eventually, voice lower now. “But broken. Like worshipping something that’s already gone. That’s why I want the light to move slowly across the ribs. Like… memory.”

He paused.

The quiet stretched. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you. Then, softly:

“They weren’t worshipped. They were feared. The T-Rex was a predator.”

“Still deserves a little reverence,” you said.

His jaw twitched.

You smiled. “You’re kind of a fossil snob, huh?”

“I’m a paleontologist.”

“Oh, that explains the glasses.”

“I don’t wear—” He stopped himself. Exhaled sharply. “You’re going to be exhausting.”

“I’ve been called worse,” you chirped.

You sat cross-legged on the floor a few minutes later, sketchbook open on your lap, head tilted at an angle only artists and toddlers attempting handstands ever attempted. You tapped your pen against your lips thoughtfully.

Tsukishima hovered nearby, clipboard in hand, pointedly not watching you.

“I think we should try sound too,” you said suddenly. “Subtle—like a low hum. Maybe faint echoing footsteps, like ghosts. Not too literal.”

“That’s not in the budget,” he replied, immediately.

“Not yet,” you shot back, unfazed. “But maybe if I bribe the right intern—”

“Please don’t.”

“No promises, dino boy.”

The silence that followed was immediate. You looked up, blinking. He was frozen mid-step, like you’d just said something blasphemous in a sacred space.

“What?”

“Did you just call me—?”

“Oh. That slipped out,” you said, sheepish. “Sorry. I mean—Kei, right? Or… Tsukishima? Do you prefer one?”

His expression flattened. “I prefer not being called a pet name designed by a cartoon character.”

You grinned, and there it was — the spark. The part you hadn't expected. Under all that sarcasm and sharpness, something coiled and unreadable. Maybe not warmth. Not yet. But interest, flickering low and quiet like the gallery lights overhead.

“Well,” you said, tucking your pen behind your ear and getting to your feet, “I guess I’ll just have to earn it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Earn what?”

“A less embarrassing nickname.”

He rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible.

You turned, already halfway to the next room, your voice floating behind you. “Come on, fossil prince. We’ve got work to do.”

He muttered something under his breath — probably unflattering — but followed.

Not because he cared.

Just because you clearly needed supervision.

Tsukishima wasn’t sure when it stopped bothering him.

You were in the exhibit every day. That part made sense — you had work to do. What didn’t make sense was how you did it.

You hummed when you worked. Never full songs, just little pieces, shapeless and aimless, like you were keeping yourself company. You talked to the bones like they were old friends. Called the Stegosaurus “Big Spikey Boy” under your breath. Left coffee cups in bizarre places — behind glass cases, perched on light fixtures, one time balanced delicately on the rib of a hadrosaur like it belonged there.

He found himself moving them instead of snapping at you.

That annoyed him most of all.

You sprawled on the floor to draw. Sat backwards on chairs. Doodled stars in the margins of your blueprints. You weren’t messy — you were chaotic. But not in a way that ruined things. You took up space like you belonged to it. Like you’d earned it.

He hated it.

He really, really didn’t.

Tsukishima started staying later under the excuse of “supervising.” In truth, he just… didn’t want to leave. Not when your sketchbook was open across your knees, feet bare, toes tapping the air in rhythm with the music you played from a tiny Bluetooth speaker you weren’t technically allowed to use.

Soft stuff. Dreamy. A little sad. Fuzzy guitars and synths like melted sunlight.

He told you to turn it off.

You didn’t.

He didn’t ask again.

Most evenings, he brought work with him — real work, grant edits or exhibit updates — but he barely touched it. Instead, he watched you in the corner of his eye. The way you moved around the bones, measuring with your hands, frowning thoughtfully at light angles. Talking to yourself under your breath.

And once, when he stayed too late without realizing, he looked up and caught you lying flat on your back in the middle of the exhibit floor.

At first he thought something was wrong — your limbs were outstretched, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like you’d fallen and simply given up.

Then you spoke, quiet and unhurried.

“It’s beautiful how it still takes up space after all this time.”

He didn’t answer right away. The gallery was too still, the air too thick. It was the kind of sentence people usually said in museums when they were trying to impress someone. But you’d said it to no one. Like you didn’t expect to be heard at all.

His voice came out rougher than intended.

“You mean the T-Rex?”

You didn’t move. Just blinked, slow. “Yeah. It’s been dead millions of years, and it still makes people stop. Still commands a room. Like… it never left.”

He stared at the curve of the bones — the arc of the ribs, the open jaw — and swallowed.

“It’s not really the same,” he said eventually. “This is a reconstruction. Most of the bones are casts.”

“Still,” you said, softer now. “It’s the shape that matters.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Or maybe he did, but it sat too heavy on his tongue.

Instead, he sat beside you.

Not close. Not touching.

But that was the first time he didn’t go home early.

Over the next week, something shifted.

You stopped asking if he wanted music on — just played it. He stopped pretending to glare.

You started bringing two coffees, not one. Always black for him, always in a plain cup labeled KEI in smudged pen.

He never said thank you.

You never expected it.

You adjusted a lighting fixture one evening, standing on the lowest ledge of the exhibit’s frame. Tsukishima reached out instinctively when you wobbled.

His hand curled around your waist for half a second. Warm. Steady.

You froze. He stepped back like he’d touched a stove.

“Careful,” he muttered.

You smiled. “You do care.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t let go as fast next time.

He started reading your notes after you went home.

Not snooping — just... curious. Your sketchbook was a mess of lines and light notations: “bone shadows curl here,” “weight of silence stronger in this quadrant,” “add faint shimmer to mimic breath.”

Breath.

He didn’t know how to explain how badly that word undid him.

You treated the exhibit like it was alive. Not a museum piece, but a memory you could still talk to. An echo with ribs.

And you never once made him feel like he wasn’t allowed in that echo, too.

One night, he walked into the exhibit after hours to find you asleep on the bench beneath the T-Rex.

Your coat was bundled under your head, sketchbook lying open on your chest. The gallery lights glowed faintly overhead, casting soft shadows across your face. You looked peaceful. Quiet. A part of the space now, not just working on it — woven into the silence.

He sat across from you, pretending to read a paper he wasn’t holding. Time passed. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe more.

Then your voice, soft with sleep:

“Are you watching me sleep?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re not even fully asleep.”

You peeked at him with one eye open. “Maybe I was dreaming about you.”

“Unlikely.”

“Rude.”

He rolled his eyes — but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, unguarded for once.

You caught it.

“Kei,” you said, like it meant something new now.

He looked up.

“Yeah?”

You blinked like you hadn’t expected that response to come so easily.

Then you just smiled and said, “Nothing.”

He didn’t press. But he stayed until the building closed.

It started with the lighting.

You stood in the center of the exhibit with your hands in your hair, gesturing to the overhead rig like you were conducting some invisible orchestra.

“We could do a soft fade that moves with the visitor — like the bones respond to presence. Just a slow, low shift as people walk through. Imagine how alive it would feel.”

Tsukishima didn’t even look up from his clipboard.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“That’s not what this exhibit is. It’s not a haunted house. It’s not a performance.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet, Kei. I have a test set-up. It’s subtle. Thoughtful. It adds mood.”

“It adds distraction,” he said flatly. “And it compromises the fossil presentation. Light distortions throw off color perception and may damage the casts over time.”

“Oh, come on,” you snapped, heat curling into your chest. “We’re not burning them under stage lights. This isn’t your personal lab. It’s a space for people to feel something. You said you wanted more engagement.”

“I want clarity. Not theatrical gimmicks.”

The word landed hard.

You went still, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“So that’s what you think this is,” you said, voice tight. “A gimmick.”

Tsukishima looked up then. Slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set like stone.

“You act like you’re saving them. Like making a dinosaur look dramatic is the same as making people care.”

“And you act like people will care just because you slapped a plaque on the wall and stood under a spotlight!”

It burst out of you, louder than you meant.

“You’re so obsessed with being precise, with being right, that you don’t even see how cold you sound. No wonder no one sticks around.”

The silence was immediate.

You heard it the second it came out of your mouth — the way his face didn’t flinch but froze, eyes going cold and glassy like he’d just flicked off something vital inside himself.

He stared at you. Long and flat.

Then:

“You think people care about your lights? You think they’ll walk out remembering ‘how it felt’ and not just take a photo and leave?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest ached.

“I don’t know what they’ll remember,” you said. “But I’m scared they won’t remember anything. That they’ll walk past bones that are millions of years old and shrug. That all this work will fade into the background because it didn’t shine enough to be seen.”

That cracked something in your voice. The quiet truth beneath the fire.

Tsukishima looked at you for a long moment.

Then he muttered,

“People always care about spectacle.”

And walked away.

You didn’t talk for two days.

You kept your head down when he passed. You played your music softer. Your sketchbook stayed closed, and the second he entered the exhibit, you left.

It shouldn’t have hurt like this.

He wasn’t yours.

But it did. Quietly. Deeply.

Because for all his sharp edges, Kei had made space for you in the quiet hours. Had let you stay. Had sat beside you under fossil ribs while the world turned slow. You’d let yourself think he was listening. That he maybe even believed in some part of your vision.

Apparently not.

That night, Tsukishima stayed late in the office alone. The building was too quiet. He hated how much he noticed the silence now when you weren’t filling it.

