#or him figuring out he's normal by himself

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER

PLOT: So here you are, the sweet little assistant to HUNTR/X. Not anything like Bobby, no. You’re the only human they let in on their secret of being hunters, and your job is to help them out the best you can. Fetching the weapons, patching up wounds, memorizing demon looking ppl, preferably without fighting because you’re ass at that. You’re smart, sweet, know what will the girls do next.

Which is exactly why the Saja Boys decided to kidnap your ass.

Oh, they still look like a wet dream, don’t get that twisted. But they deadass snatched you up because you know too much. You know how the girls work. You know where they’re going, what they’re planning, how to hurt them.

Except, you won’t talk. Not even when they tried. And oh, they tried. Little threats. Little games. Little moments that left bruises.

Now? You’re a guest in their fancy-fancy high-rise apartment in the human world that they have so they don’t have to go back and forth between worlds. More like their prisoner, but the fridge is stocked and you’re not chained anymore.

cw: implied female reader, kidnapping situation, a shit ton of cursing, Romance being a flirt, a boner, mentions of sex, Mystery being curious about your body, boys being boys and fucking with you

You stand at the sleek marble counter, a knife in your hand, slicing through a peach.

Behind you, Romance’s laugh fills the room, deep, as Mystery literally tackles him over the back of the couch. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, limbs tangled, and Mystery growls.

Romance? He’s grinning. Loving every second.

“Damn, if you wanted to get me on my back you could’ve just asked.” he purrs, voice smooth.

Mystery’s response is to sink his teeth—actually sink his teeth—into Romance’s shoulder.

“Fuck—ah, yes, harder!” Romance groans dramatically, shoving at Mystery’s face but clearly not trying to get him off.

You just keep cutting your peach, the juice sticky on your fingers.

Abby’s sprawled in an armchair, bouncing a stress ball off the wall hard enough you’re certain he’ll crack the plaster. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his arms and his attention span is shot to shit. He’s been drumming his fingers, cracking his neck, muttering to himself about needing to do something.

Baby’s on the floor, cross-legged, looking at his phone what he grew to love so so so much since they figured it out. He actually looks like he has no idea what’s going on but doesn’t care anyway.

Jinu is in the kitchen, not far from you, sipping tea like none of this is happening. His hair’s still a little damp from a shower, and he looks… normal. Calm. Like he could be your neighbor, the guy who helps carry your groceries.

He notices you’re out of reach of the fruit bowl and slides it closer without a word.

“Thanks.” you mutter, not looking up.

Not forgetting that you fucking HATE his guts!!

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s the thing with Jinu. He’s nice. Too nice.

You slice another piece of peach. Try to pretend you don’t hear Romance moaning as Mystery bites him again.

Baby snorts quietly, still scrolling.

You just keep slicing fruit, silent, petty, waiting for the moment they let their guard down. Not happening.

Romance walks over eventually, leaning against the counter next to you. His scent hits you—fuck you in the ass it’s good. Why does it have to be good?

“Need help with that, angel?” he murmurs, voice like velvet, fingers brushing a piece of peach off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

You don’t look at him. “Fuck off.”

“Alrighty.”

He doesn’t move though.

Mystery, now perched on the arm of the couch, watches the two of you , you’d guess. You can’t see those fuckass eyes.

You remember the first meet.

God. The girls just finished, you gave them all the luxury they could ever need then went back to your apartment. Exhausted. Filthy. You got home, peeled off your clothes, stepped into that shower, and thought—finally. Finally, you could breathe.

Then, a bold whistle from behind you.

You turned your head, soap stinging your eyes, and there was….

Drumroll…

🥁🥁🥁

Romance.

Yes indeed, the fucker whistled.

You froze. Completely naked, completely vulnerable. He moved fast—too fast—hand over your mouth, body pressed up to the shower glass.

“Don’t scream. We’re just gonna have a little chat.”

You wanted to kick him. You really did. But he had you pinned, all casual, like this was just another Tuesday for him.

“Options.” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek like he was trying to soothe you. “You tell me what I wanna know. Or—and I like this one better—I take you with me.”

You glared at him. You hated him.

(Since your girls did too and know he’s a demon but anyway)

But what could you do? Naked, trapped, outmatched. So you nodded. Let him hand you a towel. Let him grin when you dressed in whatever you could grab. Let him walk you out of your own damn apartment like he was your date for the night.

You snap back to now, slicing that peach a little too hard. The knife hits the cutting board with a sharp thunk.

Romance notices. Of course he notices. He always notices.

“Careful, baby. Gonna hurt yourself.” he teases, snagging another piece of fruit from your plate like he has every right.

You don’t answer. Just cut another slice, the peach juice sticky on your fingers.

Then there was the time you tried to run.

You’d waited until late. Until they were sprawled out, arguing over anything, distracted by their own bullshit. You’d crept to the door, so quiet. Almost made it.

Baby caught you. Not with strength. With a simple:

“Hm?”

And then Jinu was there. Calm. Closing the door gently. Taking your arm, leading you back.

“Don’t do that, okay?” he’d said, as if you’d just made a small mistake. Like it wasn’t a big fucking deal.

Romance had clapped you on the back when you were forced to sit back down. “A+ for effort, though.”

Slice. Slice. Another piece of peach.

Mystery’s watching you now. Not saying anything, just watching. His head tilted, into your direction.

You finish slicing the peach. Set the knife down.

Romance steals another piece, grinning at you over it.

Mystery growls under his breath at the whole thing.

Abby’s already forgotten about you, too busy flicking Baby’s ear to annoy him.

Jinu’s watching you quietly, you’d guess. Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

You remember that time you bit Romance.

God, the nerve of him. You were done—so done—with him always getting too close.

D-O-N-E.

That time, when he cornered you to get things out of you. “C’mon, angel, just tell me a little secret. Just one. I’ll owe you.” He’d said. “You’re so tense. I can help with that…”

And you just snapped. Lunged in and bit his arm as hard as you could.

And the fucker?

The fuck?

He winked at you.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t cuss you out. Just grinned like you’d given him a gift. “Easy, girl.” he said, voice low, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him. “Didn’t know you liked it rough.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you glared and tried to yank free, and he let you—only because he felt like it. Not because you could have escaped him.

You organize the little peaches on your plate. They looked quite cute.

You tried to stand your ground once.

Told Abby to back off, to leave you alone. And what did he do?

He laughed. That easy, bright, warm laugh like you’d just told him a joke. Then he slung his arm around your shoulders and practically dragged you down the hall like you were his best bud.

“You’re funny as hell.” he said, ruffling your hair like you weren’t glaring daggers at him. “C’mon.”

Asshole.

“Where you think you’re going, superstar?” he’d teased last time, when you made it to the elevator and thought, for one sweet second, you were free.

You’d fought. Kicked. Swore.

And he’d just laughed, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. Carried you back down the hall like you were some drunk friend at a party, not a prisoner.

“C’mon now. You know you’re not going anywhere. Let’s not make it weird.”

Baby shifts where he’s sitting, lazy as ever, glancing up from his phone just long enough to take a sassy look at you.

Then there was time they played good cop/bad cop on you.

Mystery had you cornered in the kitchen. Not even saying anything—just standing there, too close. You’d tried to sidestep him. He’d mirrored the move, blocking you without touching.

And then Romance walked in. All relaxed, all casual. Slid in between you and Mystery, arm around your waist like it was his right.

“Ease up.” he said to Mystery, but his hand tightened on your side. “She’s not gonna run. Are you, angel?”

You bite into a piece of peach now.

Or there’s the night you tried to lock yourself in a room.

Abby broke the door down. Just… busted it open like it was made of cardboard.

“Don’t do that, babe.” he said, happy af, picking you up like you weighed nothing and carrying you back to the main room. “You’re gonna make us feel bad, hiding like that.”

You’d pounded at his chest. Tried to fight.

And he’d just laughed again, so warm, so easy, like you were play-wrestling.

You put the cutting board back, close the cabinet a little too hard.

There are also mind games. Oh, the fucking mind games.

Like how Jinu always helps. Always so polite, so considerate. Slips a glass of water into your hand when you’re too angry to ask. Pulls out a chair for you. Puts a blanket over you when you fall asleep

(and yeah, you pretended to be asleep that time. sue you, you were cold).

And it gets in your head. Makes you second-guess your hate. Makes you wonder if maybe he’d let you go if you just asked nicely enough. Makes you forget, for a second, that he’s the one who seals the doors behind you.

Or how Baby never speaks to you unless it’s to cut you down.

That time you begged, just once, just quietly, just to Baby because the others were too busy fucking around, you asked him to help you slip out.

And he’d looked at you. Just looked. And smiled that tiny, mean smile of his.

“Cute that you think anyone here gives a fuck what you want.”

Yeah, when he doesn’t currently not give a fuck about what’s happening around him, this is what you’ll get of him. Allat pretty face is a waste, fr.

You wipe down the counter, scrubbing too hard, like you can erase their fingerprints from your space.

And Mystery.

Mystery, who’s so feral you almost thought you could use that. That maybe he was the weak link. That maybe his violence meant he didn’t care about the plan, that he’d let you go just to spite the others.

But no.

Like the time you tried to sneak a phone off the coffee table, thinking no one was looking.

Mystery had crossed the room in a blink, snatched it out of your hand, and grabbed your jaw so fast your ears rang.

His nails had pricked your skin. His breath had been hot, his growl low.

“Don’t.”

One word. That’s all. And then he let go like you were nothing. Like you didn’t even matter enough to punish.

You open the fridge, shove the plate in, close it again like the slam of the door can drown out the noise in your head.

You turn, walk closer to them in the living room so you look more genuine, sweet like sugar because you can’t help it. That’s just how you sound.

“Can I use the sauna?” you ask.

No one says anything for half a beat.

Jinu the asshole the FUCKING asshole hums. “In exchange for some information, you know. Tell us a thing or two.”

You groan. Actually groan. And before you can stop yourself, you do the tiniest, most frustrated little kick at the air. Just a flick of your foot, like you’re trying to shake off the annoyance. Just a little kick. Adorable, really. A stupid, tiny burst of frustration because this is so fucking unfair and they know it.

And that’s when Abby, quick, grabs your leg mid-kick.

“Gotcha.” he says, voice bright. And the worst part? He doesn’t even look at you. He’s already turned back to whatever dumb shit they’re talking about, your ankle resting in his grip.

And now you’re there, balancing on one foot, arms out a little to steady yourself.

“Abby—let go—!”

But he’s not paying you any mind. His fingers loose but firm around your ankle, like he could crush it if he felt like it, but he’s just holding it.

As if you’re some toy he forgot he was playing with. Fucking asshole.

Romance sees the opportunity immediately. He slides closer, slow, a finger tapping at your knee, then your thigh, all innocent and infuriating. “Look at you. One foot. So talented.”

You swat at him, trying to push him away, but that just makes him laugh.

Mystery, meanwhile, is staring at your leg. Head tilted, curious. Like he can’t decide if he wants to pounce on it or just… study it. It’s been a while since he’s seen a human girl this close. That’s obvious in the way his gaze lingers too long on the shape of your calf, the flex of your foot as you wobble.

Baby is absolutely checking out your ass.

Not even trying to hide it.

One glance over his phone, those eyes sliding down, a little smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at his screen like he’s the innocent one here.

You hop a little, trying to tug your leg free, still balancing awkwardly. “Abby—seriously!”

But Abby just laughs, chatting with Jinu, your leg still in his grip.

Romance pokes at you again. This time at your side, grinning when you squirm. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

You try to stomp your other foot, frustrated beyond words, but you’re already jumping on one leg, and that just makes all of them snicker.

“Abby!”

“Hmm?” His voice is unbothered, eyes still not on you. “Oh. Right. Forgot I was holding you.”

Liar.

“Nah, c’mon—tell us a secret.” Abby says.

You tug.

He doesn’t budge.

“Abby.” you hiss.

But it’s useless.

Romance pokes you in the side, fascinated by the way your curves move.

“Stop it—” you try to swat at him, but you’re too busy trying not to fall flat on your ass.

Romance laughs, brushing your hand aside easily. His fingers brush your free ankle lightly, just to mess with you, and you nearly lose your balance again.

“Seriously, let go.” you snap, hopping on your one foot, trying to twist free.

But Abby’s grip is firm, not tight enough to hurt, just impossible to break.

He still isn’t looking at you. Instead, he’s grinning at Romance. “Hey, look at this—” he lifts your foot slightly, turning it in his hand like he’s inspecting it “—her foot’s like half the size of yours.”

Romance, of course, is lining his foot up next to yours while you’re still caught there, balancing. His grin is all teeth. “Tiny.” he says, delighted.

You’re burning up with embarrassment now, face hot, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. You’re jumping a little, trying to shake your foot loose, but all it does is make Romance poke at you more, fingers brushing your calf, your ankle, your side.

“Stop it!” you snap, swatting at him, but you can’t even aim right on one foot.

Baby doesn’t even hide it anymore. He leans back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between your legs, your ass, your face, enjoying every second of this humiliation.

“Alright, c’mon now.” Abby says, finally glancing at you. “Give us a little intel, and you can go steam yourself all you want.”

You’re about to lose your balance for real—arms flailing slightly, heel of your standing foot sliding on the polished floor—when finally, finally, Jinu’s voice cuts through the mess.

“You can use the sauna.” he says simply, with a small nod, like it should’ve been obvious all along.

“There you go, superstar.” Abby lets go, laughing under his breath as if this was all in good fun. You stumble, catch yourself on the couch, heart pounding, face flushed.

Romance grins, hands up like he’s innocent. “See? All you had to do was ask.”

