#I think this needs one more connecting scene in between this & the last. but this is written and the connecting scene is not.

[bookshelfdreams]

"The man's half insane"

"You're just an insane, unpleasant shell of a man who's merely posing as Blackbeard."

"I should have let the English kill you. This - whatever it is that you've become - is a fate worse than death."

"This is Blackbeard. Not some namby-pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend."

soulmates 🥰

[laundrybiscuits]

(NOTE: awkward handjobs beneath the cut. This could possibly be read as a continuation of previous snippets, if you wanted it to be.)

“It’s like, all this stuff I’ve been doing has been moves, okay. If he were a girl he’d already be wearing my letterman jacket.”

“Steve, please tell me you don’t still have your letterman jacket.” 

“That’s not—I mean, I’m not gonna just throw it out, why would I throw it out? That’s not the point! The point is, I’ve been pulling out all the stops, and he’s not giving me anything. Good, bad, nothing. It’s like he doesn’t even know I’m hitting on him.”

“Well…” Robin sets down the magazine she’s been flipping through and frowns at him. They’re in her bedroom with the door wide open because the Buckleys like Steve, but they don’t trust him. Mrs. Buckley has been popping up to see if they need snacks about every ten minutes.

“Robbie. I brought him flowers.” 

“To his show! And you threw them at him like you were making a joke!”

She’s not totally wrong, is the thing. But Steve's in a weird situation where he knows how to do this, but he doesn’t know how to do this.

He’s been shot down a lot, no matter what people say. Plenty of girls liked him, but plenty more didn’t. So he knows that asking someone out means taking a risk.

He doesn’t know how to take this kind of risk.

If Eddie’s never even thought about this kind of thing, it could really seriously fuck everything up for Steve. Just in terms of their whole dynamic. He doesn’t think that Eddie would tell anyone, probably. And, well…even if he did, who would believe him? Robin would smack Steve if he ever said something like that, but it’s true. Steve doesn’t have to like it for it to be true. But the important thing is that Eddie would know, and Eddie wouldn't forget.

What Steve needs is a way to ease Eddie into the whole idea.

He’s been quiet too long, and Robin sighs. “Hey, dingus. I know it’s scary. Welcome to what the rest of us deal with on a daily basis, without the benefit of being Steve Harrington.” She makes these dorky little jazz hands when she says his name. Steve loves her so much.

“I just feel like every time I, y’know, flirt with him, it just…slides right off. He’s not getting it.”

Robin snorts. “Guess you’ll actually have to bang him, maybe then he’ll get a clue.” 

“Guess so,” says Steve. He sits up. “Wait.”

“No,” says Robin. “No no no, I’m calling veto on this. No.”

“Yeah, no, this will work. As long as I don’t tell him I like him, it’ll go great.” Steve snaps his fingers as the idea takes shape. “Yeah, actually, it’s perfect. I’m good at sex with girls, I’m pretty sure I’ll be good at sex with Eddie, I just need to get him to go along with it for a while. Just until I can prove I’m prime boyfriend material.” 

“I cannot fucking believe you,” says Robin. The swearing is pretty new for her. Steve worries sometimes that he’s being a bad influence. “This is…of all your incredibly terrible plans, this one is the most absolute dogshit. You’re going to trick Eddie Munson into dating you, with sex.”

“Not trick,” say Steve. “Convince. Just, you know, let him know that I’m a good option. He’s got options. He should know he’s got options.”

———

He plans it all out. He doesn’t want Eddie to think it’s a date and get scared off, so he wears an old shirt with a couple unfashionable holes near the hem, doesn’t fully style his hair, sure as hell doesn’t bother with cologne. But the shirt’s thin and soft enough to drape nicely across his chest, and he makes sure he’s well-showered and looking good by the time Eddie shows up.

It’s kind of nice, taking this much care. He doesn’t have to think too hard about it. He might not have gotten the best grades or whatever, but he’s always been good at this kind of thing: finding the balance between too casual and not casual enough. He knows how to play things just sincere enough to make girls feel special and wanted, but not so sincere that they get turned off. 

Sure, it’s a little different with Eddie. With guys in general, probably. But Steve isn’t too worried.

So after they polish off a large pizza and a couple of beers, when the easy conversation hits a natural lull, Steve angles his body towards Eddie on the couch and says: “Hey, I’ve been thinking about your whole, y’know, girlfriend situation.”

“What girlfriend situation, Harrington?”

“Exactly,” says Steve, like he’s already won. “I know it’s been a while for you.” 

He falters a little; he’d vaguely meant to say something really cool and casual at this point, but nothing’s coming to mind. Instead, he says, “I was thinking, if you want…”

He’s hoping Eddie will pick up on what he’s saying. Eddie just sits there silently, frowning. 

Steve sighs. “I’m just saying, I could help you out. I know that when it’s been a while for me, I’m not too picky.”

“You trying out matchmaking again, Stevie?” Eddie drawls, but Steve thinks he says it in a way that means he knows what Steve’s really saying. His shoulders look tense.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Don’t be such a tough guy, just let me give you a hand.” He makes an illustrative gesture.

Eddie’s eyes go wide, and he lets out a breathless little laugh that goes soundless at the edges. “Wow, I—you’ve really been striking out with the ladies, huh?”