He didn’t even mean to open the sketchbook.

It was sitting on your stool, slightly askew, pages fanned like it wanted to be read. He stood there for a long minute before touching it — fingers brushing the paper like he was afraid it might burn.

The notes were messier than he remembered. Half-formed thoughts, shorthand, tiny arrows. But there was a page marked with a sticky tab in the shape of a cartoon bone. He opened to it.

The full skeleton was drawn by hand — not just a diagram, but alive, posed in a way that almost made it look like it was breathing. Lights were sketched in around it, rays tracing the angles of ribs and jaws like sunlight through water. At the bottom of the page, in your handwriting:

I want people to feel like they’ve stumbled into something sacred. Like the bones were waiting for them. Like they’ve walked into a memory older than the Earth they came from.

He stared at the words until they blurred.

He hated how it made his throat tight.

Tsukishima didn’t sleep that night.

He didn’t know how to say it — how to apologize. He didn’t do sorry very well. He usually didn’t need to.

But the shape of your fear haunted him. The way your voice cracked when you said, “I’m scared they won’t remember anything.”

Because he understood that. Too well.

He spent his whole life being remembered for the wrong things. Or not remembered at all.

And you? You wanted your work to matter so badly you were willing to fight him over it. Risk looking soft. Sentimental. Even foolish.

He thought that was brave.

He thought maybe you were brave.

You noticed it the second you walked in.

The lighting rig had changed.

The movement was smoother now, less of a fade and more of a pulse — like breath in the air, like shadow and presence mingling gently along the curve of the fossil display. It responded, but didn’t overwhelm. Subtle. Intentional. Balanced.

And the tech setup? Upgraded. Clean wiring, reinforced bracketing. Your original sketch still hung nearby, but someone had gone over it in pencil — adjusting angles, improving placements.

Your stomach flipped.

There was only one person meticulous enough to have done that.

You found him in the staff lounge, hunched over a mug of black tea and pretending to read a paleontology journal.

You stood in the doorway for a second, then cleared your throat.

“You… fixed the rig.”

Tsukishima didn’t look up.

“It was sloppy.” He turned a page, like the conversation bored him. “I fixed it.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Thanks.”

“It was bothering me.”

“Right. Of course.” You stepped fully into the room, grabbed your own mug, filled it just to do something with your hands.

The silence that settled wasn’t heavy, but it was strange — like the room didn’t know what to do with the absence of arguing. You sat across from him slowly, letting the mug warm your palms.

Outside, thunder rumbled.

“Looks like the storm’s rolling in,” you said, glancing toward the windows.

Tsukishima gave a quiet hum.

“Museum’s closing early. They already put the signs out.”

You nodded. Another pause.

“I guess we’re stuck for a bit.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t leave either.

Rain began to patter against the windows — soft at first, then sharp, like tiny bones clicking against glass.

You didn’t speak for a while. It wasn’t awkward. Just… quiet.

Eventually, you exhaled.

“I used to think museums were holy.” The words slipped out so gently you almost didn’t notice yourself saying them. “Like sacred, somehow. Even the air felt different. Like I couldn’t breathe loud.”

Tsukishima didn’t move, but you saw the way his eyes lifted, just slightly.

“When I was a kid,” you continued, “we didn’t go many places. But my aunt took me to this little natural history museum once. It was kind of sad, honestly — half the exhibits were broken, one of the audio guides just screamed static. But there was this fossil in the middle of the floor. Some ancient sea creature I couldn’t pronounce. And I just… stood there. For, like, half an hour. Didn’t say a word.”

You smiled a little at the memory.

“She asked if I was bored. But I felt… I don’t know. Seen? Like something that big and that old still being here meant I could be too.”

You rubbed your finger around the rim of your mug.

“I just wanted to make something that someone remembered. Even if they couldn’t explain why.”

The thunder cracked closer now. The lights flickered faintly.

You weren’t sure if he was going to say anything. He didn’t meet your eyes. But after a moment, he spoke — quiet and firm, voice low enough that it didn’t sound like performance.

“Then make something that can’t be forgotten.”

You froze.

Your breath caught.

Not because of what he said — but how he said it.

Not dismissive. Not mocking. But earnest.

Like he meant it.

You looked up. He still wasn’t looking at you, but his fingers had stilled on the page.

The storm roared outside.

Inside, something softened.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just let the quiet stretch — filled with the scent of tea and rain and the unspoken possibility that maybe… just maybe… you weren’t as far apart as you’d thought.

You didn’t expect to cry. But as the lights came up—soft, fluid, breathing in harmony with the slow rise of ambient sound—you felt something tighten in your chest.

It was exactly what you’d imagined.

The fossil hovered like a ghost over time, suspended in silence and reverence. The light kissed every ancient curve, every bone, every inch of its long-buried story. There was a stillness in the room, as if the crowd understood that breathing too loudly might break the spell.

Your piece. Your concept. Alive.

Applause came gently at first. A few quiet murmurs. And then a wave of sound, camera flashes, hushed voices saying your name with excitement.

Someone clapped you on the back. Another handed you a glass of cheap champagne.

“Brilliant work,” one of the donors said. “Unforgettable,” a curator whispered. “You should be proud,” your boss told you, beaming.

You smiled. You said thank you. You tried to listen. But your eyes were scanning the room for him.

Tsukishima stood in the shadows, off to the left side of the exhibit hall, mostly obscured by a pillar. He was still in his uniform jacket, arms crossed, gold glasses catching the shifting light. He wasn’t clapping. Wasn’t even pretending to mingle.

But he was watching.

You met his eyes across the crowd.

There was a pause. A flicker of something you couldn’t name. And then—he looked away.

You turned back to the small crowd around you. Smiled again. Nodded. Said something about collaboration. You think someone took a photo of you mid-sentence. You didn’t mind. This was what you’d worked for.

But you kept glancing toward the pillar. He was gone.

You slipped out not long after.

The night air was sharp and wet, still humming with the electricity of the earlier storm. The exhibit hall door clicked shut behind you, muffling the buzz of celebration.

You found him near the back entrance of the building, leaning against a railing, eyes tilted up toward the cloud-covered sky. He hadn’t heard you approach.

You paused.

He looked taller out here. The pale security light washed over his cheekbones, caught on his lashes. He hadn’t even changed out of his work shoes.

“You disappeared,” you said quietly.

Tsukishima’s shoulders didn’t shift.

“Didn’t feel like standing around.”

You walked over, hands in your coat pockets.

“But you were part of this.”

“I just fixed the wiring.”

You scoffed, half amused.

“You didn’t just fix the wiring, Kei.”

That made him glance at you. Just a flicker of gold through those glasses. And then he said something you didn’t expect.

“It was beautiful.”

Your breath hitched.

He looked away again. Like it cost him something to say it. Like it meant something more.

“You could’ve said that inside,” you said.

“You didn’t need me to.”

You studied his profile in the silver light.

“But I wanted to.”

Silence again. Not heavy this time. Just… tentative. Careful.

Then:

“You’re going to do big things,” he said, like it was a truth he'd known for a while. “And I’ll be here. Resetting lights. Screwing metal into walls.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Is that what you think?”

He shrugged.

You didn’t know what to say at first. Not because you disagreed, but because you’d never really thought about how he saw himself in all this. How he saw you.

You stepped closer.

“Tsukishima,” you said quietly, and the way his name sounded in the dark felt like a confession. “It’s not just mine, you know. That exhibit. It’s yours too.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

He looked at you again. This time, for real. Not through the fog of tension or sarcasm or pride. Just… him.

And you almost leaned in.

Almost.

But instead, you stood there — too close, not close enough — breathing in the same sharp air, hearts too loud in the silence.

And when he turned to go, he didn’t say goodbye. Just brushed past you gently. Like the beginning of something, or the end of something else.

You watched him disappear down the long path behind the museum. And for the first time all night, you didn’t feel victorious. Just… full. And hollow.

At once.

A few days pass. The exhibit continues without you. Your name is printed in neat black ink on the display cards, and people wander through, praising your “vision,” your “emotional composition,” your “eye for stillness.” You’re already being emailed about new opportunities.

But the only thing you can think about is the shape of Tsukishima’s silhouette in the silver museum light. The things you almost said. The things he almost said back.

You return one quiet afternoon to pick up the last of your things.

It’s raining again.

The museum feels different in the daylight—less mysterious, more skeletal. You walk past school kids and bored parents, past tour groups and sleepy guards, toward the side hallway that smells faintly of sawdust and old lightbulbs.

He’s at the workbench. Same posture. Same headphones. But you can tell he saw you come in—his hands falter for just a moment before resuming whatever careful task he’s pretending requires all his focus.

You clear your throat anyway.

“Hey.”

No reply. He’s sanding something. Aggressively.

You smile to yourself and set down your tote bag, beginning to gather the few things you left behind. A notebook. A print draft. The sweatshirt he let you borrow when the AC broke one night and you stayed too long.

He still hasn’t turned around.

You don’t push it. You just take your time, folding the sweatshirt with unnecessary precision, letting the silence stretch long enough to sting.

When you finally zip your bag and sling it over your shoulder, you pause in the doorway.

“Thanks,” you say, voice quiet. “For everything. The project… it only worked because of you.”

For a second, you think he’s going to ignore you.

But then, still facing away, he mutters:

“The bones were already there. You just made them louder.”

You blink.