Baby smirks, looking back down at his phone as if he wasn’t just ogling you.

Mystery sinks back onto the couch arm, still watching, but at least he isn’t about to lunge anymore.

You straighten, brushing your hands down your sides, trying to regain a scrap of dignity.

“Thanks.” you mutter, shooting a glare at the rest of them before turning on your heel and heading toward the sauna.

Romance leans back, hands up like he’s innocent. “Enjoy yourself, angel.”

Baby gives you one last look, and Mystery’s head follows you until you’re out of reach.

You huff, fixing your clothes, dignity in shambles as you stomp toward the sauna.

God, you hate them.

God, they’re fucking hilarious.

God, you hate that you almost laughed too.

Alright, so there you are. Finally. Finally in the sauna.

You thought maybe—maybe—you could steal this one small victory. After all the shit they put you through, the teasing, the games, the constant pushing and pulling, you’d gotten away.

The heat envelops you, thick, fogging up the glass as you sit there, knees tucked up, towel clutched tight to your chest.

Your heartbeat’s just starting to slow. Your breathing evens out. The sweat begins to bead at your temples, trickle down your neck, and for a blissful minute, you think:

peace.

And then.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You freeze. Eyes snap to the glass door.

Abby and Romance.

Side by side, standing just outside the sauna with the most shit-eating grins you’ve ever seen.

And god help you,

they’re in nothing but towels.

Romance has his slung low on his hips, arms crossed behind his head. Like he knew what this would do to you. His eyes meet yours through the steam, and his grin somehow widens.

Abby’s hitched up carelessly at his waist, and he’s leaning against the glass with both hands, forehead pressed against it, breathing patterns making little clouds on the surface.

And because he’s Abby and he’s got no shame, he leans in further until his abs are smushed up against the glass too, leaving perfect imprints of his ridiculous physique.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Romance’s knuckle on the door this time, slow and rhythmic, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

These bastards have nothing but time. And you? You’re the best entertainment they’ve had in centuries. Three hundred years of whatever suffering Gwi-ma put them through, until you.

And you can tell. You can see it in their faces, the way they’re lit up like kids on Christmas morning. The way they’re making a game out of this. The way they’re not just keeping you prisoner, they’re enjoying every second of it, like you’re their favorite new toy.

“Baby girl.” Romance calls, voice muffled through the glass, drawing the words out like a slow melody. He knocks again, forehead resting against the glass, leaning down a little so his eyes are level with yours. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

(Guys I don’t mean baby girl in a weird way I promiseeeee)

Abby starts whining. Full-on whining, dragging out the vowels like he’s the one being tortured here.

“Pleeeaaaseee. Let us in. Don’t hog all the steam. You know it’s rude.”

Your grip on your towel tightens. You shake your head, glaring, but that just seems to make them more determined.

Romance is flattening his palms against the glass, leaning his weight forward, so casual.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” he purrs. “It’s not safe to sauna alone. What if you pass out? What if you get too hot?” His voice drops lower, dripping with mock concern. “We’d hate for something bad to happen to you.”

You point at them through the foggy glass. “Stay out.”

They’re having the time of their lives.

Abby’s face is smushed against the door now, nose flattened, grinning so hard you can see the crinkle of his eyes even through the fog. He slides down slightly so his chest presses up too, leaving an actual print on the glass that you’re sure you’ll see in your nightmares.

“Come oooonnnn.” he drags out, hands sliding down the glass with exaggerated despair. “It’s lonely out here. It’s cold.”

“Yeah.” Romance chimes in, knocking his knuckles lightly again, rhythm playful. “So cold. We’re shivering.”

Neither of them looks the least bit cold. They look like gods, golden and gleaming in the low light, all muscle.

Abby presses his forehead right next to Romance’s, their faces squished together, two idiots united in their mission to annoy the living shit out of you. His abs are still plastered to the glass, leaving sweaty smudges in their shape.

Romance starts dragging out words like he’s dying of heartbreak. “Weeeee just waaaant to reeeelaaax.”

And then, before you can stop it, the door creaks open.

Romance’s hand is already on the handle. Abby’s pushing through behind him, grinning.

“You—” you start, clutching your towel tighter, scooting back like that’s going to help.

Romance plops down way too close, towel barely clinging on, stretching his long legs out. He leans back, hands braced behind him, turning his head to look at you with that maddening, lazy smile.

Abby flops down on your other side, sighing like he’s just found heaven, spreading out. He stretches his arms up, rolls his shoulders, all muscle.

“This is much better.” Abby says cheerfully.

“Yeah.” Romance agrees, eyes glinting with as he studies you, watching the way you clutch your towel like it’s the only thing saving your dignity. “See? Cozy.”

You glare at them both, heart hammering so loud you’re sure they can hear it over the hiss of the steam.

“You could’ve waited.” you mutter, trying to inch away without actually standing and risking… well, anything.

Romance leans in slightly, close enough that you can see the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, the curve of his smirk.

Then, these assholes giggle.

Giggle.

Big, strong, terrifying demons who could rip a man apart in seconds, sitting on either side of you, legs sprawled, water dripping down their ridiculously perfect bodies—and giggling like schoolgirls who just found a crush’s diary.

Romance leans forward, glancing at Abby, his grin wide and boyish and so fucking irritating. His hair’s still damp, little droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw, catching in the hollow of his throat before disappearing below that towel hanging far too low on his hips.

Abby snorts, eyes crinkling, that same big, bright grin that makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long—no matter how much you want to. He’s got one arm thrown over the back of the bench.

“I feel relaxed already.” Abby teases, voice low and warm.

And the giggling starts again. Little bursts of it, like they can’t believe their luck.

You press your back against the wall, eyes narrowed, clutching your towel so hard you might leave permanent wrinkles in the fabric. You feel the heat rising higher in your cheeks now, but it’s not from the sauna.

Because they’re close. So close you can feel the heat coming off them, not just the sauna’s heat but theirs. Like being caught between two furnaces.

Fuck them.

And they’re not just sitting there politely, minding their business. Oh no. Their gazes slide over you, undressing you with their eyes without a single ounce of shame.

Romance lets his gaze drop, lazily, from your flushed face to the slope of your shoulders, down the curve of your towel-clad body, he’s imagining exactly what’s under there. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

His mouth quirks up at the corner like he’s thoroughly enjoying the view.

Abby’s no better. His eyes trace you all the same. Like he’s taking mental snapshots, adding to whatever collection of moments he’s tucking away for the next time he’s bored at 3 a.m.

And it’s not subtle.

They’d hit that. No question. In a heartbeat.

Hell, Romance would have you against the sauna wall the second you blinked yes—if you blinked yes. The man has no shame. His lust, so open, so easy, it’s like breathing to him.

But that’s the thing about Romance—he knows the difference. Knows the difference between wanting to get you under him and wanting something real.

And somehow, that second thing? That’s creeping in now, too.

It’s not just the game anymore. Not just the fun of teasing you, seeing how red they can make you go, seeing how long they can keep you flustered before you snap.

It’s that you feel different.

You’re not like the other fleeting amusements they’ve found across centuries of boredom and bloodshed. You’re not just a pretty face they can toy with until it breaks.

You’re the most fun they’ve had in so long they’ve almost forgotten what fun is.

It’s growing. Quietly, steadily, in between all the teasing.

Romance, for all his shameless flirting, knows it too. His desire’s loud, sure, but this other feeling? This is different. It’s not about the chase, or the win, or the thrill of the moment. It’s about the way his heart kicks up when you roll your eyes at him, when you snap back, when you don’t fold.

And Abby? He’s the same. He laughs and plays and pokes, but somewhere in the cracks, something real’s settling in.

Something that isn’t just about keeping entertained.

You’re fun. You’re alive.

And in their endless stretch of centuries, that’s fun.

Because now, it’s not just about keeping you around for what you know.

Now, it’s about keeping you around because they want you around.

All those feelings for them, while just now, you had enough. Enough.

So you stand.

You push yourself up off the bench, clutching your towel, heart pounding, cheeks blazing, ready to make your exit.

But the second you straighten, the second you think you’ve reclaimed a scrap of dignity, Abby decides otherwise.

Big, warm hands catch your wrist and waist at once, and before you can so much as yelp, he drags you right back down into his lap.

“Ah-ah. Where you goin’, babe?” he says, voice all smooth, like you’re a kitten trying to escape bath time. His grin’s wide, eyes sparkling with that boyish light that makes you want to slap him and maybe kiss him just to wipe it off his face.

And there you are—your much smaller frame hauled back against him, towel still clutched to your chest, your legs draped awkwardly over his, skin burning where it meets his.

You squirm.

You kick and wiggle and slap at his arms, trying to peel yourself free, but it’s like fighting a brick wall that laughs at you.

“Let me go!” you snap, voice high with frustration, but you might as well be shouting at the wind.

Because Abby’s laughing now. Genuinely laughing, head tipped back a little, like this is the funniest shit he’s seen in decades.

Romance is no better. He’s doubled over, palm slapping the bench, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. That rich, boyish sound fills the sauna, echoing off the wood, making your cheeks burn hotter.

You kick again, trying to shove at Abby’s chest, trying to slide off his lap, but he’s holding you tight, like it’s nothing.

Abby leans in a little, his grin crooked now, voice low and warm, the kind of tone that makes you want to hide.

“You’re makin’ this real hard for me, sweetheart.” he says, and there’s no mistaking the double meaning.

Your heart lurches.

And, oh—you feel it. You definitely feel it.

Right there, under you.

A huge fucking boner.

And instead of stopping—instead of being sensible—you kick more. You squirm harder. Your face is on fire, but you’re determined to break free, determined to make him pay for putting you in this position, even if it’s making everything so much worse.

Abby groans low in his throat, but it’s laced with laughter, like he knows exactly what you’re doing and loves it. Loves that you’re trying. Loves that you’re flustered and mad and completely powerless.

Romance is laughing so hard he can’t sit upright, folding over himself, practically wheezing, tears streaming down his cheeks, pointing at you both like he can’t believe how lucky he is to witness this.

You give one more valiant wiggle, slap at Abby’s arm, and finally—finally—he lets go. Though maybe because he’s too worked up to keep playing

“Alright, alright.” he says, laughing, lifting his hands in surrender. “You win, babe. Go on.”

You shoot up like your life depends on it, clutching your towel so tight your fingers ache, hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, chest heaving. You glare down at both of them, cheeks blazing, trying to regain a shred of dignity.

Abby is the picture of innocence now. One leg up to hide his hard on, arms draped across the back of the bench, looking for all the world like he’s just a guy enjoying a sauna and not someone who just very nearly got dry-humped into oblivion by a squirming, furious human girl.

But of course, the second you’re upright, Romance leans forward, grinning wickedly, fingers grabbing for the edge of your towel.

“Just one little peek.” he says, and his hand shoots out, fingers hooking the edge of your towel.

You shriek, twisting away just in time, slapping his hands, stumbling toward the door. The towel stays on—thank god—but barely.

Romance collapses back onto the bench, grinning, breathless from laughing.

“Worth a shot.” he teases, voice low and sinful. “Next time, angel.”

You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re too busy marching toward the door, heart hammering, body burning, swearing to yourself you’ll never trust a sauna again.

And behind you, the sound of their laughter chases you all the way out.

You storm out of that sauna, towel clutched so tight it’s a wonder you haven’t shredded it by sheer force of will. Your heart’s hammering in your chest, skin blazing from more than just the steam, and you’re done. Done with Abby’s lap. Done with Romance’s bullshit. Done with them probably high fiving each other as you’re walking. Done with all of it.

You stomp barefoot across the marble floors, steam still rising from your skin, water droplets trailing behind you.

And then you hit the living room.

Jinu’s perched on the edge of the couch, looking every bit the composed, gentlemanly demon he always pretends to be—except for the fact that his eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. His lips twitch at the corners, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You went in there with clothes on.” he says, voice mild. “I’m pretty sure of it.”

You don’t even slow down. You wave a hand at him, dismissive, furious, embarrassed beyond belief but way too stubborn to show it.

“Not now, Jinu.”

“Just pointing it out.” he says, and you can hear that gentle, teasing lilt in his voice now that somehow makes it worse. Like he’s the only one in this house capable of being nice to you, but he still can’t help poking at you when you’re like this.

You glance down just in time to see Mystery crouched slightly, head tilted, attention fixed on the hem of your towel.

His hand twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to just lift it and satisfy his curiosity.

“Mystery—”

You swat at him, fast, instinctive. Like shooing off a cat who’s about to knock over a glass.

He tries again.

“Mystery or whatever your fucking name is!”

Your voice pitches higher. You swat at him again, and this time he dodges.

Baby’s watching the whole thing from the arm of the couch, shoulders shaking as he laughs quietly.

You and Mystery keep up this ridiculous dance—him darting, trying to sneak a look, you batting him off.

Every time you think you’ve shaken him, he circles back around, silent, predatory.

“Mystery, stop it!” you hiss, stomping your foot, cheeks burning so hot you’re sure they must be glowing.

He actually listens. Pulls back just a bit, but not before giving you this tilt of his head—this weird, almost innocent curiosity, like he really, genuinely wants to know what’s up there. Not because he’s trying to be a creep. Just because he’s Mystery.

He leans back, hands up, like he was just wondering, like you can’t blame a guy for being curious.

You tug your towel tighter, shooting him a glare that promises violence if he tries it again.

Baby just tips his head back and laughs, soft and delighted.

You storm the rest of the way across the living room, muttering curses under your breath, knowing full well this won’t be the last time they pull this shit.

Because why would it be?

You’re the best fun they’ve had in centuries.