And then you laugh. Soft, surprised.

“Getting poetic, dino boy?”

He finally glances at you. The corner of his mouth lifts just a little.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You take a step closer, a hand still gripping the strap of your bag like a shield.

“Well. It was nice hearing you say something beautiful for once.”

“I’ve said a few beautiful things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

A long pause. He looks down at the thing he was sanding. Then back at you.

“Come back sometime,” he says, casual but not really. “The fossils get boring.”

Your heart stutters. He doesn’t even flinch.

You tilt your head, grinning now.

“You mean you get boring.”

“That too.”

And it should feel like a joke. It should feel like nothing. But it doesn’t.

You both hold each other’s gaze for a second too long. Not quite smiling. Not quite speaking. Just letting the moment breathe between you—thin and fragile and unbearably loud.

You take a breath.

“I might come back,” you say finally. “Just to check on the fossils.”

He nods once, slow.

“Sure.”

You don’t say anything else. You just walk past him, the hallway stretching out ahead. But this time, your steps are slower. This time, you hope he’s watching.

And he is.

When the door closes behind you, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

NSFW bonus scene 🧢🐠 (female reader)

It starts with silence.

You’re standing just inside the workshop door, bag dropped, rain sliding down the windows behind you. You don’t know what made you come back — not really. You just knew the thought of leaving felt more like a loss than a choice.

He looks up. His brows twitch in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything.

So you walk up to him. Slow. Careful.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

He swallows, throat working.

Then, simply:

“Yes.”

The word lands heavy. So much more than yes. Yes, I missed you. Yes, I thought about it. Yes, I don’t want this to end yet.

You kiss him.

It’s awkward, at first — all angles and hesitation. He doesn’t move right away, like he’s still computing what’s happening. But the second you breathe his name, something gives. His hands come up, hesitant but firm, catching your waist and pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The kiss deepens, slow and uneven, as if he’s learning it in real time — a little desperate, a little stunned. His glasses nudge your cheekbone. His breath shakes against your lips. You slide your fingers into his hair and feel the shiver roll through him.

“You’re sure?” you murmur.

He nods, eyes locked to yours.

“Yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

You're on the workbench within minutes. It's cluttered and dusty, but neither of you care.

His mouth is at your neck now, hungry in a way that feels new — like he's been holding back for weeks, months. His hands are firm where they grip your hips, but his touch is almost reverent, like he's afraid to take too much all at once.

“Been thinking about this,” he says against your skin, low and wrecked. “You. That night you fell asleep in the AV room. The way you said my name.”

You exhale a shaky laugh.

“You’re such a freak.”

He huffs, presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“You like it.”

You do. God, you do.

His hands slide under your shirt, slow and searching. You lift your arms, and he helps pull it over your head with surprising care. His fingers brush over your chest, your stomach, reverent and unsure.

“You’re allowed to look,” you tease gently.

He does — and the way he looks at you makes your whole body flush.

“I’m not great at this,” he admits quietly. “Just... tell me if I mess something up.”

Your heart pulls. You cup his face and kiss him again, slower this time.

“You’re not messing anything up.”

When he finally touches you in earnest, it’s a little clumsy — he’s clearly overthinking, too aware of your reactions, too in his head — but it’s sweet. Honest. Every movement feels like it means something.

You guide his hand. Help him find the rhythm. And once he gets it—once he really sees the way your breath hitches and your hips shift—he gets bolder.

His mouth finds your chest. Then your stomach. He murmurs something against your skin, but it’s too quiet to catch.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and gasp when he finally pushes your underwear down and touches you properly — one finger, two, slow but insistent.

“Fuck, Kei—”

That’s what breaks him. Your voice like that. His name like that.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, still working his fingers inside you, lips parted as he groans softly into your skin.

“Want you,” he says, low and ragged. “I—I wanna feel you. All of you.”

“Then take it,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

It’s not fast. He makes sure you’re ready. Makes sure you’re looking at him when he finally pushes inside, like he needs to see you fall apart for him.

You breathe his name again and again, and every time you do, he fucks into you a little deeper. A little harder. Still holding back, like he's afraid of hurting you. But you can tell he’s close — his body trembles against yours, his breathing fractured and tight.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, your fingers digging into his back, your legs tight around his waist. He follows right after, buried deep, biting down softly on your shoulder to muffle the noise he makes.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

Just breathes with you. One hand tangled with yours, the other resting over your heartbeat.

“You still want me to come back?” you whisper after a while, voice hoarse.

He lifts his head. Meets your eyes.

“Only if you plan on staying.”

authors note: I absolutely loved writing this!! I hope I stayed true to tsukis character and I also hope your happy with your request! :) reqs are still open and very much welcome! ly all <3

#tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima fluff #kei haikyuu #kei tsukishima smut #anime #tsuki haikyuu #request

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 months ago

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A 7-Part Book Development Template

Take your story from a vague book idea to an impactful first draft.

PART 1: Concept Development

A great story is built on a great premise.

This exercise is meant to help you develop a strong foundation for your story.

This story follows [name + brief character bio]. Their life changes/story begins when [inciting incident]. This causes [problem]. They wish to [goal] but are held back by [antagonistic forces].

CHARACTER "This story follows [name + brief character bio]"

Brief description of character (occupation, skills, lifestyle, etc.):

Emotional trait or problem:

PLOT "When [inciting incident], this causes [problem]"

Inciting incident:

Problem:

GOAL "They wish to [goal]"

Goal:

ANTAGONIST "Held back by [antagonistic forces]"

Internal antagonist:

External antagonist:

PART 2: The Protagonist

After writing the premise of your story, it’s time to focus on your protagonist.

This exercise will help you sketch out the fundamentals of your main character.

Five (possibly) positive qualities:

Five (possibly) negative qualities:

Personality type:

Aspirations and goals:

Belief system (written as ‘I believe…’ statements):

Significant life events & backstory:

Skills:

Appearance:

Mannerisms, body language, speaking style:

What is their character arc in the story? How do they change and grow?

PART 3: The Cast

Behind every strong protagonist is a strong supporting cast. This exercise will help you flesh out the key relationships in your protagonist’s life.

What important relationships were a part of the protagonist's past?

Who were they?

Their influences on the protagonist?

What happened to the relationship/s?

What important relationships are a part of the protagonist's life now?

Who were they?

Their influences on the protagonist?

What will happen to the relationship/s?

Select at least one and at most 3 important relationships to focus on developing. What are their progressions?

Relationship #1:

Relationship #2:

Relationship #3:

PART 4: The World

An impactful setting should put pressure on the character to grow. This exercise will help you identify how your setting can accomplish this.

Where and when is the story set?

What other settings will we visit in the story? List them here.

What does the main setting look like?

What is the climate and weather like?

Imagery associated with the setting?

What are the people like?

What does a day-to-day for this place look like? Describe it in a few sentences.

What challenges does this setting present? What opportunities?

How long has the protagonist been here? How do they feel about it?

PART 5: The Plot

This exercise helps you define your plot using the popular 3-act structure method.

Identify the 5 key points on the timeline:

Inciting incident:

Plot point #1:

Midpoint:

Plot point #2:

Climax:

PART 6: Form, Style & Voice

If a book’s structure is its walls, its voice and style is the interior design that makes the book truly unique. This is an exercise to help you nail down how this particular book will be told.

DEVELOPING THE BOOK’S FORM

POV:

Tense:

Narrator:

Voice and tone:

Emotional core:

What are the primary emotions in this piece?

Atmosphere and mood?

DEVELOPING YOUR VOICE

Identify 3 books whose style or voice is similar to what you want:

Read a few pages from each and describe what they do specifically:

Write a scene from your character’s voice. How close is it to hitting the mark? What do you wish it did differently?

PART 7: The Writing Plan

This exercise will help you determine the logistics of your writing process, so that you can finish your first draft.

What’s your project timeline?

Set a deadline for finishing your first draft.

To complete your book, how many words do you need to write per:

Week:

Month:

Source ⚜ More: Writing Worksheets & Templates ⚜ 100 Sensory Words Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ 170 Quirks ⚜ 600+ Personality Traits

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anyab · 2 years ago

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Via NasAlSudan

December 17 2023. #KeepEyesOnSudan #SudanActionWeek

Swipe through to build a foundational understanding of the war, its origins, and the key players involved. For actionable ways to support those in Sudan, check the link in our bio. Stay tuned for more posts this week.

Transcript:

National:

On April 15, a war broke out in Sudan's capital city of Khartoum between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF), and a paramilitary group known as the Rapid Support Forces (RSF).

Since then, eight months of conflict has led to major destruction of Khartoum's infrastructure, the most developed region of Sudan, with fighting also spreading to the regions of Darfur in the west and Kordofan in the south.

Civilians in conflict zones have been forcibly displaced, under threat of physical and sexual violence, particularly by the RSF, which has looted, destroyed, and settled in people's homes.

Regional:

In the western region of Darfur, a campaign of ethnic cleansing is being carried out by the RSF targeting the Masalit tribe. Allegations of genocide have been levied against the RSF.

Reports have just emerged that fighting has now spread to Wad Madani in Al Gezira state, which houses nearly 500,000 IDPs from Khartoum.

Key figures:

Abdel Fattah al Burhan Head of SAF

Omar El-Bashir Deposed Dictator of Sudan

Mohamed Dagalo (Hemidti) Head of RSF

Transcript:

Sudan: the war in numbers

A humanitarian "catastrophe"

24.7 million in need of critical humanitarian assistance

70-80% of hospitals out of service in conflict areas

19 million children are out of school

20.3 million people acutely food insecure. 4.9 million facing emergency hunger levels

6.7 million displaced [5.4 million IDPS, 1.3 million refugees]

7,000+ cholera cases an increase of +136% over the past month

Transcript:

FAQ - THE SAF

QUESTION 01: What is the SAF?

Stands for the Sudanese Armed Forces

Is the de-facto government of Sudan

Is headed by Lt. General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan

QUESTION 02 What is their capacity?

Estimated to have ~200,000 personnel and tactical advantage of airforce

Currently control the relative northern and eastern regions of Sudan with functioning capital in Port Sudan (East)

QUESTION 03 Do they have backing and support?

On the international stage, primarily backed by Egypt

Limited weapons supply from allies

Internally, the SAF is ultimately considered the lesser of two evils

Transcript:

FAQ - THE RSF

QUESTION 01 What is the RSF?

Stands for the Rapid Support Forces

Paramilitary group originating from the Janjaweed, Arab tribal militias armed by al-Bashir in 2003 to fight against ethnically African rebel groups in Darfur + carried out 2003 genocide

Is headed by General Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemidti)

QUESTION 02 What is their capacity?

Estimated to have 100,000 to 150,000 troops

Winning the ground fight in Khartoum and control 4/5 states in Darfur

QUESTION 03 Do they have backing and support?

On the international stage, primarily backed by the UAE

Have steady weapons supply chain and diversified financial profile with critical assets in UAE and Russia

Transcript:

THE WAR IN SUDAN: CONTEXTUALIZING APRIL 15

(6/1989 - 4/2019) THE BASHIR REGIME

Sudan was under the rule of military dictator Omar Al-Bashir for 30 years, who came to power through an military coup backed by Islamist factions in June of 1989

His time in power was marked by extreme repression, conflict, and economic decline

(12/2018 CURRENT) THE REVOLUTION

In December of 2018, a popular democratic revolution began that eventually unseated al-Bashir on April 11 through the revolt of security sector

Al-Bashir was ultimately replaced by al-Burhan, with Hemidti as his deputy of a Transitional Military Council

Protestors rejected military rule and continued to hold a sit-in outside the military headquarters until its violent dispersal on June 3 of 2019 by the SAF + RSF

Today, the Sudanese people still hope and advocate for freedom from military rule and the transition to democracy

(8/2019-10/2021) TRANSITIONAL GOVERNMENT

Agreement on transitional government signed between civilian forces and Transitional Military Council on August 17, 2019

Led to formation of joint sovereign council with Abdalla Hamdok as Prime Minister

Transcript:

(10/2021 CURRENT)THE OCT 25, 2021 COUP

Burhan and Hemidti carry out military coup overthrowing civilian counterparts

They draw power from international legitimization despite prolonged mass protests in Sudan

(12/2022) THE FRAMEWORK AGREEMENT

In December of 2022, civilians put out a framework agreement signed onto by SAF and RSF + civil society groups and political parties meant to return to a transitional government

Key part of agreement: question of integration of the RSF into the SAF

Parties were to finalize the agreement and sign on April 1; RSF and SAF ultimately disagreed on integration timeline with RSF wanting 10 years and the SAF wanting 2

(12/2022-4/2023) THE LEAD UP TO APRIL 15

As framework agreement negotiations failed, both parties began mobilizing troops in capital of Khartoum in days leading up to April 15

Residents of Khartoum awoke to the sounds of gunfire on April 15 and by noon, the RSF had seized Meroe airport in the Northern state

Conflict today considered a battle for power between the two generals they are too far in to walk back

Transcript:

FRAMING ALLIANCES

Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF):

Egypt

Israel (Foreign Ministry)

Islamists

Iran

Saudi Arabia

Ukraine (SOF)

Armed Groups

Rebel groups that had taken up arms against the central government in the Bashir Era are forced to ally with the SAF due to the RSF's ethnic cleansing campaign. They include:

Justice and Equality Movement (Gibril Ibrahim)

Sudan Liberation Movement/Army (Minni Minawi)

Gathering of Sudan Liberation Forces (Abdallah Yahya)

Rapid Support Forces (RSF):

Israel (Mossad)

Libya (Khalifa Haftar)

United Arab Emirates

Central African Republic

Russia (Wagner Group)

Chad

Arab Tribal Leaders

Arab tribal leaders across the Western region of Darfur have pledged their allegiance and support to the RSF, with members of the tribes across the Sahel crossing into Sudan to join the RSF's assault as well.

Key tribes include: Beni Halba, Tarjam, Habaniya, Fallata, Misseriya, Taaysha, Rizeigat

Transcript:

IS THERE AN END IN SIGHT?

THE STATE OF NEGOTIATIONS

Effort: JEDDAH TALKS [MAY]

Parties involved: Externally: United States, Saudi Arabia Internally: SAF, RSF

Outcome: Discussed humanitarian ceasefire; signed Jeddah Declaration of Commitment to Protect the Civilians of Sudan - Failed

Effort: INTERGOVERNMENTAL AUTHORITY ON DEVELOPMENT (IGAD) [JULY]

Parties Involved: Externally: Kenya, Ethiopia, Djibouti, South Sudan Internally: RSF

Outcome: Proposed peacekeeping troops to ensure humanitarian corridor - Rejected

Effort: CAIRO TALKS (NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES) [JULY]

Parties Involved: Externally: Egypt, Ethiopia, South Sudan, Chad, Eritrea, CAR, Libya Internally: SAF, RSF

Outcome: Discussed lasting ceasefire, safe humanitarian passage, political dialogue framework - Failed

Effort: JEDDAH TALKS [OCTOBER]

Parties Involved: Externally: United States, Saudi Arabia Internally: SAF, RSF

Outcome: Discussed lasting ceasefire, safe humanitarian passage, political dialogue framework - Failed

Effort: IGAD + AFRICAN UNION (AU) [DECEMBER]

Parties Involved: Externally: IGAD, EU, UAE, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, United States Internally: SAF (Burhan in person), RSF

Outcome: Agreed to a face-to-face meeting in late December and ceasefire; SAF later issued a retraction - Ongoing

Transcript:

The conflict in Sudan calls for the collective support of all to raise awareness about the war and aid the Sudanese people on the ground, especially when we live in nations that have been complicit in the oppression of the Sudanese people. Explore the options below and share with others. For more information, check the link in our bio.

WHAT CAN YOU DO?

EDUCATE YOURSELF

Deepen your knowledge about Sudan, empowering yourself with insights into the complexities of the situation.

DONATE

Extend a helping hand to Sudan by generously donating to individuals or grassroots organizations on the ground.

CONTACT YOUR REPS.

Amplify your impact by contacting your representatives, advocating for positive change.

#sudan #keep eyes on sudan #KeepEyesOnSudan #Sudan Action Week #SudanActionWeek #i hope the way i formatted it is good #i saw a few hours ago that rsf retreated from wad madani outskirts

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nanamineedstherapy · 1 month ago

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Calendar, Conflicts & Corporate Cowards

Summary: Gangs of Wasseypur x Shark Tank but everyone has rabies. Mainly Slice of life, but aggressive. Previous Chapter - [Tumblr/Ao3]

On Monday, Nanami had been sitting at his desk since 8:59 AM. Not a minute early. Not a second late.

He was wearing the same blue Tom Ford shirt you’d seen on him three times this week.

"Nanami," you said, deadpan, sipping coffee. "Why do you dress like you’re about to attend your own cremation?"

He didn’t even blink. "It's linen. Breathable. Delhi heat is not a joke."

"Neither is that outfit."

He pulled out a file. Printed. Labelled. Tabbed with pastel markers like some demon from the Shiksha Valley coaching centre.

“This is the vendor compliance checklist. I colour-coded the payment cycles by quarter.”

You stared.

“Nanami, why are you like this? Just... email me like a normal person. I don’t need your UPSC notes.”

He adjusted his glasses. “I find it inefficient to rely solely on digital mediums. Also, I made a backup in case your laptop crashes again. You tend to throw it.”

“I throw it because of you.”

At 12:03 PM sharp, he cleared his throat.

“I’ve scheduled lunch for 12:30. I’ll order two thalis.”

Your jaw clenched. “Did you just send me a Google Calendar invite for fucking lunch?”

He nodded.

“Nanami,” you said slowly, “are you secretly a 45-year-old LIC agent with two kids in DPS RK Puram?”

“I find routine helpful.”

“I find you unhelpful.”

The worst part? He was always right. Always quietly fixing things in the background. You once called him a virgin during a product demo because he fact-checked you in front of the investor. He didn’t even flinch. Just said:

“You’re misrepresenting metrics. Also, we should cut sugar in the coffee blend by 3%—feedback from test groups.”

He was never dramatic. Never incompetent.

Which made yelling at him so much more frustrating.

You couldn’t call him an idiot like you did Gojo. Couldn’t call him a freak like Suguru. Couldn’t even threaten him like Sukuna. Because Nanami just took it. Like a pensioner in a queue. Stoic. Logical. Unshakable.