You slam the door to your room shut with more force than necessary, your heart still thundering in your chest.

The room’s quiet now. Blessedly quiet.

You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, crossing to the dresser where they’d dumped your things they got from there and there. You let the towel drop, pulling on fresh clothes.

But as you tug your shirt down and run a hand through your damp hair, the questions start creeping in.

Will you ever get out of here?

…Maybe.

You want to believe it. That there’s a crack in their plan, a way to slip past their too-quick hands. That somehow, the girls will come for you. That you’ll find your moment and take it. But looking at how they watch you, how they enjoy keeping you close? It’s hard to be sure.

Do the girls miss you?

Yes.

They have to. You’re not just some assistant with a clipboard and a coffee order. You’re the one who kept them safe, who watched their backs when they were too busy saving the world to watch their own. They have to notice you’re gone. Right?

Do the boys actually like you as a person?

Yes.

And that’s the most confusing part. Because it’s not just the teasing, the poking, they see you. Under all the sweet voice, the petty little kicks, the glares and the stubbornness, they see you. And somehow, they like what they see.

Is Romance always trying to get in your pants?

Yes.

But he also respects the game. And maybe, just maybe, he likes more than just what’s under your clothes.

Does Abby really think you’re cute when you fight him off?

Yes.

You see it in his smile, in the way his eyes soften when you kick and squirm and glare up at him.

Is Baby secretly rooting for you?

Absolutely so fucking yes.

He won’t say it. Won’t even crack more than that smirk. But you catch it, sometimes—in the tilt of his head, in the glint of his eye. He enjoys you. Enjoys watching you give them hell.

Is Mystery curious about you in ways he doesn’t understand?

Indeed.

It’s in every glance, every tilt of his head, every quiet lean-in. You’re new, he likes it.

Does Jinu really care?

Yeah.

The only one who treats you normally. The one who talks to you like you’re a person. The one who always seems to step in right before the others push you too far.

Are you actually safe here?

No.

Not really. Not from their games, their teasing, their endless curiosity about what makes you break. Not from the way they make your heart race, in anger or fear or something more dangerous you don’t want to name.

Are you in danger of falling for them, even a little?

…Maybe.

You flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, clothes rumpled and hair still damp, wondering how the hell you’re going to survive this. Wondering how you’re going to keep yourself from softening toward them when they look at you like that, when they laugh like that, when they treat you like this.

Will you ever stop hoping for a chance to escape?

No.

Not ever. Not even if they keep making you laugh when you shouldn’t. Not even if they’re the most fun you’ve ever had.

You’re getting out.

Somedays

But god—if they don’t make it hard to want to leave.

You lay there on that stupid, too-nice bed, staring up at the ceiling, the city lights leaking in through the blinds, casting stripes across your skin. And you think—fuck.

Because damn your empathy.

You should hate them. Every single one of them. For snatching you away from your life. For laughing at you when you fight back. For treating you like a kid. You should be plotting their downfall, hating the sound of their voices, the way they look at you, the way they keep you here.

But you don’t. Not really. Not deep down where it matters.

Because it hits you, lying there with your heart still racing and your body still warm from the sauna

They probably don’t know any better anymore.

It’s probably been hundreds of years since they had anything like this. Since they saw their mothers. Since they were boys, real boys, not demons, playing at being human on a stage with bright lights and screaming fans.

When was the last time they got tucked in at night, you wonder. When was the last time somebody made them soup when they were sick?

When was the last time they did human shit?

Jumped on a trampoline, if they ever had done that.

Had a snowball fight.

Built a fort and camped out in it.

Splashed each other in a pool until they were breathless with laughter, not because they were trying to drown each other but just because it was fun.

Ran barefoot through wet grass on a summer night, chasing bugs.

Sat on a rooftop with their best friend, eating about the future like it was some big, beautiful thing waiting for them.

The last time someone baked them a birthday cake and sang to them, even off-key?

God, when was the last time they had that?

You think about Romance, all charm and heat, with that constant flirt in his voice—when was the last time someone kissed him because they loved him, not because they were enchanted by his face?

You think about Abby, always teasing, strong enough to crush you but never does—when was the last time someone hugged him just because?

Baby, with not giving a fuck at anything—when was the last time someone gave him something with no strings attached?

Mystery. Ferocious, curious—when was the last time he felt safe enough to just exist?

Jinu. The only one who looks at you like you’re still a person, like maybe he remembers what it felt like to be one, too—when was the last time someone sat with him in silence, not because they wanted something but just because they liked him?

And you feel that damn softness bloom in your chest, that aching empathy that’s going to get you killed or worse.

Because you don’t blame them. Not really.

They’re lonely.

Lonely in a way you can’t even imagine, in a way that sinks into your bones and makes you hungry for anything real.

You’re not just a hostage, not really—not to them. You’re a spark of humanity in their endless dark, and they don’t want to let go.

And yeah, it’s selfish. It’s cruel, in its way. But can you really hate them for it?

Can you hate them for wanting to keep you close when the world left them behind centuries ago?

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face, trying to shove the thoughts away, trying to remind yourself—they kidnapped you. They’re using you. They’re playing with you because it entertains them.

But still.

You see the way they look at you when they think you’re not paying attention.

You see the way they light up when you kick back, when you glare, when you curse them out, when you fight—because maybe you’re the first thing in forever that’s real to them.

And goddamn it, you understand.

You don’t forgive. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you understand.

Boys who laugh too hard when you fight them off because they don’t know how else to show they like you.

So yeah.

Fuck your empathy.

Because you see them. And you can’t unsee it.

[kuncitizen]

The changes seem almost imperceptible at first.

Gojo's bathroom rack, once barren except for a two-in-one shampoo that doubles as body wash—is now cluttered with pastel bottles, a pink loofah with a bow, and some mysterious scrub labeled watermelon smoothie (which, to his utter disappointment, was not edible).

The mirror near the rack—once mounted at his freakishly tall eye level—now has a mini mirror suctioned right beside it, tilted lower just for you.

You didn’t even say anything. Just sighed one morning, yawned, and slapped it on with sleepy precision. He had laughed at you for being bite-sized, but caught himself using it when trimming his jawline.

And the fridge used to be sad, truly. Half a bottle of lychee-flavoured lemonade, a sketchy cucumber, and maybe a Red Bull or five.

Now there's fresh strawberries in containers you washed, vegetables, spices arranged alphabetically in matching jars. He made fun of it at first. But then two weeks later, when he could find the cumin instantly, he stared into the distance and muttered, “My baby's a genius.”

There’s a polaroid stuck to the fridge door with a peach-shaped magnet. You’re in the middle of the frame, laughing so hard your eyes are half-closed. Gojo’s beside you, one arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders as he makes the dumbest face known to man, while his other arm yanks a scowling Megumi into the shot like a hostage. The caption, scribbled in your messy handwriting, reads:

Family dinner (Megumi hates us).

Just beneath the photo, pinned by the same magnet, is a torn piece of paper:

-milk

-eggs

-bread

-celery

-don’t forget the glazed donuts you like even though they give you heartburn <3

Gojo keeps the list even after everything’s been bought, folding it once and slipping it into his pocket.

Because it might be just some grocery list to anyone else. But to him, it’s written in your handwriting, smells faintly like your lotion, and—most importantly—it ends with a <3.

So naturally, there’s no official "you moved in” moment. No big conversations or suitcases.

It's your scent lingering on his pillow. Your toothbrush sitting next to his in a cup he swears he didn’t buy.

It’s your hair ties scattered on his bedside table, the black ones that Gojo swears just keep multiplying. But he sometimes picks them up and just holds them for no reason, like they’re sacred relics of a goddess.

And then there are the things that aren’t objects at all.

The moments that take up space. The gestures, the silences, the care stitched into his life like you’ve always been part of it.

Like when you were were in the laundry folding his shirts, humming off-key to something on your phone and snapping the fabric mid-air like you meant business. You didn’t notice him at first—standing in the hallway, gripping the doorframe like he’s been physically hit with feelings.

Gojo had to literally bite his knuckle to keep himself from bursting into tears or tackle you mid-fold and bite your arm out of the sheer overload of affection.

Or just last night, when he swore he passed out with the lights still on, jacket half-off, phone dead on the nightstand. He only remembers collapsing onto the mattress with his head pounding, too tired to even take off his shoes.

But he wakes up warm. Shoes off, lights out, a blanket tucked around his figure. There's a note scribbled in your familiar writing, just beside the glass of water and packets of Tylenol placed on the bedside table.

“Took your shoes off and put painkillers on the table. You looked like roadkill. Love you.”

He stared at it for a full ten minutes, blanket pulled to his chin like a little boy, blinking at the ceiling with the stunned realization that someone out there loved him like this—so gently, so normally, that it didn’t even ask to be acknowledged.

Gojo rolls out of bed like a man reborn and follows the smell of something frying in the kitchen.

Because of course, you’re there.

Barefoot, standing on your tiptoes at the stove, lips pursed in concentration as you stir something sizzling in a pan. His hoodie swallows you whole, dipping low on your thighs, sleeves bunched around your wrists. Your hair’s twisted up messily, and he swears if he looks any longer, he’s going to melt into the floor like a cartoon character.

It’s almost unfair how casual you look in his space. Like you were meant to be there. Like the room rearranged itself around you.

Gojo forgets his exhaustion in an instant. The only thing sore now is his heart.

He pads over and wraps his arms around you from behind, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Gojo mumbles against your skin.

You snort. “I’m literally making food for you.”

“That’s not what’s gonna kill me.”

“What, the garlic?”

“The fact that you’re standing in my kitchen looking like a walking dream,” he grumbles, kissing the side of your neck.

You laugh, wiggling your hips slightly to throw him off. “Down, boy. You’re gonna burn your fingers.”

He groans like he’s actually in pain, but doesn’t move. If anything, he presses closer, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your neck and mumbling nonsense into your skin.

“Y’know,” you say, flipping the pan with ease, “if you distract me, and we both die in a fire, that’s on you.”

“Worthy sacrifice,” he mutters, lips brushing your collarbone.

Gojo's hand slides down—slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. His fingers find yours, and he gently pulls your left hand away from the spatula. You blink, confused, as he lifts your hand and lightly wraps his fingers around your ring finger, measuring.

You raise a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replies way too fast.

You squint at him. “Is this another one of your weird kinks or—”

“Shh.” He coos as he kisses the tip of your finger. “Just checking if my future plans align.”

You narrow your eyes further, suspicious of where Gojo's going with this.

“You like rubies better or diamonds?”

You pause. “What?”

He grins into your shoulder, kissing it again. “I’m just saying. Hypothetically. If a guy wanted to be smart and lock it down before someone else does.”

Your voice comes out quieter than expected. “You’re serious?”

Gojo leans in, his voice low and uncharacteristically sincere, suddenly stripped of the teasing.

“I am so stupidly, pathetically serious about you, it’s embarrassing. I want to marry the girl who makes my apartment feel like more than just four walls. I want to put a ring on the hand that steals my hoodies and flips me off.”

Your lips part, but he keeps going.

“I want you in my kitchen, in my bed, even in my closet. Even when you leave coffee mugs everywhere. Even when you hog the blanket. Even when you bully me for crying during Pixar trailers.”

“You do cry during Pixar trailers.”

“And I’ll cry during our wedding vows too. I’m not an insecure man.”

You lean in and kiss him before he gets all sappy again, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms fully around you, pulling you close enough to feel every soft breath.

Halfway through, Gojo smiles against your lips like he can’t help it. Like his heart spilled out through his mouth and all it could do was grin stupidly.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes half-lidded, that smile still lingering.

“So, rubies or diamonds?”

You roll your eyes, but your own smile creeps in anyway. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he replies.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s already engraving your ring size into permanent memory.

A/N: I literally got so lazy that I didn't even proofread before posting this. So if you spot a typo, no you didn't.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

two ends of the socioeconomic spectrum

Okay this is crazy, because between Ruggie and Kalim’s Relax in Room groovies we got:

Completely different materials for their pajamas (Kalim’s fits him + is silk/other high grade material, while Ruggie’s is slightly baggy/too large for him, has clear wear and tear, and is made of normal ass stuff.)

Completely different methods of getting their makeup out (Kalim is so excessive he can afford to dip one finger into each pot and still has many options; Ruggie has to dig into his pans to get every last bit of product out.)

Completely different bags holding their makeup (Kalim’s bag is made of nice material which is embroidered and secured with a thick rope; Ruggie’s is a more common and plain drawstring bag. Kalim also has brushes ready, whereas Ruggie seems to apply makeup with his hands.)

Completely different selection of makeup (Kalim has many different eyeshadows when no one person needs that many, whereas Ruggie has only samples. Also note that Ruggie goes through every last drop of what he has whereas all of Kalim’s makeup looks virtually untouched or barely used.)

Completely different colors of eyeshadow (Kalim has a whole rainbow and even some glittery variants; Ruggie has what appears to be a plain dark brown matte. The former can afford the variety, whereas the latter just has to make do with whatever he can find.)

Completely different surroundings (Kalim has an entourage of mobs willing to assist him, perhaps mirroring how he grew up surrounded by servants willing to help him; Ruggie is alone in his dorm’s washroom—he had no one to count on for his future, so he had to pick himself up by the bootstraps and figure that out for himself.)

Completely different posing and expressions (Kalim is smiling and looking up; Ruggie is frowning and looking down. One looks hopeful and like he has a bright future, whereas the other doesn’t have that easy upward mobility or guaranteed success. Kalim is even properly seated at a vanity while Ruggie is like squatting uncomfortably in his seat.)

The disparity is even worse when you factor in the fact that Ruggie couldn’t even consistently take showers or bathe🧍‍♂️whereas Kalim takes luxurious baths for as long as he likes and has servants applying skincare and other products on him. Putting these two side-by-side really does make things grim 💦

[whumps-and-stumps-but-no-stumps]

First time really writing something (and also posting on this account), it didn’t come out exactly like I had wanted but you have to start somewhere right?

Cw: gun, (forced) betrayal, vague military whump?, intimate whumper

He sat with his back to the wall, exhausted and relieved, but his nerves weren’t quitting just yet. He spoke again into the walkie-talkie.

“Okay, hard part is almost over. I’ve got the code for that door there that should be-“

Whumpee felt cold metal touching the side of his head. He instinctively froze and stopped the walkie talkie.

“Good boy,” Whumper said. The soft and condescending tone they took made Whumpee want to tear someone’s skin off. Wether it was whumper’s or his own he hadn’t yet decided.

Through the walkie talkie still in Whumpee’s hand came the voice of his teammate, “Whumpee, is everything all right? You cut out.”

Whumper crouched down to Whumpee.

“Is everything all right, Whumpee?” Whumper said teasingly. They pushed their gun a little harder into the side of his head, making Whumpee flinch. “tell them you’re fine.“

Whumpee took a second to compose himself, before putting on the most normal voice he possibly could in this situation.

“Everything’s fine, yeah. Sorry.” He was trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking.

“And the code?” Teammate replied.

“Right, the code. Um…”

Whumper looked at him expectantly, “go on,” they prompted.

“…7942.” Whumpee felt sick as he said it. He was probably dooming his team to falling right into the enemy’s hands, but what could he do about it? And anyway, Teammate is a smart person, they can figure it out, right?

“Great. I got through. Just straight from here, yeah?”

“Yes.”

Whumper grabbed the walkie talkie out of Whumpee’s hand placing it on the ground.

They brought up their free hand to cup Whumpee’s cheek. “You’re such a good puppet already, Whumpee,” they teased. Whumper caressed the side of his face with his gun. “Still, I will so enjoy making you perfect. You’ll get to pay for all the nuisance you’ve caused to our organization”

Whumpee was still trying to remain composed but crumbling. He knew what they did to people in this ‘organization,’ making them spies and soldiers by any means necessary.

“Please. I’m sorry. Don’t hurt my team”

Whumper looked at them with mock pity, “A little late to worry about that, don’t you think? Awe, It’s ok, you were only doing what you had to. And I assure you, you’ll thank yourself in the end.”

[animeomegas]

Let's talk about Jamil and conditional heats.

Conditional heats are a version of the omega heat cycle that are a little more... sentient? Rather than heats happening like clockwork, conditional heats only happen when an omega's instincts believe that certain criteria have been met.

For a sexual heat, they decide there's a fine piece of alpha nearby that is perfect to mate and make babies with.

For a soft heat, they decide that there is a safe alpha who can protect the omega while they deal with some kind of stress, sickness, or burnout.

...

So, imagine Jamil, someone who has never had a real heat before, waking up a little warmer and stranger than normal. He's confused, he thinks he might be sick, which sucks because he really doesn't have time to be sick.

It's harder to pull himself out of bed than normal, but when he thinks about how he has a meeting planned with you, an alpha that he... enjoys the company of... he manages to get up.

But when he pulls back the covers, he's hit with his own scent, crazy strong and thick. He just stares for a moment, confused, and then a horrible, horrible thought runs through his head.

No.

He races to the nearest mirror. His flushed, sweaty face stares back at him in horror. The scent glands on his neck and thighs are swollen, his pupils are dilated, his skin is flushed all over... and he can't help but wish that you were here with him.

No.

"Don't you dare do this," he whispers to his reflection. "Don't you dare. I'm just... sick. I'm just sick."

He's been busy and stressed beyond normal the past few weeks, perfect conditions for getting sick... He ignores the voice inside his head which points out that those conditions are perfect for a soft heat as well.

He doesn't have time for this, and he's choosing denial, so he slaps on as many scent patches as he has available to try and reign it in, splashes cold water on his face and get ready like normal.

He manages to convince himself that he's doing well, until the second he opens the door to his room, and everything in him is screaming that it's not safe.

He's trained to pay attention to his instincts, to seek danger, but today his anxiety is through the roof. Every step feels like the last one he'll get to take and he doesn't know why.

He's on edge, snapping at everyone over everything. Even Kalim notices that something is very wrong and thinks Jamil is sick. Several people figure out he's in a soft heat, and try to gently steer him back to his room, but he bites the head off of anyone that even hints at it.

Eventually, word must have got back to you, because you find him at lunch. He was trying to hide in one of the more shadowy corners behind a building, just to take a moment to regain his composure, when he hears your voice.

"Jamil?"

No. No, anyone but them.

Underneath all the scent patches, he can feel his scent glands working overtime to try and desperately produce a scent that will bring you close to him.

No, he's sick! He's just sick!

"G-Go away," he manages to grit out, the words causing him physical pain. "Leave me alone."

Unhappy with his resistance, his legs buckle beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Yes, if he falls, if he's weak, his alpha will protect him, they'll stay by him, this is good.

No! No, it is not good!

"Jamil!" You rush to his side, supporting him with one arm around his waist while your other hand gently pushes his hair away from his face. He can feel you studying him, looking for what's wrong. He just hopes you don't find anything.

"Jamil? Did someone trigger your heat?" you asked delicately, voice quiet and soothing, like he's some sort of child that needs mollycoddling.

"No!" he denies. "I'm sick. I'm just sick." He doesn't know which one of you he's trying to convince at this point.

You don't believe him, he can tell. Honestly, he doesn't blame you; it's a rather pathetic attempt at a lie. But you don't call him out on it, either.

"Jamil, if you're sick, then you should be resting in your room." You scoop him up in your arms before he can protest. He let's out a little strangled noise of surprise though. "Let me take you back to your room, you won't gain anything from forcing yourself through the day like this."

"But Kalim-"

"But Kalim nothing. You're just as important as he is, and you need rest when you're sick, Jamil. If Kalim needs anything, I'll handle it, okay?"

Part of him croons at your words and the other part resents them. It's this ridiculous attitude of yours that has him all... ruined. It pisses him off; life was much simpler before you turned up.

There's also another part of him, a much louder part than he would like, that's angry at the thought of you helping Kalim. You're supposed to be helping him, looking at him, being with him, not Kalim!

He doesn't say anything out loud though. He's honestly worried he'll make an embarrassing noise if he opens his mouth to speak.

Besides... your arms feel nice. Maybe he should take a nap? His eye lids feel heavy... he's been overworked so much recently, he needs a break, and you're here to protect him...

No... he shouldn't... it wouldn't be a good idea...

You're shushing him now... the vibrations from your chest are soothing...

A good idea...

To...

"Sleep, Jamil. I've got you."

To...

His eyes slip closed and his body goes limp. He'll regret his succumbing to his instincts later, but for now, some good sleep is well needed.

...

Jamil is perfect for this set up imo, because he needs an outside force to make him admit he likes an alpha. It's not convenient for him, so he'll ignore it until he literally can't anymore lol.

I don't remember the point I was making when I started this post but... Jamil 🥰

[I'm still learning about the TWST characters, so hopefully this is okay! Thank you for reading!]

[starry-bi-sky]

Question since I’ve read a bunch of missed posts for cfau. Would Danny and Jason never possess each other? You telling me they never went in and stayed together?

NO YOU'RE SO RIGHT THOUGH ACTUALLY. I feel like i've totally thought about it but i forgor....

BUT ALSO Danny's like canonically really hard to overshadow due to being a halfa + the fact that strongwilled people are harder to control, however it HAS happened before with Dan. And its been shown that Danny's ghost gets booted out of his body when he gets overshadowed

(which?? implications??)

BUT IGNORING THAT. oh my god they would so try. Jason honestly WOULD be able to overshadow Danny by virtue of the fact that Danny would allow it. Like how Vlad was able to overshadow Jack and get him to vote for him for mayor only because Jack already planned on doing it.

Jason would have SUCH a fine tune control on overshadowing by the time he's revived because he and Danny would keep trying and trying until they could figure out a way for Jason to inhabit Danny's body without booting out Danny in the process, that way Danny could remain in control of his mental faculties and still feel Jason overshadowing him.

oh my god they would NOT be normal about this. Jason could quite literally just wrap himself around Danny's core like a weighted blanket and you expect them to NOT lose their minds?? Anon you flipping GENIUS.

Danny in return would be SO hard to mind control because of all his practice with Jason. That's not even mentioning Jason coming up with the idea to help Danny build up his mental walls via attempts to overshadow him. So he's got the training + the shenanigans to fall back on. That boy's mind is a steel fucking waLL.

[qiu-yan]

lan wanyin

there is exactly one unfortunate zhancheng hookup during the 13 year timeskip. both lan wangji and jiang cheng pretend that it didn't happen afterwards. however, immediately after the encounter, lan wangji returns to retrieve an item he forgot and sees jiang cheng crying. lan wangji then realizes that some part of him finds this sight cute; the rest of him is so horrified and disturbed to realize this about himself that he flees before jiang cheng can see him.

postcanon, there's been no reconciliation. wei wuxian is going out of his way to avoid jiang cheng and lan wangji is fully enabling him.

then, one day, wei wuxian finds out about the above zhancheng encounter. wei wuxian is incredibly upset to learn this, and is especially upset that, from his pov, lan wangji ditched jiang cheng for wei wuxian the moment wei wuxian came back. when lan wangji points out that there was no emotion involved and that jiang cheng also hooked up with other people, wei wuxian only gets more upset.

it is in this state that wang and xian go on a nighthunt. unfortunately for them, they run into jiang cheng. even more unfortunately, they end up getting into an argument that brings up the zhancheng hookup that wei wuxian knows about. eventually, infuriated by wang and xian's bullshit, jiang cheng snaps that he doesn't see the need to dwell on it because lan wangji was a terrible lay.

at this moment, the three run into the target of their nighthunt: a yao that puts people in lotus-eater dreams. this yao needs several months to digest the people it eats, so to prevent them from escaping, it puts them all in a shared dream, such that they peacefully dream/hallucinate the time away until the digestion is finished.

normally, since this yao is rather dangerous, they would all be on guard. however, because everyone is too busy reacting to what jiang cheng just said, no one is paying attention - thus, zhan, cheng, and xian all get eaten by this yao, in that order.

----

when jiang cheng next wakes up, he's in the cloud recesses. however, several things are different: he's a teenager again, he's wearing gusu lan's robes, and he has the forehead ribbon of a main family member.

soon, jiang cheng figures out what's going on here: in this world, he is apparently not jiang wanyin but rather lan wanyin. instead of being the son of jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan, he's instead the youngest nephew of qingheng-jun's dead teacher, and was adopted into the main lan family by qingheng-jun's request when he was around 6 or so. because of this, though he is biologically unrelated to the twin jades, he's functionally regarded as their third, youngest brother.

jiang cheng gathers from context that lan xichen knows that lan wanyin is the nephew of qingheng-jun's teacher - the same teacher that madam lan had murdered, a crime for which she was forced into indefinite seclusion. because of this, lan xichen is incredibly distant with lan wanyin; jiang cheng gets the impression that lan xichen dislikes lan wanyin and wishes he was gone.

however - as jiang cheng also gathers from context - lan wangji does not know the above. instead, lan qiren only told lan wangji that lan wanyin is the son of a dead family friend. because of this (and because lan wanyin is not competition for lan xichen's attention), lan wangji sees lan wanyin as a beloved younger brother figure. in fact - from what jiang cheng can tell - up until today, lan wangji was quite quite happy for the chance to be an older brother figure, and lan wangji and lan wanyin happily called each other shixiong and shidi.

however, due to some random fluke, the lotus-eater dream magic does not work on jiang cheng. therefore, instead of having his real memories be overwritten by the false memories of this world as the yao intended, jiang cheng instead fully retains his original memories (and has to manually figure out the above himself, via context).

even more unfortunately, the magic fully works on lan wangji: his actual memories are fully suppressed and overwritten by the false memories produced by the yao's magic. therefore, lan wangji now fully believes that "lan wanyin" is his beloved grumpy shidi/little brother figure....and acts accordingly. lan wangji fully expects "lan wanyin" to spend time with him, to practice guqin with him, to train with him, to come to him for advice and emotional support, and so on. and when this freaks jiang cheng out and he starts avoiding lan wangji, lan wangji actively seeks "lan wanyin" out, and then gets visibly upset when jiang cheng runs away.

at first, jiang cheng does not give two shits what lan wangji feels. however, he then remembers another feature of these kinds of dream-yao: because their digestion process relies on the victim remaining in the dream world until they are fully digested, the yao cannot risk the victim realizing that they are stuck in a dream. therefore, the yao has various "surveillance agents" embedded in the dream world that detect whenever a victim is acting OOC relative the scenario designed for them. and, upon detecting a victim being OOC, the yao runs the memory-suppressing magic on them again.

this is all to say: if jiang cheng does not behave passably like "lan wanyin," then the yao will realize that the memory suppression didn't work on him and thus actively try to suppress his memories again. therefore, jiang cheng has no choice but to act like this "lan wanyin" - which in turn entails putting up with lan wangji's bullshit.

this is a terrible experience. gusu lan sucks. the cloud recesses suck. lan wangji sucks. lan wangji being so weirdly sticky is making jiang cheng break out in hives. jiang cheng cannot even weasel out of calling lan wangji "shixiong" because he doesn't know what will trigger the yao's OOC detector. all of this makes him want to crawl into a hole and die.