You stormed into his office one day and said, “Nanami. If I get one more analytics deck with your ‘key insights’ and your little bullet points and your Times New Roman font, I will genuinely unalive myself on your ergonomic keyboard.”

He looked up calmly. “I use Calibri.”

You wanted to slap him with your MacBook.

And the worst part?

When the others messed up—which they always did—Nanami was the one fixing it. Cleaning up Gojo’s botched pitches. Handling Sukuna’s police complaints. Redoing Suguru’s lazy-ass research. Supporting Ino’s dumb baby steps.

He even made Toji stop vaping inside the supply closet.

You hated him for it.

Because it meant you couldn’t fire him. Couldn’t kill him. Couldn’t even threaten him.

You needed him.

Which was somehow even more annoying.

One time, after you’d just finished yelling at Gojo for putting his OnlyFans link in the team bio (as a “joke”), Nanami handed you a steel tiffin.

"I packed poha. You skipped breakfast."

You stared at him.

“You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”

He nodded. “I get that a lot.”

---

A/N: You don’t hate Nanami because he’s incompetent. You hate him because he’s the one person you can’t fire, fix, or fluster. He’s the middle-class Excel demon with a conscience and meal-prep schedule. He makes your startup run—and makes your blood boil.

Next Chapter Interns, Idiots, & Ino’s Existential Crisis - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

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oksurethisismyname · 1 year ago

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There’s a lot of One Piece student/ high school Aus but I suggest One Piece teacher AU

Note: these descriptions are based on my experience as a teacher in southern USA. Where I’m at, you have to be certified to teach in public schools and it is a well known fact that coaches are almost always history teachers (don’t ask why)

Luffy is one of those coaches that is also a history teacher, but every student knows he only got his history license so he could be a coach. He’s taking girls volleyball to state this year, they are absolutely destroying their opponents. He teaches World History and is known for being vocally anti government / capitalist, but also super optimistic.

Sanji is a French teacher who is also certified in Home Ec. He is known by students to be a bit of a hard ass but he always brings food from whatever francophone country their learning about and students low key love him for always having snacks ready for kids who might not have enough lunch money or have breakfast at home.

Zoro is a coach as well, and he got certified in Japanese so he teaches one section and then uses the rest of his time coaching. Him and Sanji are both on the World Languages department and when the state language competition rolls around, they go HARD. Somehow he got roped into teaching health this year but is really hoping the teaching intern will get hired and take that over next year.

Nami is a certified geography and economics teacher, which is unfortunately apart of the history department so she’s stuck in stupid department meetings with Luffy. Shes in charge of detention and has students do stuff for her class as “punishment”, but really it’s a fun time with music playing and her classroom is always spotless after.

Robin is obviously also a history teacher. She’s AP certified so she does AP World, AP US, and AP Euro. Her students love her but are also kind of afraid of her. She’s currently advocating for the inclusion of AP African American Studies at their school.

Franky is part of the vocational program at the school, doing mechanic and wood working stuff with students. Alternatively, Franky could be the maintenance guy at the school. He’s always around fixing something.

Usopp is the drama teacher. He is the most chosen elective because he’s super funny and also has a habit of getting off topic and just not giving tests. He and Franky work together on set design and lighting for the school shows.

Brook is the choir and orchestra director. He’s super old so students think it’ll be boring but day 1 he is acting a total fool and kids love this crazy old man.

Chopper is a student teacher doing his internship as a biology teacher. He’s got major baby face and a sweet voice which is funny considering his teaching mentor is Dr. Trafalgar Law, who has resting bitch face and a tired annoyed voice. His AP bio and AP anatomy classes are some of the hardest classes at the school, but chopper offers tutoring and students are doing better now that they see Dr. Law being kind to Chopper .

Jimbei is the guidance counselor. He’s always got his door open for students to talk to him and he never judges them. He’s kind and patient and students trust him.

#one piece #one piece school au #one piece teacher au #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #soul king brook #cat burglar nami #god usopp #one piece franky #trafalgar law #jimbei #monkey d luffy

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 11 months ago

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John Kettler: Chief of The unSUCCESSFULS Invisible Staff

John Kettler is out after only three (3) months on the job. No sympathy for anyone who partners with these two (2) bullies. You're either too lazy to read a book or maybe you like to help bullies.

"Joshua lives with his wife in Santa Barbara, CA and holds an MBA from Clemson University with an emphasis on Entrepreneurship and Innovation."¹

Richard Eden for Daily Mail: When the Duke of Sussex appointed Josh Kettler as his grandly titled chief of staff earlier this year, it was said that he was the perfect man to 'guide' Harry 'through his next phase'. However, the Daily Mail understands that Mr Kettler has suddenly quit his job after scarcely three months, amid much intrigue. Josh Kettler is no longer working for them,' a source in California told this newspaper today. The timing is a particular blow to Harry and his wife Meghan as Mr Kettler would have been expected to accompany them on their 'quasi-royal tour' of Colombia, which kicks off this week."

The total number the Sussexes have lost since they married in 2018 is said to be at least 18, with nine or more having left since they moved to California in 2020.

Mr Kettler was seen entering St Paul's Cathedral with the duke for the anniversary service, which was attended by figures including Harry's uncle, Earl Spencer, but no other members of the Royal Family.

Later that month, Mr Kettler was a key figure on the Duke and Duchess of Sussex's three-day 'tour' of Nigeria and was by Harry's side as he met government officials in the West African country. His role on the visit was said to be a foretaste of what he would achieve in the future.

Prince Harry and Meghan with Mr Kettler (circled) by their side. His role on the visit was said to be a foretaste of what he would achieve in the future.

¹Bio: "Joshua Kettler is an experienced executive accelerator, organizer, and confidant. Seasoned in guiding C-suite functions, critical cross-functional program management, high-level strategy development, and board of directors / investor relationship management. Focused on bringing unparalleled products and experiences to customers while working in lockstep with leaders, executing on their vision.

Joshua spent the better part of a decade with Patagonia, a leader in outdoor apparel, serving as a trusted resource and right hand to the Vice President of Global Sales and Customer Experience. He helped direct all revenue driving strategies and operations worldwide, spanning seven major markets and $1B+ in yearly revenue. His efforts included managing the organization's workflow, prioritization, and oversight of regional GMs, while providing input on critical decisions including distribution strategy, customer touch points, internal and external communication, organizational structure, and personnel matters.

In 2021, Joshua shifted is focus to start up ventures, becoming Chief of Staff to the CEO of Better Place Forests and most recently joining Cognixion as Chief of Staff and Head of Strategic Partnerships, helping to accelerate and support the transformative AR / BCI company.

Joshua is an avid trail runner and skier, and a steadfast supporter of conservation and the environment. Joshua lives with his wife in Santa Barbara, CA and holds an MBA from Clemson University with an emphasis on Entrepreneurship and Innovation."

#markled #spare us #like a spare #megxit #chief of staff #revolving door #John Kettler #meghan markle is a bully #meghan markle is a liar #horrible bosses #archeFRAUD #pro tip: revenge by tom bower #valentine low

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ysljoon · 11 months ago

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Too High | MYG, JHS

♡pairing: dealer!min yoongi x reader x fwb!jung hoseok

♡wc: 1.7k

♡genre: angst, non-idol au

♡warnings: oc is lowkey toxic (sorry yall), mentions of drug use and smoking, oc has the nickname Peach

♡summary: you haven't moved on from your ex, can someone else pick up the pieces for you or are you going to keep yourself in the cycle of the failed relationship?

MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked)

You watched as the rain pattered against your window and the gray clouds rolled through the sky. You sighed, rechecking your phone to see if Yoongi replied to your message. As you swiped to the text thread between you two you heard two hard knocks against your door. Of course, he would be here without even replying to your message. You sauntered to the door and opened it without even looking, “You know it would be nice if you responded before just showing up.” You sighed as Yoongi slipped through the entryway and kicked off his shoes. “Also don’t get comfortable. Hobi is coming over later so I would like you out before he’s here.” He huffed as he dug through his bag to grab out the reason he even came here.

“You act like that information is supposed to make me care. Anyways, here's your quarter bag Peach.” You grabbed the bag from the countertop and observed it to make sure he didn’t skimp out on you. “Relax, you know I never shortchange you Y/N. I actually gave you extra this time.” You raised an eyebrow in his direction. He started to grab things out of his backpack. From what you can see it looks like a grinder, some wraps, and a rolling tray. “Yoongi just because you’re my plug doesn’t mean you get to smoke here whenever you please” He rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch. His fingers started to diligently work at breaking down the weed to place it in the grinder. “I just bought some of my own so we can smoke a little. Consider it a dealer’s treat.” He sent you a smirk your way and you just scoffed. You weren’t one to say no to free weed.

The light that illuminated the room came from a single standing lamp that sat in the corner of your living room. There was a haze of smoke through the air as you guys were halfway through the blunt. Yoongi’s signature playlist was playing lowly in the background to fill the silence between you two. You stared at the ceiling, your brain swimming with thoughts of what it could’ve been if he didn’t break up with you. There’s still a sense of yearning that crawls its way out of the depths of your heart from time to time. It’s been a year since that breakup, but the feelings for Yoongi haven’t gone away, they’ve just settled on the back burner. You tilted your head and your lidded eyes met his and he gave a soft smile, but had nothing to say. You wonder if he’s thinking about the same things as you. You want to ask him so badly, but do you really want to know the answer?