-----

meanwhile - wei wuxian wakes up in lotus pier. just like jiang cheng, wei wuxian has retained all of his memories; the yao's memory-suppression magic did not work on him.

wei wuxian soon finds that, in this dream lotus pier, there is no jiang cheng. in this dream, jiang fengmian suffered an accident that rended him infertile after the birth of jiang yanli; because of this, jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan's only child is jiang yanli. wei wuxian, who jiang fengmian rescued from the streets at the same time as he did in the real world, is the heir to the yunmeng jiang sect. yu ziyuan was incredibly upset about this development, but since jiang fengmian unilaterally overruled all of her concerns, there was nothing she could do about this state of affairs; as a result, unlike in the real world, she ignores wei wuxian entirely.

at first, wei wuxian is happy. he had always wanted to return to lotus pier, the site of his childhood - however, he was never able to do so because jiang cheng was at lotus pier and wei wuxian knew that jiang cheng would just kick him out. so the chance to see lotus pier again, without jiang cheng blocking it from him like a particularly aggressive guard dog, is invaluable.

however, wei wuxian soon finds that lotus pier without jiang cheng is not the same. all of the other jiang are more distant to him: jiang fengmian treats him kindly, but yu ziyuan just ignores him instead of engaging with him, and jiang yanli does not seem to favor him with the same fervor that she did in his real life. furthermore, life without jiang cheng - without a partner-in-crime who could match his wiles, join in on all his pranks, and challenge him in the training field - is boring.

then, around one week after wei wuxian wakes up in this dream-world lotus pier, the cloud recesses lectures start. wei wuxian arrives at the cloud recesses as yunmeng jiang's first disciple.

and what does wei wuxian find at the cloud recesses except for jiang cheng, his missing shidi - now wearing white lan robes and calling lan wangji of all people "shixiong"?

----

wei wuxian and jiang cheng quickly figure out that the other party has also retained their memories - mainly because, upon seeing jiang cheng, wei wuxian immediately blurts out a shocked "jiang cheng???" so, as the lectures begin, wei wuxian and jiang cheng begin meeting in secret to plot their escape.

now that they have two people and one of them is a genius, there is no real need to get lan wangji's memories to return. if wei wuxian and jiang cheng break the yao's dream-magic and then free all 3 people from its stomach, then lan wangji's real memories will return once he wakes up. thus, there is no need to involve lan wangji in the escape plan; instead, given that his memories have not returned and he fully believes this world to be real, involving him might actually be more dangerous.

now, even though lan wangji does not have his real memories, certain things still remain true: lan wangji is immediately attracted to wei wuxian. in typical lan wangji fashion, lan wangji then assumes that everyone else must also be attracted to wei wuxian - including lan wanyin, who is now spending a worryingly high amount of time in secret meetings with wei wuxian that he clearly thinks lan wangji does not know about.

as described above, wei wuxian largely ignores lan wangji in favor of working on the escape plan with jiang cheng. due to this, lan wangji comes to the following conclusion: clearly this devastatingly handsome and charismatic man, who goes out of his way to meet up with lan wangji's shidi in secret, has immoral intentions towards lan wangji's shidi. and because this man is so devastatingly handsome and charismatic, clearly no one in existence would be able to resist his advances.....which means that the honor of lan wangji's shidi is in danger!!!

meanwhile, despite having been eaten by a yao, wei wuxian is still upset with lan wangji about the timeskip zhancheng hookup. this upset is only compounded by the current "lan wanyin" scenario - especially the fact that jiang cheng is just freely calling lan wangji "shixiong." (what the hell, jiang cheng, you never called wei wuxian that.) and, because cheng and xian did in fact get up to a number of questionable activities when they were martial siblings at lotus pier, wei wuxian now assumes that, in this dream world before wei wuxian arrived, similar activities have occurred between jiang cheng and lan wangji.

therefore, whenever wei wuxian and jiang cheng sneak away to work on their escape plan, lan wangji tails them and tries to separate them. and therefore, every time lan wangji does this, wei wuxian is further convinced that lan wangji keeps intruding because he wants to keep "lan wanyin" for himself.

jiang cheng just wants to go home.

[patchw0rks]

Ok, reread of scum villain vol. 2 has been accomplished. Here are my thoughts and just things I wanted to note down (disclaimer: make sure to read these knowing the important context that liushen is my favorite ship lol)

I can't get over the Shen-Mu-Liu trio. Those are SQQ's BOYS and watching them interact is very fun. I also love that Mu Qingfang is medicine-pilled in the way that Shen Qingqiu is monster-pilled. Little did we know LQG is actually the most normal of the three

Shen "im just here to cause problems" Qingqiu saying "I know to get my way all i have to do is bat my pretty eyelashes at YQY and he will fold like a house of cards"

SQQ basically telling LQG that he's so strong so he must row the boat, and LQG is just absolutely FUMING because of how attracted he is to SQQ

SQQ referring to LQG as gege ah my heart

More of SQQ causing problems by trying stick Yang Yixuan onto LQG, which I love because you KNOW that in his grief post-Hua Yue City LQG went "fucking WATCH me"

Ngl I've read enough fanfic to realize that people don't really capture LQG's full personality. The usually make him so shy and tsundere that he's barely able to get a word in (Lan Zhan gets similar treatment) but no, he's just as catty as the rest of them

I need to figure out the timeline of how long Shen Yuan had been reading PIDW, it's endlessly important to me

LQG and MQF being like "our beloved little shixiong, please don't fret your pretty little head, just sit there and relax"

There really is some excellent physical comedy in SVSSS, like when SQQ is confronted by LBH and just defenestrates himself. You know that one scene in Angel Beats? Yeah it's exactly that

Qi Qingqi's eyebrows have now been brought up for a second time and it screams gender envy to me. Why are you as a "cis man" admiring a women's eyebrows so thoughtfully? So much to where it's the first thing you bring up about her appearance?

"Why?! Why were two grown men neurotically discussing a pice of clothing while surrounded by staring eyes?" never change Shen Yuan

I'm actually such a simp for Liu Qingge, i'm literally highlighting every mention of him and every word he speaks. I did not appreciate the Liuber my first time reading. He's also so incredibly tsundere "huff puff i can't believe you can't even ride your sword...get on"

Ugh I actually cried while reading the big confrontation. This did not happen my first read, but man it just got me. Also the very subtle POV switch that happens so we don't get any insight into SQQ's thoughts as he prepares to self-detonate

Mushroom Shen Qingqiu!!!! My Beloved!!!!!!! Def one of my favorite parts of the whole series. I think there are so many ways to play around with this character (hence my AU) but also there's this degree of freedom about it where even his internal dialogue is much more loose and less concerned with acting the part

Oh my...he referenced the succubus adventure...

Im sorry how did I completely black out the scene of LQG and SQQ playing hot potato with his corpse?!!?! Remember what I said about physical comedy!!

"Even a few hours ago, he genuinely wouldn't have cared where others (especially those of the same sex) touched him. They could touch wherever they liked, please go ahead" -- Things only said by straight who are 100% comfortable in their sexuality. Yeah. Totally

There are still good moments of seeing SQQ's dissociating himself from the events of the series and just treating everything and everyone as if it weren't "real," and how these thought patterns shift. Once again I think this would be a very fun thing to play around with and explore more

LIU QINGGE!!!! STOP MAKING ME SAD!!!!!!!! HE YEARNS SO MUCH

[maybellewriting]

Sinister! Mark x Pregnant! Reader

This blurb was inspired by @michaelmyerspersonalslut and their post that I came across. Thank you i_think_ill_die_soon and angelcorus for requesting Sinister Mark! I attempted to make him more human without really deviating from his character. Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and violence, blood drinking, slight dacryphilia, Sinister is a disturbed individual. If I missed anything, I apologize.

Word Count: 800 plus

He had everything he wanted right here. It was a bit of a surprise to find you pregnant. Mark didn’t know if it was an unpleasant one. However, you were sobbing. He hadn’t bothered wiping the gore from himself. He knew who he was, what he was. It would only be right that you did too when he brought you back home. He cupped your face. Everything about his motions were mechanical. It lacked something that you couldn’t quite place. The closest word on your tongue was ‘care’. Yet that wasn’t quite right, knowing what he could do. It took him back to when you both were kids. The moment that it had clicked for him, that you were his person. He remembered how you’d scraped your knees and hands while riding bikes in your youth. Putting a bandaid on a wound was something that a normal person would do, and he would eventually. The shock, pain, and sting had brought you to tears then as you waited on ‘Doctor Mark’ to patch you up. His mouth had been hot as he sucked the blood on your palm. It was warm like you. There had been a hope that he could be like you. Absorb what made you so good to try and correct all of his bad. The odd sensation had stunned you out of your hiccupped sobs. He decided then that not only were you practically an angel, you were particularly pretty when you cried. Now wasn’t any different.

“I have nothing for you. Please. Please.” One hand grips his wrist. It would never be enough to pry him away, but he enjoyed the contact all the same. His thumbs smooth over your cheeks. “Shh. I’m not gonna hurt ya. I just want to see my girl. C’mon, lift your head up.” You do with a shaky exhale as you attempt to compose yourself. “There we go.” He coos. Mark tastes your tears with a quick suckle on his thumb. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?” “No. It wasn’t.” You manage to grit out the words despite the fear gripping your chest. You feel the painful pitter patters against your ribs. You suppose that this is what it feels like to stare down the barrel of a gun, waiting on someone else to decide whether they should pull the trigger. You aren’t sure what will make that theoretical trigger finger itch. You can’t see Mark’s eyes. It’s likely for the best. The curve of his smirk unsettles you already. “I thought so.” You were as pretty as the pictures he kept. The image of your smile was as burned into his memory as your charred figure had been. Villain attacks weren’t uncommon in his dimension. Though, once he became Invincible? He never thought that someone would be stupid enough to target his family home. You and Debbie had at least had each other. Firebreather’s stunt had lit the match that would burn down the rest of the world. You had orbited him. The weird, violent loner. You’d had a pull he couldn’t describe that had pacified him just to be in your vicinity until you were gone. It sent him to fly like a comet that destroyed everything it touched until there was an opportunity to hold you again. This time? He would orbit you. Finally, he takes in the rest of you, eyes resting on your prominent baby bump. “Are they mine?” You take advantage of the soft hold on your cheeks to nod furiously after a beat of hesitation. Mark was born rotten. He knew it. There had been something festering inside of him for as long as he had understood that everything he touched, he ruined. Admittedly, as much as you were a key part of his life? He’d never thought of anything more than putting what he’d observed from TV and other seemingly stable people to practice. Say ‘I love you’, make grand gestures, hold your hand. It was all in a sort of checklist that made you happy. That had made him happy. If there had been a child? It would have been an accident that came with Mark attempting to be a decent enough person fulfilling societal norms and pushing down his own violent tendencies that would have lost you. He stares long enough to spark that nervous shake in you again. “She’s yours. I promise.” As close to this Mark’s as the baby could be. “I’m not as angry as I thought I’d be.” It was hard to tell if he said it to you or himself. Usually? He’d want to rip out whichever poor soul’s spine it was to have touched you at all. He sighed, stroking your cheeks once more. “It might be the only good thing I could ever make.” He left you overwhelmed, confused, and scared. Bloodied footsteps stained the carpet, there were smudges on your cheeks. Yet you were whole, unharmed. It was a far cry compared to the world. As if an invisible circle around your apartment was a safe zone that you and the population weren’t privy to. He also left you unaware of the thoughts that steeped in his head. Perhaps if his own babe didn’t turn out as rotten or as fucked up as himself, then maybe Mark wasn’t entirely bad.

[batneko]

Bowuigi: 🍻, 🧩, 🔒

(questions from here)

[ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ?

Bowser takes a looooooot to get drunk. Even more than you'd think from his size. People don't think he can get drunk at all, because they expect him to get fighty or weepy, but he actually just tends to wander off and fall asleep somewhere. The wandering can be a problem but he gets truly drunk so rarely that it's barely happened more than twice.

Luigi is very gregarious when he's drinking, it tends to smooth out the anxiety so he can relax more. But he has to be careful because he also forgets his strength, and has a tendency to say the things he usually keeps bottled up, and he always feels awful about it in the morning even if it wasn't that bad.

[ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ?

Bowser refuses to admit most of his flaws. A lot of them he doesn't even see, but the big one that he knows deep down is how lonely he is. People don't like him, not really, not on a one-on-one basis. Even if his troops look up to him they're not anything like friends. But until he starts figuring out all those other flaws, that's not going to change.

Luigi is aware of and willing to admit most of his flaws, and would probably even work on them if encouraged to, but the truth he can't admit is that he's more heroic than he thinks. He feels like because he's scared all the time, and sometimes jealous of his brother, that invalidates all his genuine kindness and courage. Deep deep down, he also likes the adventure. He thinks he wants a quiet life, but if he went too long without anything weird happening he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

[ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ?

Bowser's been alone, and lonely, for so long that he's probably done a lot of embarrassing stuff he never wants to to tell anyone (even more than the embarrassing stuff he's done in public). People get weird when they're trapped in their own heads most of the time. Think Dark Helmet playing with his dolls type stuff.

I think Luigi had a depressed goth phase in his teens that he's ashamed of now. He shouldn't be, it's normal, but he feels like he didn't "earn" the depths of his depression because his family loved and supported him. He's never told anybody, not even Mario, what he really thought during that time.

[robinvomit]

[ bad decisions. ]

god forbid you look good, it was the biggest mistake you could have made. not just good - good like standing in front of the mirror for thirty minutes contemplating marrying yourself. the kind that made you hope someone regretted even standing next to you. all you wanted was a good night, but that was always too much to ask for.

two drinks down and leaning against bar, you were already wondering who's life you'd want to ruin. just one night of being normal, of relaxing, maybe making a bad decision or two. right when you decided to straighten your shoulders and head into that plan, it hit - that sickening feeling. that bad vibe that kind of felt like impending doom.

everything in you was screaming not to turn around. just finish your drink and leave. get yourself together, be smart and go home. did you listen? not at all. you turned and regret immediately flooded you.

your ex. too tall, too blond, too close to where you were existing.

you'd never seen a more sickeningly smug person before in your life and that was saying something considering the company you - often begrudgingly - kept. he hadn't noticed you and as much as you wanted to pray they wouldn't, that's not how your life worked.

"oh, fuck me sideways…" you sigh, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. it didn't end there, though, because as if summoned as some cosmic joke, you feel someone step beside you.

you don't have to look to see who it is. you can feel it. the overwhelming confidence, the solid, broad build, and you can feel the shift of him leaning back against the bar like he couldn't manage to find any other place to stand. the smell of aftershave follows quickly and you're ready for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

"thought you'd never ask, sweetheart."

you let out something of a strangled laugh and a choke, wanting nothing more than to say something a lot worse but you stop yourself.

guy gardner.

in the flesh, too close to your personal space, and calm as can be. he's not even looking your way, just over the room. he's in full uniform, smirk included, and radiating something you can only call insufferable.

"god, i wasn't-' you began, another deep sigh ready to follow when you're cut off.

"sure you were," he says, finally looking over to you and you're pretty positive you're looking back at the devil himself. "dressed like that, sighing like that, then drop such a blatant invitation? c'mon- what kind of man would i be if i didn't step in?"

"a good one," you answered, finishing the rest of your drink in one go. "a very, very good one. that gives me peace. doesn't make my life even worse than it seems to already be going."

for some reason, even after answering, you still aren't moving. you're entertaining his presence, even more so when your ex decides to finally look over. you shift under the attention and turn to face the bar, debating on something strong that might aid in forgetting ever leaving your house.

guy leans just a little closer, to the point if he tilted his head just right, you're sure you'd feel his breath against your shoulder. you contemplate running.

"that's the one then?"

the question makes you groan and you don't even have to turn around to know he's looking at the right person. it wouldn't take a rocket science to figure that one out.

"yeah," he drawls, "thought so. seems like your type."

he ignores the glare you send over your shoulder. "listen- he didn't seem like such an insufferable asshole when we met, okay? it.. started out fine," you grumble, clenching your jaw a few times. "i can feel that you're about to make me wish i just went and talked to him."

turning back around, you cross your arms, watching the fact your ex has paused and is just staring at this point.

"i could be a gentleman here," guy says, "walk away, let you deal with your problem alone." he shifts, head tipping like he's sharing something only you're meant to hear. "or, i could ruin his night. wrap an arm around you, kiss your cheek, parade you around. up to you, baby."

the offer doesn't exactly surprise you but the fact you're thinking about it does. did you really want to be "paraded around" by someone you spent most of your time wanting to smother? was that really the best option?

"..are you being serious?" you ask, glancing to him with a raised brow.

"deadly."

the word echoes in your head for a minute and you take a deep breath, especially seeing the fact your ex has started his trek back towards you once more. "what's the worst that can happen.. don't make me regret this, please."

"me? never." he grins like he's just been presented some grant award and you don't even have a chance to respond before he's straightening, an arm sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

your lips part to make a comment but the words are swallowed when he leans in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear and sending a shudder through you.

"hope you know you're the hottest thing in this room," he says, followed by a linger kiss to your cheek. one that manages to actually make you blush.

"this might actually be how i die," you mumble under your breath and don't even realize how you're actually sinking against his side. "you're ridiculous."

tilting your head to look at him, you clear your throat upon realizing just how close you are and the fact he never looked back out at the room, his gaze fully on you like you hung the stars for him.

you look away for the sake of your own sanity to lock eyes with your ex. you didn't expect to see him hesitating - uncomfortable? you expected something else. maybe a smirk or an eye roll; maybe even a snarky comment to ruin your night even further. "can't tell if he's looking at you or me at this point," you comment offhandedly, fingers tapping against your own arm.

he pauses a few feet away and you can see that his gaze has shift from you to guy. not his ring, not his uniform but the way he hasn't looked away from you since you agreed to his little plan. the way he's clearly not just doing this as a favor, the way his hand stays warm at your waist and his thumb moves absentmindedly like he has every right to touch you.

well, until your ex is close enough to open his mouth and suddenly guy is capable of looking away, briefly, just long enough to say "no".

it's so casual, like there's no effort behind it and it causes something to twist in your gut, watching the way your ex freezes, as if the single word takes a second to process. "…right," he mutters, taking a step back. "enjoy your night."

you blink, looking between them before just exhaling as he walks away, sinking just a bit more into guy's side. "could've at least let me say something, y'know."

"could've," he parrots, but doesn't sound sorry at all. "you looked like you needed backup. but, the last thing you said about him is why i'm standing here."

you glance up at him, suspicious. "so this wasn't just a favor?"

he snorts. "sweetheart, if you think i came over here just to help, you're not nearly as smart as i've been telling everyone."

your stomach flips; you hate that it flips. or maybe you don't but you do die a little on the inside.

he finally shifts, stepping back just enough to take a look at you; head to toe, eyes lingering without a lick of shame. then, in that low, smug tone that makes you want to hit him or kiss him or both: "...you really do look good."

"you planning to tell me that all night?" you ask, suddenly unsure if you can hold eye contact for another second of the night.

he leans in a little, the hand on your waist tightening slightly, getting even quieter; "only if you plan to keep looking at me like you want me to."

rolling your eyes, you shove him lightly with a huff, just enough to remind yourself this wasn't a real thing - it was a game to get someone away from you. what you aren't expecting if for him to catch your hands, eyeing you for a moment. you don't acknowledge the way it ruins a part of you.

"c'mon," he says. "this place is hell. let's go."

"yeah.. alright."

you're not sure where you're being lead or why you agreed, but you follow him through the double glass doors like you've lost your mind. you start to ask where he's taking you when you finally notice the terrible music fading but your back is being pressed into the wall of a small alcove in the hotels hallway.

before you can ask what he's doing, his hand is on your cheek, rough and warm, shifting to tip your chin up. "you sure?" he asks, eyebrow lifting the slightest bit.

it's almost humorous but you don't answer, not verbally, you just pull him into a kiss, not wanting to entertain the space between you any longer. the kiss is everything you had been trying to avoid and finding relief in the wrong decision you were trying not to make doesn't help. he presses into it without hesitation like he's been waiting for this moment since the moment he met you. he's gripping your waist again with one hand, the other shifting to tangle in your hair.

you've got one hand on the back of his neck and one on his upper arm when the kiss finally breaks, both of you breathless and not straying too far, noses still brushing.

"fuck..," you whisper, "you're.. real. here- fuck, i-"

"always have been," he mumbles, clearly amused. "you've just been too busy hating me to do anything about it."

torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to smack him, you just tip your head to kiss him again. slower this time and he goes along, hold still firm on your body, something that feels far too much like a claim but you can't find it in yourself to complain. it's only when the one at your waist begins to slip lower do you find your voice but definitely not for words.

his touch slips beneath the hem of your dress and just drags higher, gradually bunching the material and revealing a lot more skin than necessary for a simple make out session in a hallway. but, it's guy, and you didn't expect it to end so easily. his hand stops at your hip, dress bunched nearly to your waist and the kiss breaks, not quickly, just a gradual drag of his lips from yours, over your jaw.

he pulls back briefly, hand shifting so his fingertips can slip beneath the waistband of your panties, not fair, just enough to remind you where they are. "you keep looking at me like that," he breathes, "and i'm gonna forget this is a four star hotel."

you're back to barely being able to form words when he leans in again, open mouthed kisses pressing into the side of your neck and you're painfully aware of what's coming next, hands heavy on his shoulders when he sinks down your frame to his knees, the sight alone causing your breath to catch.

he doesn't take his time, you're not sure he's even capable of that. he's already pulling your thigh up to rest over his shoulder by the time you manage a "w-wait, we-" as a pathetic attempt at reminding him where you are. a stupid thought, you remind yourself, considering he's aware and it's definitely on purpose.

"we're gonna get ca-- oh, shit!" you can't help how loud it comes out, not when his tongue is suddenly pressing against your clit, panties pulled to the side. all thoughts are pretty much null and void as he moves, lapping at your slick cunt like a man starved.

his free hand slides up to guide your hips into a slight arc, your upper back turning into your main support as one hand moves to grip his hair. your leg shifts to press your heel into his back, dragging him closer as you try to swallow the sinful sounds threatening to echo through the hall. he easily obliges to your silent plea, pressing closer and keeping himself buried against you.

he doesn't let up; long, flat tongued strokes, letting the taste of you saturate his senses before settling to focus on your clit. circling, sucking, slowing down when you start to tremble just so he can hear you whine. you've melted into a weak prayer of his name and sharp *fucks* by the time his hand comes back around, your hips flinching like you're town between pressing into his tongue and trying desperately to get away from the overwhelming pleasure.

only when two fingers prod gently before pressing into you are you truly trying to arch your hips back, gasping and automatically clenching around them. the why he groans into you at the feeling has you using every bit of strength not to melt into his touch, head back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as you shift to press towards him once again, chasing the sensation that's building your abdomen, the one that has heat licking up your hips and your thighs trembling.

your bottom lip is raw and your grip is no longer steady, all ability to think past the way he's treating you like a gourmet meal is impossible. you're close to sobbing by the time your orgasm crests, unable to help the cry that sounds, automatically attempting to jerk away from him as he works you through it.

"s-shit-- s'too much-" you try to get out, the words slurred around trying to catch your breath, practically vibrating in his hold. only when you're loosening your hold and slumping against the wall does he finally ease his fingers out and gradually pull back. not far, no, just enough to let his head rest against the thigh over his shoulder.

"..i was right.. this is how i die.." you mumble, fingers uncurled but hand still resting atop his head, still shuddering here and there as your body holds the buzz of what just happened.

he watches for a minute before nudging his nose against your thigh. "you should see yourself right now," he grins, tone holding something along the lines of awe, "can't believe you waited this long for me to ruin you."

[kings-highway]

Impulsively wrote this middle school friendship AU intro for Ushiten. It would follow a week of them working on a school project together and probably be mostly canon compliant with the change of them meeting in middle school. Theyd play volleyball eventually and maybe Id extend it long enough to see the high school days its unclear. It would include both artist Ushijima and mega anime nerd Tendou and also tw for suicidal thoughts and feelings but no attempts just two deeply, deeply depressed 13 year olds finally meeting someone who gets them. Also Ushijima would have a stammer and an amount of autism that might be lethal before he had any decent self regulation. It would be the return of Adopted Tendou and probably a few other things. Anyway why am I telling you this? Because I have a habit of impulse writing the first 1000 words of something and then forgetting about it so instead I've given it to you. So like. Maybe all this will be nothing idk.

---

It was 9:08 on a Thursday morning when Tendou Satori decided to kill himself.

And then at 11:13 that very same Thursday morning, he’s forced to delay his decision due to a school assigned group project.

Now, normally Tendou would not be so altruistic as to care about whether or not he pulled his weight in a group project or left people hanging. No, the reason why this is an imposition at all is because of how he ends up assigned to a group project. He’s not paired up with the girl he sits beside as she rolls her eyes, they don’t draw straws or count numbers. No, they’re told that everyone can pick a partner to work with for this particular assignment, and then they have to make and colour project board on - you guessed it - a type of animal to then present to the class on.

Tendou, at first, is actually thrilled with this. He simply won’t partner up, and then he’ll be dead, and it will be okay. But when the class is wrapping up and everyone is getting ready for lunch, the teacher is suddenly whistling for him and waving him over like a scheming villain.

He’s not even sure he’s the one she wants at first. He frowns, glancing around and watching the other kids file out of the class, and then looking back to her. She waves him over again.

Her name is Kobayashi, and she’s… fine. Middle school biology is generally just fine.

He stands in front of her, wondering if he’s done something wrong.

“Hey, Satori,” she says, like she’s about to ask for all his gold. “I have a… huge favour to ask you. You don’t have a partner in mind for the animal project, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“Great, good, okay. So… do you think you could do me the favour of asking Wakatoshi to be your partner?”

Tendou frowns, glancing behind him to where the other kid usually sat, but he had already left the class.

“Uh… why?”

She seems to hesitate on this answer for a second, before eventually saying: “Well, it’s just that… you know he doesn’t really talk much, and has a really hard time making friends. And usually I help out by introducing him to someone, but I think he’s begun to notice that nobody ever approaches him on their own, and…”

Tendou stares at her for a moment, then glances behind him and scans over the occupied seats in the class to identify and even number of students. So an even amount of pairs.

We’re probably leftovers, he decides. There’s probably something wrong with this kid the way there’s something wrong with him, and she wanted them stuck together to avoid contaminating the other kids.

“Okay,” he says, because what does it matter to him?

“Oh, you’re the best, thank you,” Kobayashi says, clasping her hands together for a moment before adding: “Okay, I won’t take any more of your time. Go enjoy your lunch.”

Tendou nods slightly, and figures he should probably go find this kid to set up their collaboration. And it’s about then, (11:13) that he realizes if he asks to partner with someone, and then kills himself, that would be super inconsiderate and lame. So he decides he’ll wait until after they present.