The doorknob started to jiggle and the clinking of keys alerted you that Hobi was about to enter your apartment and the realization cleared your high only slightly because Yoongi was still here. You don’t even know how much time has passed and you curse yourself internally for letting the time slip away from you so easily. Everything with Yoongi is so easy despite the slight rift between you two.

Hobi walks through the door and observes the scene in front of him. You’re sitting on the couch in one of his hoodies and a pair of shorts (they’re one of his favorite pairs too, but that’s neither here nor there). Yoongi is next to you on the couch, but there’s enough distance between the two of you that it’s respectable. Hoseok still doesn’t even like the fact that Yoongi comes over to your apartment when he’s not there. He trusts you, but he doesn’t trust Yoongi.

You lazily walk your way up to him and greet him with a tight hug and kiss on his cheek. As you hugged him he couldn’t help himself from staring down Yoongi. A way of silently telling him what he lost the day he broke up with you. Yoongi rolled his eyes and prodded his tongue on the inside of his tongue in annoyance. Whatever show of dominance Hoseok was trying to show was contemptible. He did realize he did overstay his welcome and started to pack up his belongings leaving the other half of the blunt in the ashtray that you always have on your coffee table. You bid him goodbye, still clinging on to Hobi as he slipped on his shoes. “Enjoy the weed Peach, hit me up whenever you need more.” His eyes glinted as you saw the vein in Hoseok’s neck become slightly more prominent hearing the nickname.

The door locked and Hobi sighed. You looked up at him with furrowed eyes trying to decode his expression in your inebriated state. He leads you to the couch and places you in his lap. His arms circled you protectively and you cling to him just as tight. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself Y/N?” You shrugged at his question pretending to not know what he was talking about.

The relationship you have with Hobi is a bit complicated. You guys started as friends with benefits and it has evolved into something more than that, but no official title in sight. It’s fine and it’s what works for the both of you. He was there for you when Yoongi broke up with you. He was there to pick up the pieces of yourself that you lost along the way and he’d be damned if he let Yoongi do that to you again.

Another sigh left his mouth. “Y/N, I’m serious. There’s no way it’s healthy for you to keep seeing him. He hurt you badly.” His words were stern, but the gentle rub on your back kept you grounded. You knew he was right, but it was hard for you to actually acknowledge it out loud. “I know, I know. But he really is good as a friend Hobi and I'm practically over him at this point and you know it.” You don’t know who you’re trying to convince more. He placed a chaste kiss against your forehead and gave you another tight squeeze. “Alright let’s finish this blunt though because even though I hate that bastard he has really good weed.” You giggled and grabbed the lighter as Hobi connected his phone to the Bluetooth speaker and played his favorite ‘high vibes’ playlist.

The ash of the blunt dropped into the ashtray and this signaled that you’ve reached the end. You felt light as a feather and exceptionally giggly and Hobi felt the same way. You rested your head on his shoulder and curled your body close to him as he scrolled through the food delivery app trying to decide what he felt for (the munchies made everything sound delectable). You groaned trying to hurry him up and he conceded and selected a pizza restaurant you both liked. It’s reliable for a reason.

Placing his phone on the table he turned to face you. He’s not even doing anything, but the slow rise and fall of his chest and Adam's apple bobbing in his throat suddenly became the sexiest actions a man could do. With no warning, you pressed a kiss to his lips to test the waters and he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss with no hesitation. He pulled back huffing for air and staring at you with admiration swimming in his mocha colored eyes. His eyes scanned your face and he saw the hesitation deep in your eyes. “Talk to me Peach, what’re you thinking about?” Your heart clenched in your chest.

“I don’t think I know what I’m doing Hobi.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “W-what do you mean? Y/N what are you talking about.” His heart rate started to spike. This outburst came as no warning. You and him were doing good, great even. You were breathless trying to make sense of what you were thinking. What’s funny is that all of this doesn’t even make sense to you, but it feels right. “Hoseok I’m sorry, but I need to go see him.” You rose from the couch heading to your room to put on pants and get your keys. Before you could get through the threshold of your bedroom he grabbed onto your wrist and forced you to look at him. “Y/N don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us. Above all else don’t do this to yourself.” The tears were falling uncontrollably. You know deep down that he’s right and this isn’t a decision made from a sound mind. What were you to do if he were to hurt you again this time around? That will be a bridge to cross once you encounter it.

Your heart aches seeing that you’re breaking his heart so selfishly. But when it comes to Yoongi you will always be a little selfish. “I’m sorry Hobi, I need to go to him. I need to see him.” You’re weeping now and you can tell from the shudder of Hoseok’s shoulders that he’s crying too. “If this is what you really want Y/N, I can’t stop you, but the second he hurts you again you can’t come run to me to cry in my arms.” Leaving those words in the air he walked out of your apartment. Your ears were ringing from the silence.

The heartbeat was thrumming in your ears and your fingers were shaking around the steering wheel as you drove over to Yoongi’s apartment. His address is ingrained into you. You never forgot it truthfully, even though it’s been a year since you’ve been there. You parked and hastily made your way hastily up the stairs. Curse Min Yoongi for living on the fourth floor. Once you were face to face with his front door your breath hitched. This was never a good idea no matter what way you spun it, but it’s too late to turn back now. You made your bed so now time to lay in it. You timidly knocked hoping that Yoongi was close enough to be able to hear it if he was in a different room. The door cracked open and Yoongi’s onyx eyes were able to realize something was wrong immediately and he swung the door fully open. You crashed into his chest and started sobbing. He cooed and pulled you even closer. His scent enveloping you is the only thing that could ground you right now.

“Shh, you’re okay Peach. You’re safe with me.”

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thestellarcartographer · 7 months ago

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I've completed another commission recently for @uss-solkar. This one of the primary sick bay and local deck layout for his ship - including the CMO's office, reception desk, attached lab, and a bunch of other areas.

The breakdown for these areas is below the cut.

The first thing, as always, is a block-out and scale test for the environment. This was based on a very detailed document I was given to give me some art direction.

Much like previous modelling I've done, I planned to do this as a single modelled area, but eventually pivoted to modelling each room individually. This gave me a lot more flexibility to alter things in the rooms but not messing up the whole scene. It did introduce some other issues, but I can live with the trade-offs.

The next thing to work out was the hallways.

These are based on the Star Trek Online aesthetic, and I decided while I was modelling individual sections that it would be much easier to have a modular system that I can twist around corners, or switch out parts for doors, consoles, windows, or whatever else was needed.

It also allowed me to (shameless plug incoming) put together my Star Trek horror/backrooms video Deck Zero. Give it a run, if you're into that sort of thing!

Once I was happy that I could create corridors to order, I started on the lab.

This is when I started working on the individual room modelling, which was a bit of a process to get right. Basically I modelled a single section of the room, then made it form along a curve in the shape of the room. This allowed me a lot more freedom to alter the room out, although came with a lot of teething problems initially, but came out looking better in the end, I think.

The elements in the room which I needed to ensure were present, included the circular computer console, the side desk, the TNG-era....wall orb...the corner desk, and the shelving. So obviously the next step was to do those.

After that, I had worked with the new method to build the room enough to be comfortable with it, so I started on the main sick bay and attached office.

Obviously this was probably the big focal point, so a lot of variations on a theme here, but the key is/was that it have a lot of bio-beds, a transporter, and several ways in/out of the rooms.

This meant building out a lot of assets, from the bio-beds, to the "laptops" used in TNG/Voyager, medical tricorders and other equipment, and the desks and trolleys to put this stuff on.

You might notice a lot of very specific tools which have been present in various Star Trek's over the years. I always like putting little touches in like this, as it helps sell the authenticity.

The CMO using the office is Bajoran, hence the painting on the rear wall. The shelves will eventually be filled out with various knicknacks including books, and a model of a Bajoran lightsail ship.

The window out into the corridor was also a request.

The last area to cover was an airlock to the internal cetacean ops to allow for medical teams to quickly access it. This was relatively easy to throw together, compared to the rest of the area.

And finally, it was putting the finishing touches in, like accurate LCARS, lighting, and all the other elements that go into making the final images at the start of the post.

#star trek #blender3d #commission #star trek adventures #3d art #ttrpg #star trek online

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cartograffiti · 2 years ago

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An intro to the historical Zheng Yi Sao

Ruibo Qian's character in Our Flag Means Death is based on a real person, though like all its real pirates, she is a loose interpretation. In particular, the real Zheng Yi Sao wasn't born until 57 years after the real Blackbeard died!

In real life, she lived from 1775 to 1844. She was known by a variety of names; her birth name is usually given as Shi Yang. Zheng Yi Sao is the name most often used, which literally means "the wife of Zheng Yi" (more on him later), and you may also see variations like Ching Shih or Madam Cheng, depending on transliteration. Calling her Zheng, as Oluwande does, is good, or ZYS in fandom chat, but if fic writers crave a more personal connotation for a scene, Yang is a good choice for a given name consistent with the real woman. It's like the difference between Mr. Buttons and Nathaniel.

She was born in the Guangdong province, and many bios of her claim she worked on one of the boat brothels there, but this is speculation only.

When she married Zheng Yi, he was a successful member of a pirating dynasty, working as a privateer for emperors of Vietnam. The couple collaborated to unite six different pirate fleets operating off the Guangdong coast into a confederation, sealed with an agreement signed by the captains of each. Zheng Yi was informally recognized as the overall leader of the confederation until his death in a storm two years after the signing.

Zheng Yi Sao had the respect of other key figures in the alliance, and her smooth assumption of leadership was followed by a period of huge success and expansion for the pirate confederation, driving the Chinese government to desperation. This is where her reputation as a pirate "queen" comes from in real life, though I'm excited to see where the show goes with her fictional conquest of China!

In 1810, Zheng Yi Sao recognized that the confederation faced internal fractures and additional opposition, as Portuguese and British military forces allied with Chinese ships, so she led the confederation to bow out on a high, and use their immense power to bargain for a peaceful retirement, surrendering ships and weapons for pardons, supplies, and money. Although it's fictional that her crew was predominantly women, when Zheng Yi Sao surrendered, she did so accompanied by a delegation wholly composed of women and children who belonged to the confederation. At that time, the confederation consisted of 226 ships, 24 of which personally reported to Zheng Yi Sao.

If you're doing the math, she was only in her mid-thirties, and was far from done with life. She remarried, to one of her former captains, Zhang Bao, and accompanied him to the Penghu Islands, where he commanded a garrison. After his death, she returned to Guangdong and had another career of twenty-odd years, becoming the owner of a casino until her death at age 68 or 69 (nice).

She was one of the most successful pirates in history, both because of her power and her ability to survive it. I think she's neat as hell, and so have a lot of fiction writers! You might have encountered versions of her, or characters inspired by her, before, in things like Pirates of the Caribbean, the Bloody Jack novels, Assassin's Creed, and Doctor Who. It's fun to see a form of her in this! We can expect her arc to progress differently, but I hope having some context will help.

The most helpful things to note for the rest of the season for ofmd fans will be that Zheng is her surname, she wasn't really a contemporary of the other historical figures, and that her connection to sex work should not be treated as a fact, whether you want to include it in this fictional interpretation or not.

#Our Flag Means Death #OFMD #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 #Zheng Yi Sao

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aloeaceae · 12 days ago

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Winx College AU

Can I be annoying for a sec? A College Winx AU came to me in a dream, so now I’m legally obligated to yap about it on tumblr dot com.

Disclaimer: This is based on absolutely nothing from the original lore. If you’re wondering why a certain character has a certain major, it’s because the voices told me so (okay, fine—I did try to make it make a little sense).

18-year-old Bloom, an international student from Italy, gets accepted to a university in Massachusetts on a full-ride scholarship. The school is big, castle-like, and ancient-looking. There, despite her true enemies—introversion and awkwardness—she finds her place among the student body.

Bios for the Winx girls:

Bloom: A freshman, an international student from the boonies southwest of Milan. Shy, awkward, but kind and hardworking. She lives on campus and shares a suite with Flora, Musa, and Tecna. Majors in Graphic Design (it would’ve been Fine Arts, but her parents wanted her to pick something that could land her a job). The type who has to work twice as hard to get a mediocre grade—her weekly study time easily hits 40+ hours just to maintain a good GPA.

Stella: A junior, originally from California. A popular sorority girl, she was assigned to be Bloom’s onboarding buddy. Majors in Communications—she switched from Finance midway through her sophomore year to keep up her sorority’s 3.0 GPA requirement. Stella’s not too concerned about her major anyway; her dad plans to hand her a branch of his company when she graduates. She just needed something that wouldn’t interfere with her free time or social life.

Flora: A freshman, originally from somewhere on the West Coast and Bloom’s roommate. Timid but down for anything. She’s the type to have a private Instagram with just 100 or so followers—even though she’s gorgeous enough (and wealthy enough, thanks to generational money) to be an influencer. Majors in general Biology to keep her options open, but plans to add a more specialized minor later on based on what she’s passionate about.

Musa: A freshman, local to the college area but originally immigrated with her dad from China when she was too young to remember. An extrovert to her core—but God help you if you interrupt her while she’s practicing. Majors in Classical Performance. Shares a room with Tecna. She’s low-key popular on social media for posting videos of herself playing various instruments.

Tecna: A freshman by age, but a sophomore on paper due to already taking upper-level classes. She’s from New York City and double majors in Computer Science and Math. An introvert by choice, but capable of talking to anyone. Everything comes easily to her when she puts her mind to it, and people are often jealous of how effortlessly she seems to do... well, everything.

Layla: A sophomore, local to the area. Part of the Dance Team, so her social circle is mostly athletes and cheerleaders. A Marine Biology major—beauty and brains. She’s been scouted for modeling countless times but couldn’t care less.

Read the Specialists bios here!

I like this! Is there a fic? Wow I’m so glad you asked! There is, actually: read Refer to Syllabus on AO3

#winx club #winx au #winx lore #winx fanfic #winx college au

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darkmaga-returns · 5 months ago

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That is probably why we learn this from Wikileaks:

USAID has pushed nearly half a billion dollars ($472.6m) through a secretive US government financed NGO, "Internews Network" (IN), which has “worked with” 4,291 media outlets, producing in one year 4,799 hours of broadcasts reaching up to 778 million people and "training” over 9000 journalists (2023 figures). IN has also supported social media censorship initiatives. The operation claims “offices” in over 30 countries, including main offices in US, London, Paris and regional HQs in Kiev, Bangkok and Nairobi. It is headed up by Jeanne Bourgault, who pays herself $451k a year. Bourgault worked out of the US embassy in Moscow during the early 1990s, where she was in charge of a $250m budget, and in other revolts or conflicts at critical times, before formally rotating out of six years at USAID to IN. Bourgault’s IN bio and those of its other key people and board members have been recently scrubbed from its website but remain accessible at http://archive.org. Records show the board being co-chaired by Democrat securocrat Richard J. Kessler and Simone Otus Coxe, wife of NVIDIA billionaire Trench Coxe, both major Democratic donors. In 2023, supported by Hillary Clinton, Bourgault launched a $10m IN fund at the Clinton Global Initiative (CGI). The IN page showing a picture of Bourgault at the CGI has also been deleted. IN has at least six captive subsidiaries under unrelated names including one based out of the Cayman Islands. Since 2008, when electronic records begin, more than 95% of IN's budget has been supplied by the US government.

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whollyfree · 2 years ago

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Do I Wanna Know?

Summary – You and Jake are friends with benefits. But surfacing feelings causes you to wonder if it could ever be more.

Pairings – Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count – 2.5k

Warnings – SMUT I have this in my bio but 18+ MINORS DNI !!!!! unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentions of oral (f!receiving)

A/N: WELLLLLLL it's been a while hasn't it? This is based on a request I got a while back that’s kinda loosely based on “Do I Wanna Know” by Arctic Monkeys. Hope y'all enjoy :)

You didn't know when the feeling began; the feeling of impending doom you felt whenever Jake waltzed into your apartment, using his spare key you so generously offered him for times like this. For times of need, when you felt yourself in longing for any kind of touch to ease the ache of loneliness.

But it was never meant to go this far.

You never meant to have butterflies in your stomach whenever you heard the noise of a key on the other side of the door. You never meant to look forward to taking in his soft, brown eyes that stared up into yours so delicately as his head buried itself between your thighs, his velvet tongue licking at you mercilessly as you gripped the roots of his chestnut hair for dear life.

How pathetic it was that the man only responsible for slipping his cock into you whenever either of you felt lonely became responsible for the constant jitters and the melting of your heart; for the yearning feeling that took hold of you by your throat whenever he strode out of your front door shortly after you both came. You wanted him to stay.

That's why his words struck you so as he hovered above you, fucking into you as he securely gripped each of your hips with his hands.

"I bet you think about me all the time, don't you?"

You were thankful for your furious blush that rose on your cheeks long before he was inside of you. If it hadn't been there, you were sure your face would pale and drained of all color before his very eyes; all of your secrets revealed from the lack of red in your cheeks and the panic in your eyes.

"What?" He doesn't stop moving even as the puzzled response leaves your lips. He wasn't even looking at you, staring down at the place where your bodies connected. You knew he liked to watch it, and on occasion, he asked you to watch it too.

"You heard me," he mutters, his breath catching as you subconsciously squeeze around him. He looks at you now. “I know you think about me fucking this pretty pussy all the time, don't you?"

And you did. More than he would ever realize.

You were relieved now. Relieved that you played stupid (mostly because you were) and for the fact that it was just dirty talk to push you over the edge. He was close and you could tell, but there was never a time where he would allow himself to finish before you did. He'd hold it for as long as he had to until you were crying out his name, your cunt strangling his length as he’s buried inside of you. You weren't used to it with past lovers and assumed he would be the same, but he wasn't. And maybe that was partly the reason why you felt as you did.

He cared about your pleasure too, maybe even more so than you did. You didn't even care if you finished; just wanting to feel the warmth of his presence, the touch of his callous fingers, and the teakwood scent of his that encased you whenever he hovered over you like this. But he cared, and oh how he cared.

"You think it's pretty?" You were befuddled, his every word cast straight into your heart with an arrow and pierced it. It hurt so good.

Jake scoffs as he pushes in a bit harder this time, making your eyes roll back. "Of course it's fucking pretty. Goddamn gorgeous, just like the rest of you."