But he heads down to the school cafeteria and starts scanning the available seats. It’s interesting that there’s apparently another social loser like him in his very class, and he’d never noticed. He’s fairly certain he can recognize the kid by face, but it still takes him a moment of intensely scanning before he notices him. He’s not exactly sitting alone, which is what surprises him. It looks like the kid is surrounded by friends.

Except for that, as Tendou approaches, he realizes that while he’s sandwiched in between two very loud groups of friends, he’s not actually engaging in either circle, and is instead sitting with his head down, peeling an orange so carefully he’s kept the peel all in one piece.

Tendou has to fight through crowds, then, to get to the other side and worm into the seat across from him and between those two groups. He doesn’t look up.

Tendou clears his throat.

He still doesn’t look up.

So he reached forward, knocking his knuckles against the table to get his attention. This makes him jump, and he looks up in alarm, as if shocked someone had snuck up on him despite being locked in on that orange like it owed him a life debt.

Tendou immediately regrets the rude way of getting his attention, realizing he probably seemed like an asshole, and withdrew his hand quickly to sit on it.

“Uh, hey,” he says. “Ushijima, right?”

He gets a single nod back. Well, Kobayashi had said he was quiet. Tendou wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak, actually.

“Well, I’m Tendou - we’re in class together-”

Ushijima is nodding, indicating he does recognize him.

“-uh, and we’ve got that stupid animal project coming up, and I don’t have a partner yet, so I was wondering if you wanted to, like, I dunno, do that together or whatever.”

Ushijima looks at him for long enough that Tendou is beginning to get concerned that he didn’t actually speak any Japanese, and then eventually the blank look turns to a frown.

What, did I offend him? Why is he looking at me like that?

“I mean, unless you already have a partner,” Tendou starts. Ushijima continues to stare at him. “Do… uh… sorry… What's happening? You can say no, dude, that’s fine, I just-”

After a second, Ushijima glances around, as if psyching himself up, before lean towards Tendou and very carefully saying:

“Okay.”

Tendou leans towards him at the same time. “Okay as in… partners?”

Ushijima nods, and then looks back down to his orange. Tendou is fairly certain that that’s the end of the conversation and this project is going to be the most boring partnership on the planet when Ushijima splits the orange in half, and offers half over to him.

“What? Why?” Tendou says, not quite able to stop his tone from coming out distrustfully.

Ushijima doesn’t seem to notice, and instead answers the question:

“You do not have lunch with you.”

It’s not a question of ‘are you hungry’ or ‘did you eat’ or ‘would you like half of this orange I’m holding,’ but rather Ushijima has now decided that since Tendou does not have any, he was going to put food in front of him.

Tendou feels a very heavy, hard beat in his heart, and reaches forward to take the orange.

“Oh. Thanks.”

[salt-clangen]

Meet Saltclan’s first (and only) Patron, Fennelheart!

We haven’t seen this lil man is quite awhile, but I promise he’s hanging out. So originally Fennel went to the ‘unknown residence’ (in the clans it’s called the Unknown) after he died bc he didn’t believe in Starclan. His beliefs were more akin to that of kittypets and loners, many non clan cats believe that when you die you spend eternity reliving the best moments of your life. Now for kittypets and loners that’s a very simple concept, they relive nursing at their parents bellies or being petted or sharing tongues in the sun. And it was the same for Fennel for several moons, but a lot of his best memories involve Saltclan and his friends there, slowly he began to want for more than just reliving the moment no matter how nice.

Starclan is capable of both great simplicity and complexity, changing between the two within seconds, so no one is sure how Fennel ended up in a trial before Starclan to see if he could join. Even starclan’s oldest members can’t fully comprehend the forces that lay beyond and bellow the stars, so everyone just goes with it as if this was a normal trial. Now not every clan cat that dies gets a trial to enter Starclan, but it’s more common than not, after all mortals of all species are inherently flawed. Fennel though was deemed a good boy and allowed in.

Fennel himself honestly didn’t even believe it was Starclan until he was shown proof and by the time he accepted it, they’d already accepted him. Soon he was walking amongst the stars like a true warrior, he could even walk the territory or visit cats dreams. After visiting Lynxdawn and Mallowstripe’s dreams and confirmed his new residence, Wolfstar decided since he had made it to Starclan he should get to be a patron spirit. So Lynx declared him the Patron of Shifting & Former Outsiders

Outsiders attempting to join the clan can pray to him to ease their transition into clan life. Speaking of transitions, trans cats can pray to him to help present as their desired gender. It can be something as simple as ‘Oh please, Fennelheart let them assume I’m a tom’ before going to a gathering, more commonly he’ll get a ‘Fennelheart please let these herbs not taste like ass’. While Saltclan is still in its infancy, it’ll be much more common to pray to Saltclan specific patrons. Other clans are pretty open to praying to patrons not originally from their clan, Scorchstar is a popular choice for fire starting assistance.

As a patron Fennel has more responsibility, which he loves, he doesn’t get prayed to often, especially in the early days but he answers every prayer sent his way no matter how silly. He uses his spiritual energy to make bitter hrt herbs taste sweet or to make someone’s scent a little more gender affirming or to soothe a cat who is frazzled about learning new clan customs. It’s not much, but it’s honest work.

I plan to post more patrons, previous leaders, and notable cats of clan history as time goes on, but I figured we should start with our boy Fennelheart💕

Also yes every early/founding member of Saltclan will be a patron after they die, some ill reveal some I won’t due to spoilers.

As always I’m inspired by Bonefall’s Patrons and Rippleclan’s Celestials writings (tho I call them patron or patron spirits)

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

What are subby and domme up to? 👀

Suggestive content. Something sweet and spicy. Muah.

__________________________

The Tuesday morning is bright; the pair giggling mostly to themselves. Joe's weekend away in New York still fresh on their minds. Domme has one hand lightly curled around the bend in Joe's arm, their sneakers silent as they walk in tandem together down the block.

"I still think I could've pitched better," she teases.

"Want to put money on that? I'd love to see you try," Joe hums in return, a soft giggle leaving him as his fingers find her and squeeze just a hair.

"Yes, I would. I do want to try a batting range too. You might destroy me there, but you can't throw everything like a football, you know?"

Domme was in New York with him, but not at the event. She instead ventured around the city, scouting places for them to eat at, window shopping, enjoying Central Park. Part of her was looking for wedding related things: vintage heels if she happened across them, accessories if she found a shop to peek her head into. Mostly, though, she just filled her day and Joe's phone with a litter of pictures from the places she'd gone, the rat art she noticed on the concrete, tiny boutiques and bodegas that caught her attention.

Joe wanted her in New York, wanted her with him desperately to get away from the monotony of their routine at home. He won't lie, Joe also wanted something to ground him once he left the convention too. Wedding planning ate up most of their evenings and though Joe wanted her to take a break, to unwind as he worried she'd been hitting the gas too hard and for too long, he had a feeling doing so in a crowded event hall, people constantly swirling about was not the place to do it. Joe could see the fraying of her edges and figured that while she was getting more comfortable being in the light with him, she answered 'yes' with less hesitation when Joe asked her if she'd be comfortable being his plus one to events, Fanatics Fest just didn't seem like the place she'd want to be or the place Joe wanted her to be. It most likely would not help her decompress--nor did it decompress Joe, but he did still have fun. So, Domme's attendance was optional, but her relaxation, her taking a day just for herself was mandatory.

Joe's debrief about how terrible he pitched was the highlight for Domme apparently, not even his score on the UFC punching bag changed her tune. They reunited at the end of the evening; Joe absolutely drained from the day, but happy to see Domme's grin from the backseat of the truck before they headed off for the sparkle and grime of late night parties. She rolled down the window, head peaking out, sunglasses big on her face, "Hey, handsome. You look like you could use a ride. Hop in." And Joe wanted nothing more than to do just that, than to tuck himself under her arm as they headed to dinner and talked about their days, Joe's voice getting lost against the thin skin of her throat.

But she's refused to let him live down the pitching. Even now. Days later, she'd look at him and just giggle. And Joe always knew exactly what was making her laugh.

"It's literally my job," Joe retorts to her jab at his abysmal performance.

He hadn't been proud of how things went in the moment, but Domme cradled his jaw, pressed a kiss to his lips and teased in a grin that it was a good thing he quit baseball when he did, he's a much better football player. I'll take you terrible aim and all, she said. Joe's only logical response was to melt into her soft confession. Even in the back of the SUV, caring and not caring that Joe had literally gone from his normal blank slate into an utter lovesick fool in one glance because he knows Domme means it. She always would. And if that's not faith, Joe doesn't know what is.

"You don't throw me around like a football," Domme hums. Her voice brings Joe back to the present moment, to the hot concrete, air stiff and sun broiling even though it's not even the hottest part of the day.

Joe pauses underneath the pink awning of the bakery. "Do you want me to?"

"I'll answer if I get to hear you say all of that question."

God. The dark and deep rumble in her voice punches at his gut, the sultry rumble that makes tangles the words between a request and a command, but it makes his cock twitch just a little in his jeans. "Do you want me to toss you around like a football?" He asks it low, not unaware that they are on the sidewalk in broad daylight, on a Tuesday fucking morning.

"Every once and a while. Can't have all those muscles for nothing."

Joe snorts before he really means to at her last sentence. The humor does not undo the heat in the words, how much he's recently wondered what it could be like to get a little rough with Domme. Joe just loves it more when she's rough with him. Can't help but adore the sinister twist to her lips, like she's got a secret she's not supposed to share but is. He loves the way she looks at him, tender but hot. Joe loves when it's just them, just the love and adoration that seeps into the kisses and touches.

"I will keep that in mind." It's all Joe says before he pulls the door open for her, lets her walk in ahead of him, but peering over her just to make sure the coast is clear.

The bakery is cold, the air rushing out the moment the seal of the door is broken, but they carry on around the few tables that are set out and up towards the register. One employee is helping a small family--a mother with two kids, holding onto her hand, the other on her hip. A few teens are in the back corner, but they look absorbed into their phones, giggling as the faint sound of a video plays. It's not loud enough to hear word for word what's going on, just loud enough to know that they are watching something.

"Welcome in!" The call is far, not loud. Joe finds himself looking for the person behind the voice from beneath the blue tinted shades.

Domme takes the lead, easing closer and then she stops a few inches shy of the counter, in front of Joe, Joe behind her, not necessarily intending to shield her from the rest of the storefront, but effectively doing that.

"Hi, how are you?" Domme asks, reflexively. She does this all the time. She turns the question to the employee first and Joe's never understood it, even though she had a couple years in college in the industry Joe was sure the habit would've broken all these years later. Yet, it hasn't. Joe's glad he's not put money on that.

"Oh, good, thanks for asking. How are you two?"

"Good, thanks. We have a pick up order." Domme gives her name, omits Joe's, but it's clear that the young woman, at most in her late 20's, seems to recognize Domme's name and nods.

"Yes, yes, I remember the call! Wedding cake flavors, right?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"That's so exciting. I'll be right back with your box!" The woman's off before Domme can express her gratitude.

Joe tuts out a piece of laughter, all mostly an exhale. "She's more excited than us."

"We are the ones who have to plan this thing, fighting about colors and venues," she laughs in response, easing a hair back into Joe's chest. The touch is quick, all mostly a brush. Her shoulders against his sternum, his fingers teasing at the middle of her shoulder blades and then they're back to their prior positions: Domme erect, Joe slipping his arms across his chest, folded one atop on the other.

They don't really need to do the pick up together, Joe knows that. Domme had already sat with him to select four different flavor options. But it's not about what they need to do, it's just about having this time--intentionally setting aside the day with her, knowing that after this, there's still the day of just them. They could do just about anything, might find themselves in some shade in a local park fighting the eat as they indulge in something cold to prevent sticky fingers and bowls coming creamy puddles.

The woman returns, a bright pink box in hand to match her smile. "I hope you guys find something you like." She tugs at a taped on receipt, confirmation undoubtedly of their prepayment, and it pops off with ease. "Do you need forks?"

Domme looks up, eyes peering up over her shades. "Feel comfy tasting here?"

The cakes shouldn't be too big at all. The box waiting for them is smaller than Joe anticipated. And they probably won't be here long all things considered. Joe nods once, "Yeah."

"Oh, perfect!" The young woman cheers, reaches for a few napkins and then uses those to pluck the forks from the waiting metal tin. She places the entire stack onto the box. "Enjoy! Good luck with all your planning."

Domme collects the box. "Thanks, we appreciate it. Have a great rest of your day." And when she turns, she smiles up at Joe, "Lead the way."

"Give me that. I'll have you know my hands are in working order."

He's met with an eye roll but Domme hands over the box and Joe turns, but not before he shuffles everything into his left hand to reach back with his right for her. They settle into a back corner, on the opposite side of the teens, behind the family by about five tables or so, Joe's back faces the bright window and Domme scoots the chair next to him in even closer.

The box is divided at the bottom into four quadrants, a tiny print out of each flavor is delicately taped to the inside of each section and the pieces are rest, icing in the middle for consumption. Joe clinks his fork against Domme's one downturned utensil, a small tut of laughter escaping him.

"What are we cheersing exactly?" she asks, words dripping with the amusement she hasn't exhaled.

Joe shrugs. "I don't know. Felt like the right thing to do. I've never been engaged before."

"Neither have I. But I don't think we cheers cake flavors."

"Well, I will," Joe returns, a defiant tilt of his head. "Put that fork up for a proper cheers." Domme flicks the plastic fork, so the prongs face upwards. "To us," Joe starts, easing his in closer.

"To us," she agrees, meeting him the rest of the way. The clink is dull and swallowed up by the tufts of laughter. "Where do you want to start?"

There's lemon, chocolate, white and red velvet marble, and strawberry tiramisu. "Chocolate, for sure."

The cakes are all moist, sponge-y in a way that makes them melt damn near at the first drop of saliva. It seems promising, like their choice will be tougher than originally anticipated. Domme wanted to ensure they got a nice spread of flavors, something to ensure they didn't get backed into a corner that necessarily worked for them. Joe wanted heavy and sweet, but agreed he'd try a couple fruit based options.

Though, now, Joe's maybe regretting the citrus choices. Joe sputters at the lemon bite, not that it's bad, but it's too bright. "I want something indulgent," Joe mutters, a little indignant at the cake's taste. He'll admit going to chocolate first probably spoiled the rest of the flavors, but it looked so inviting sitting there. How could Joe say no to chocolate cake. "I want something rich, you know?"

"I've got something you can indulge," Domme retorts. It's soft, a quick quirk of her brow and then she goes in for the last flavor--a white and red velvet marble.

Joe's laughter leaves him sputtered, his hand covering his mouth around his remaining bite of the lemon cake. But Joe slips one hand under the table, over her knee and tugs until Domme's facing him. The skirt falls away just a little, the thigh high slit keeping just enough covered of her lap.

"I bet you do," Joe agrees. "I bet you do."

She grins even though she shudders, easing her legs apart to allow him to trail up, and up, and up. Between her thighs is warm, especially in the cold of the humming AC. It's only inches and thin cotton between him and what he could indulge in, but Joe has a little bit more patience than that. So he stays there, inches from her core and squeezes at her inner thighs.

"Last one?" Domme offers. Her glasses are pushed to the top of her head, and her eyes dazzle in the sun, not even a squint hides away just how close she knows she is to the fire.

"It looks goods," Joe offers, turning his attention back towards the box. His hand doesn't leave though. Neither one of them says anything either. Joe just lazily strokes the warm flesh and takes his portion of the cake onto his fork.

Domme hums around the bite, fork bouncing towards the bottom left quadrant. "Talk about indulgent. That's it."

"Isn't like the only difference between chocolate and red velvet food dye?" The question pauses Joe's work of the fork to his mouth.

"Bite me. I don't care. I don't know. I don't care to know if I'm honest. It's fucking delicious."

Joe tries his bite, but focuses on how Domme's eyes close, her wiggle in the chair solidifying how much she's enjoying this particular selection. The cream cheese frosting does make the cake richer in a way, really settles into the grooves of the tongue. It's a sinful delight and wants the consumer to know it for every bite. Though Joe still likes the chocolate, his chest warms at her excitement, the way her lips and mouth curl around her grin around the second bite of the cake. The only cake she's gone back in for seconds for.

"I think it's the difference between the buttercream and the cream cheese frostings," Domme adds on, finger bent and placed in front of her lips.

There, just inside of the corners of her mouth, are a few crumbs. He can't resist, though he knows he should. Joe sets his fork down, using the pads of his fingers to collect the crumbs and holds them against her lips. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting until Domme parts them and swipes the red and white crumbs off his finger. Their bubble is tight, like the way Joe's stomach twists and holds, the heat of their exchange searing into his skin.

"Red and white marble it is." His agreement is all an exhale, all a wispy breath that nearly gets sucked into the hum of the AC, snakes around the chatter around them.

"If you want--"

"No, I want this one." If only to see her delight again. If only to feed her more crumbs. If only to wipe a dollop of icing onto her nose just to kiss it off when she's dressed in all white.

Domme eases in, knees pressing into his. Joe's fingers slide up and up and Domme closes the gap, lips sealing around the corner of his mouth, tongue flickering out. "Thank you, baby," she purrs and then slips back into her seat, collects the last bites of the red and white velvet marble cake. "Want the last bite?"

"I do." He pairs it with a wink, hand between her thighs, squeezing at the flesh. "I'm getting practice on saying that."

Domme feeds him the last pieces, steady as she holds the fork out. "I can tell. I like the way it sounds."

[yuh13lo]

Too much? | matt sturniolo

The soft hum of the humidifier was the only sound in the dim bedroom. Outside the windows, Boston was blanketed in gray rain, steady and cold. Inside, you were curled up under a heap of blankets, your hair a little messy and your cheeks flushed with a fever. A used tissue clung to your hand, and another threatened to fall from your lap.

Matt stood in the doorway like he was trying to figure out how to knock on a door that was already open.

He had a bowl of soup in his hands—chicken noodle, the kind you always said reminded you of being a kid, back when your mom would bring it on a tray and rub your back. He made it himself. Okay, it was from a can, but he added pepper, some lemon, and fresh parsley like his mom said well, she helped him. He even garnished it.

“Hey…” he said gently, like his voice might somehow make things worse. “You awake?”

You shifted and squinted at him. “Kinda. My head feels like it’s full of wet cotton.”

He smiled a little, stepping into the room. “That’s a new one.”

Matt set the soup down on your nightstand, hesitating like he wanted to fluff your pillows or pick up the tissues, but didn’t. You caught the way he fidgeted, the way he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at your blanket pile.

“You okay?” you asked, voice hoarse.

“Me? Yeah. I’m fine. I just… wanted to bring you this.” He motioned toward the bowl. “Soup. It’s probably too hot. Or not hot enough. I don’t know, I tried.”

You smiled softly. “That’s really sweet, baby.”

He sat on the edge of the bed but didn’t reach for your hand like he normally would. Didn’t lean in. Just sat, stiff and quiet for a second.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked carefully.

You blinked. “Of course.”

Matt let out a breath and nodded, but didn’t move closer. Instead, he looked at you, his brow knitting.

“I don’t want to do that thing where I… y’know. Hover,” he said. “Or treat you like you’re helpless. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself. You always are. I just—”

You looked at him, waiting.

“I just don’t want you to think I don’t want to help. ‘Cause I do. Like a lot. I just don’t know how to do both.” His voice trailed off. “Does that make sense?”

Your heart ached in the best and worst way. You reached for his hand, warm and familiar, and gave it a squeeze. “Matt. I love that you even think about that. Most people don’t.”

He looked down, sheepish. “I just don’t want you to feel like I don’t think you’re strong. You are. You’re—god, you’re one of the strongest people I know. But I still wanna be here. I just don’t wanna… I don’t know, make you feel babied.”

You tilted your head. “There’s a difference between babying someone and showing up for them.”

Matt looked at you again, this time more steady.

“You don’t have to pretend I’m not sick,” you said, voice gentle. “You can fluff my pillows. You can rub my back. You can hold my hand even when it’s clammy and gross. That’s not saying I can’t do things. That’s just saying you love me.”

He smiled, the kind that melted slow and real across his face.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. You’re already doing it right. You brought soup, remember? That’s, like, peak care.”

He laughed under his breath and finally leaned in, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Okay. But if I do something annoying or too much, you’ll tell me?”

“I’ll cough twice if it’s too much,” you teased.

“Perfect,” he said, and kissed your forehead. “Consider me your personal nurse-slash-boyfriend for the next twenty-four hours. I take payment in forehead kisses and sleepy snuggles.”

“You’re hired,” you whispered.

Matt settled in beside you, one arm wrapping around your shoulders, and when you dozed off on his chest twenty minutes later, he didn’t move—not even when his arm fell asleep. He just held you.

Quiet. Present. Exactly what you needed.

Taglist @xsturnkay @ellsxxoxo @nessaisabelartemas333 @edu4rd0ss @sturnsobsessed21 @bugs-tags @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer

[antoimne]

do you do darker content?

if so can i request the hunters witnessing their survivor lover after a match all beaten up and bloody?

Part one- 🩸How would hunters react seeing their s/o bloody and injured after a match?

🪨 Fool’s gold x !injured reader

🌪️ Nightwatch x !injured reader

🥀 The ripper x !injured reader

Yes yes! I’m thinking of doing this for all hunters, so I’ll probably divide it in multiple parts. Here’s the first one to apologize for taking time to respond :,) Hope this isn’t too far off what you were thinking! I’ll try to write for the others soon!

Tw: mentions of blood and injures (obv)

Matches had been particularly intense for you that day—hunters seemed rougher than usual, their attacks filled with something almost personal. At first, you weren’t sure why. But then it clicked.

Ever since you and your lover had begun your relationship, things had slowly began to change. Almost imperceptibly at first—but now? Now it was undeniable. The rumors had spread. The manor was small, and secrets couldn’t stay buried for long.

You’d both agreed to keep things low profile. You knew how cruel the other hunters could be. It was as if the manor was leeching what little humanity remained from them, leaving only hollow, destructive shells of what they once were.

You were nearly finished decoding the final machine, heart fluttering at the thought of your warm room—and your lover’s embrace—when you felt something, rather someone looming behind you.

You didn’t even get the chance to turn.

All you felt was a sudden wave of pain rushing through your body, blinding and immediate as your vision grew blank.

🪨 Fool’s Gold

Fool’s knew you. Knew your stubbornness, your skill, and—most of all—your loyalty. You always came back, like you promised every time before a match. So when you didn’t walk out the gate with your teammates, a cold churn stirred in his gut. Something was wrong.

He went to look for you himself, crossing the gate where the latest game had just taken place. It didn’t take long before he found you crumpled near a bush—bloody, bruised, your clothes torn and your head soaked in a thick layer of red.

“Y/n. Fuck.”

He dropped to his knees, scooping you into his arms. Sure, his limbs were jagged—stone and flesh fused unnaturally—but it couldn’t hurt more than what had already been done to you.

“Tell me who the hell did this to you. Now.”

Your head ached intensely. You blinked slowly, disoriented. “I... I don’t know. I didn’t see—”

His arms tightened around you. His furious eyes scanned the treeline, as if to identify an immediate threat before softening as they fell back to your face.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out later,” he whispered. “I’ll find the bastard that did this to you and pickaxe their bones as if to strike the finest mineral.”

The threat came out like a promise of love.

Because for him, that’s what it was.

You were the only precious thing he had left. In a life full of violence, grief, and regret—you were gold. His true treasure.

“Why are you always so reckless?” he rasped. “You’re supposed to survive—for me. Remember what you promised?”

You barely lifted your hand to cup his jaw. “I’m faithful to my word, you know that. I’m still here.”

His breath hitched, voice raw. “No more close calls, baby. I don’t intend to let you go.”

🌪️ Nightwatch

Ithaqua had long since given up on trusting others. Living beings were cruel. Humans, especially, were the worst of them all—corrupted creatures hiding behind normal faces.

Even among the other hunters, he stood apart. Wary. Resented. He was a monster, just like the other killers- but at least they all knew what they were. The survivors were just as dirty—only better at pretending. Hiding.

When you first got close to him, it was during a blizzard. The manor had been sealed off, snow piling at the doors. You’d somehow managed to walk out into the woods that day, ignoring every warning the other survivors gave you.

The air in the manor had grown heavy. You needed space.

And there, in the freezing milky void, you’d found him.

Ithaqua had been born in the cold. It was all he knew, all he was. When he saw you—lost in the same way he was, no sense of belonging—something happened. He felt intrigued.

He never said much directly , still wary of you, but something in him softened. Small gestures. Simple genuine tenderness in his acts. His way to show care.

So when he saw you crawling near the gate, clothes torn, a puddle of blood peeking through your shirt—something twisted in his chest.

Panic. Memories. The echo of his most painful childhood terror: loss.

Without a word, he swept you into his arms, cradling you against the fur of his coat.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured, tucking your trembling form beneath his jacket to shield you from the rising wind.

He walked, slow and steady, back toward the manor. Back to safety.

His fingers brushed a wound on your forehead.

“Why did it have to be you?” he whispered, voice tinged with a vulnerability you’d never heard before. “Why like this?”

“I’m sorry, Itha,” you mumbled, lips trembling slightly, both from the cold and genuine fear for what you’d just been through.

“Stay awake. Stay with me,” he repeated almost like a mantra. You could feel his breath quick and ragged under his mask.

“You must stay with me. I assure you, chewing my heart and spitting it out would be a lot easier than losing you. I mean it”. 🥀The ripper

You managed to make it back to the manor—somehow, unexpectedly.

The moment Jack saw you stumble through the gates, bruised and disheveled, trying one last effort to drag yourself toward your room, his blood ran cold.

His tall frame moved towards you, hands reaching out carefully as if you were made of glass- like you might shatter at the slightest touch.

“Darling, you’re hurt.”

He stated the obvious as you looked up at him, eyes heavy and tired.

“No, I’m good... it just looks worse than it is. Really.”

Jack pulled a cloth from his pocket—his usual cavalry—and gently dabbed some blood dripping down your temple.

“Don’t lie. I told you to be careful. Why didn’t you listen?”

There was no bitterness in his voice—only guilt, and maybe something darker lurking beneath.

“Next time, do anything—decode, hide—but don’t put yourself in danger. Don’t make me risk losing you for people not worth it.”

You looked down silently, almost like a kid punished for some sort of mischief.

“Who did this to you?” he pressed suddenly, eyes piercing through yours.

You couldn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to, but because the chaos of the chase had practically erased the assailant’s face from your memory.

Jack didn’t care. He didn’t need answers. He already knew everything he needed to know. Or at least- he’d have made sure to find out.

He simply nodded, guiding you to sit in his room so he could tend to your wounds. Gentle, careful, almost worshipping in the care he used with you.

Don’t worry, though—next time, you’ll notice a thicker layer of fog creeping around the manor, an edge of silence hanging heavier than before. And sure as hell he could bet, there’ll be one less soul to count, one less person to feed the insatiable bloodthirst of the manor.

————————-

By the way if you imagine Jack as Tuberose it’s better tbh

Dayum