He really shouldn't have said that for the sake of your internal delusion of actually having him fully. But much to his satisfaction, those words sent you into the very bliss and euphoria of your own orgasm. It had crept on you, dragging you down into its depths before you even had time to recognize what was happening. You claw at his back, pulling him closer as your nails dig into his skin.

He comes seconds after. He can't help himself; the feeling of you squeezing him so tight and making those sounds just for him is enough to grip your hips tighter. He shudders, a loud moan of your name falling from his plush lips as his hips falter. Pressing into you one last time, he spills inside of you, arms shaking slightly as he tries to regain his composure.

The sight of him above you, his swollen lips and rosy cheeks, his forehead wettled with sweat as his hair sticks to the damp spot, his eyes half-lidded and oh so fucked out makes your heart melt and your cunt flutter again. He hisses when he feels it and you can't help but smile.

"Something funny?" Jake asks you, and by the lazy smile on his face as he pulls out of you, you can tell he's not mad at your amusement.

You keep smiling. "No. Nothing at all."

The fact that he then got up to grab a warm washcloth to clean you up did little to stop the pull on your heartstrings. He was always so caring, so gentle.

When he feels satisfied that his work is done, he takes a moment, his back to you now as he sits on the edge of your bed. He looks almost as if he's contemplating something. You wait for him to speak and you really think he might as he turns around to look at you for a moment, but he doesn't. He turns back around and locates his clothes before slipping his boxers and linen pants through his legs.

You hate how beautiful he looks in that moment; it's unfair. He isn't playing fair as he stands there so gloriously, his tanned chest catching glimpses of sunlight as the sun shines through your blinds. He's simply buttoning the final two buttons of damned his shirt as your heart thrums in your chest at the growing feelings you have for him, and he isn't playing fair.

Just as Jake slips his boots on and goes to walk out of your bedroom door as he always does, you sit up.

"Jake," you blurt before your brain has time to catch up with itself. He turns around quickly, quicker than you had expected him to.

"Yes?"

And in that moment, you realize he's expecting an answer from you. You don't have one. Well, you do, but it's long and extensive and tied in a messy bow to the confines of your heart where you intend on keeping it safe...so you choose to forgo your gut feeling to be honest.

"Nothing. It's- never mind." You look away, almost ashamed that you can't even form the words.

Jake looks as if he's going to say something, his lips parting slightly and you swear you see his body lean in the direction of your bed where you're still bare and tangled under your own sheets. But he doesn't say anything to prompt you to say what you really want to.

"Ok," he nods. "Til next time?" He almost looks hopeful, a small raise of his eyebrow as he looks at you expectantly.

"Yeah," you give your best soft smile as you nod. He nods again before leaving your apartment, where the quiet and loneliness envelops you once more.

Why can't you bring yourself to say it?

It was a few days after this when you saw him again. Jake had invited you, his brothers and Danny, of course, as well as a few of his other friends to his new place for dinner as somewhat of a housewarming party.

It wasn't abnormal; the two of you were friends after all. You obliged his request, politely bringing a bottle of his favorite wine as a gift to christen his new place. However, Jake would be lying if he said he didn't have other ideas on how to christen his new home, all of which involved you. But you didn't know that. Not yet, anyway.

So there you sat at the table next to Danny, politely engaging in small talk with some of Jake's friends that you'd never met. Jake sat to the left of you, leaning back in his rightful throne at the head of his large new dining room table. He was the host, after all.

Dinner had been...odd. For you, at least. Josh, as always, was having a grand ole time, entertaining his twin's guests with a "can you fucking believe this" sort of story over and over. Jake was used to this and he truly didn't mind, even if it was his house and his party. He enjoyed when Josh stole the show, becoming a bit unnerved if too many eyes were on him at one time.

And in the excited spirit, Danny leans over to you, whispering. "Twenty bucks says Josh won't let Jake have another word in the whole night."

You smirk. "I say fifty."

You giggle and Danny moves away, feeling rather proud of his joke and grinning at your banter with him. You sip on your glass of wine, the wine you gifted Jake, placed to the top left corner of your plate when you feel his eyes on you. You glance at him as you raise the glass to your lips. He looks almost calm, but his clenched jaw gives him away.

He mimics you, almost mockingly so, as he brings his own glass to his lips. He takes a sip before turning his attention back to Josh and his extravagant story, jaw still clenched.

Once dinner ends, you offer to take the plates from everyone at the table. Jake fights you on it, of course, going on about how you're a guest in his home. Gathering the finished plates weren't your responsibility.

"Well, I'll help you, then," He relents and you take a moment before you nod in agreeance, even if he wasn't asking.

In the kitchen, you rinse plates while Jake takes them from you to put them in the dishwasher. It's quiet for a while before he finally says something.

"You're awfully stubborn," he speaks lowly, almost to where you can't hear him.

You chuckle, a smile gracing your lips. "You sound mad about it."

He smiles too, looking down as he places another rinsed plate into the dishwasher amongst the others. "Not mad. Just an observation."

You want to ask him: anything else you've observed about me? or do you observe me often? But you don't. It sounds borderline sad even in your head. So instead, you stay quiet, keeping that tightly bound secret attached to your heart just as you promised yourself.

As if he reads your mind, he breaks the silence again. "Was Danny bothering you tonight?"

Your brows furrow, but suddenly that jaw clench of his from earlier all makes perfect sense. You play along.

"No. Why?"

He smirks again, almost like he's biting his tongue at your response. You can't help but smile again, turning your back to the sink as you lean against the counter.

"So you liked it, then? You liked the attention he was giving you?" Jake finally looks at you and you swear your heart stops. His piercing gaze sees right through you, and against your better judgment, you challenge it.

"And if I did?"

He breathes out a laugh, almost shocked at your pushback. "You can't lie to me, Y/N."

You're taken aback, but you're unsure why. He can see right through you. "Who says I'm lying?"

He steps closer, towering above you even if not by much. His aura is anything but small even at his average stature. "I can tell. I see it in your eyes."

Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest as he steps even closer again, even if this isn't your first rodeo with him. Even if he had taken you over his shoulder and carried you to whatever surface he could fuck you on until you couldn't see straight all too many times before, that one look he gives you never fails to steal the breath from your lungs and light a fire between your thighs.

"And I'll bet you wanted me to grab you from that chair and take you right there over that dinner table, didn't you?"

Jesus Christ. The way he speaks with such depravity renders you speechless as it does nearly every time.

"Jake..." you try your best not to look at him. If you do, the rising blush on your cheeks will give you away in an instant. You liked it.

You couldn’t help but like it when he talked to you like this. Speaking so filthy when the two of you are alone yet so outwardly polite and respectful when others were around; only allowing for hushed whispers of iniquity that beckoned you back into the darkness with him. It was exactly where you wanted to be.

"No?" His voice is almost teasing now. "Didn't want Danny to see me absolutely wreck you? All spread pretty and bent over? Didn't want that poor boy to realize he doesn't stand a chance with you? He couldn't handle you even if he tried."

"You know I don't want him, Jake," you finally look at him and your tone is soft. So soft it makes his heart flutter and his dick twitch in his pants.

"I know," he affirms. "You only want me, don't you, baby?"

You can't hide from him so close to you, not when there's a conversation. It's odd that having him buried deep inside of you, muttering sweet nothings as he coaxes you to an orgasm is a better hiding place than when he's standing in front of you, eyes staring holes through yours as he waits patiently for an answer.

"Yes," you finally answer. "In a way that makes me fucking crazy. You make me goddamn crazy and I can't get you out of my head."

It falls out of you before you have time to even stop it and now you're angry with yourself. The messily-tied bow that held your secret that you safeguarded so closely to your heart was now untied, dissipating into thin air. You can only hope it lands safely.

The silence for a moment is physically painful until he smiles. "So I was right then?"

You shake your head, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Jake smiles even more. "You do think about me all the time...just as I said the other day.”

You're truly at a loss for words now. He hasn't given you a definitive answer to your proclamation just yet. You don't think he will. You think he'll just ignore it and turn you back around to face the kitchen counter and take you from behind to christen his new house just as he'd like to. And even if his guests are just in the next room, you'd let him. But then he does answer.

"It's okay, baby. So do I," he reaches his hand to gently hold your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. "And not just about the way your tight little cunt feels around me, all snug and soft and warm. Or the way you taste…the way you moan my name so pretty it makes my heart hurt. I think about you; I think about your sweet smile, your rather adorable little laugh... the way you carry yourself... and even your goddamn stubbornness," he chuckles. "And I think about the way you look at me."

You feel like your heart is beating out of your chest and the air has been knocked from your lungs. "How do I look at you, Jake?"

He scans over your face for a moment to take it all in, as if you'll disappear before his very eyes at any given moment. He adores you...and you can't believe you could've possibly missed it in those fleeting moments of intense pleasure that he gives you. "Just like that. With that look...that look that's gonna make me fall in love with you all over again."

And later that night, when all of his guests leave and he takes you up to his bedroom, half unpacked boxes still cluttered around various spots of the hardwood floor from his move, he shows you how much he's truly fallen.

He took his time with you, kissing nearly every inch of your body that he could place his lips on. And he fucked you just as he’d been doing for the past month or so, but it felt different this time; maybe because it was different this time.

"Stay," he whispers softly in the haze of your climaxes, reaching his hand out to stroke your cheek just as he did in the kitchen hours before. And so you stayed, wrapped up in the sheets next to him as he pulls you closer, lulling you to sleep.

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