“Maybe,” says Steve, still leaning close. He lets his voice drop a little, and hopes it works on guys as well as it does on girls. “Maybe I’m just looking to switch things up. C’mon, Eddie, don’t you want something easy for a change?”

Eddie laughs that weird choked half-laugh again. 

“Shit, man. Jesus christ. This…is a really bad idea.” 

Steve can see the flush in Eddie’s cheeks and the way he’s breathing faster than normal, so he pushes. Just a little bit. He thinks maybe Eddie wants to be pushed, the way he’s looking. 

“Okay, but you’re gonna say yes anyway, right?”

Eddie closes his eyes. His face changes a little. Steve’s not completely sure, but he thinks Eddie looks sort of sad or maybe hurt, which makes his gut twist in guilt. He’s about to back off and apologize, try and laugh it off, when Eddie opens his eyes again and says, “Yeah, Harrington. Yeah. I’m saying yes anyway.” 

“Cool,” says Steve, and doesn’t reach out immediately like he wants to. He doesn’t get grabby. He just sits back and looks at Eddie for a second. Eddie gets more and more fidgety, and when he starts to curl in on himself all shy, Steve reaches out and grabs his upper arm to tug him in. 

Eddie goes along with it easy enough. He lets himself be pulled into Steve’s lap, denim stretched over his splayed thighs in a way that makes Steve’s mouth water. He meets Steve’s eyes when Steve says “Hey,” real quiet and smooth as silk, and he nods like Steve asked a question. 

He’s biting his lip. It’s not in a teasing way, he’s really chewing on it. He’s not trying to be sexy. Steve’s not sure he even knows he’s doing it. 

Steve reaches for Eddie’s fly, and he’s annoyed to realize that his hands are shaking a little. He anchors them in Eddie’s belt loops as he tries to ease the zipper down. It’s not that easy, between how wide Eddie’s legs are spread and the rapidly growing bulge in his boxers. Eventually, he has to say, “Scoot back a little, dude.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” says Eddie, practically gasping, and scoots back a little. When Steve finally manages to get Eddie’s dick out, they both pause. 

This kind of thing, it’s not something you can take back or laugh off. The stakes are so high. It feels like it’s the most dangerous thing Steve’s ever done. He knows it’s probably not true, but it still feels that way. 

Before he can psych himself out too much, Steve spits in his hand and starts jerking Eddie off. He doesn’t try to tease or anything. The angle’s not exactly what he’s used to, and he thinks his wrist might start complaining if he does this too long, but it’s not so different from how he usually takes care of business.

Except that he doesn’t usually have Eddie Munson heavy in his lap, breathing hard like Eddie’s just run a marathon. He’s not usually focused in on how Eddie’s reacting to every little thing, how firm to make his grip so that Eddie will whine under his breath in a dazed kind of way. 

He’d been right, back when he’d first started thinking in a serious way about doing this with Eddie; it’s a hell of a thing.

Eddie’s hands start out hovering like he doesn’t know where to put them. They land on Steve’s shoulders, tentatively at first, and then gripping harder as Steve starts changing it up just a little more, twisting on the upstroke, thumbing over the head.

“Yeah,” Steve says when Eddie’s hips start really twitching. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but Eddie had been so polite, almost, and now…

Eddie’s fucking my hand, Eddie’s fucking me, thinks Steve wildly, and says “Yeah,” again out loud and mostly on purpose. “C’mon, Eddie. There you go. Baby. C’mon.” 

Eddie lets out a helpless little noise that Steve wants to hear again and again on a loop forever, tipping forward, forehead clumsily knocking into Steve’s. Steve slides his other hand up from where it’s been clutching Eddie’s thigh and pushes under Eddie’s shirt, around his back, holding him close. 

When Eddie comes, grinding hard into Steve’s grip, he tips forward and kisses Steve. It’s not even a real kiss, though, Eddie just tilts his head and slides his mouth across Steve’s kind of desperately. Steve thinks it probably doesn’t count, even as he’s pushing up to meet Eddie, seeking Eddie’s clever pretty mouth and his clever pretty tongue, wanting it all, wanting anything Eddie will let him take. 

Eddie pulls back, and Steve chases him mindlessly. Eddie’s hands come up to cradle Steve’s face, keeping him where he is but not moving away. Steve squirms a little. Eddie’s just looking at him. Eddie’s face is still flushed and his chest is still heaving. Steve wants to push his shirt up and bite. He’s still almost totally clothed, they both are, but Steve is going out of his mind with how hot it is to have Eddie’s thighs around him with Steve’s hand wrapped around his softening dick. Steve managed to catch most of the spunk in his palm, and he has to push down an urge to do something with it. He’s not even sure what. He maybe wants to offer his hand to Eddie, just to see what Eddie will do. Instead, he wipes it off on his own shirt.

Steve’s having some trouble focusing, but he sees Eddie’s expression go soft. Eddie leans in again, hands still firm and careful on Steve’s face, and kisses him very quickly and neatly. 

“Okay, Harrington,” Eddie says. Steve can feel his breath when he talks. “My turn. Let me return the favor.”

Eddie gently pushes away the hand that Steve still has snagged on his waistband, tucking himself back in. He zips up his jeans but doesn’t button them. He sits back and looks down, biting his lip the way he was doing earlier, and Steve has the sudden technicolor thought that Eddie might slide down to the floor and open his mouth, let Steve push in and in to that hot wet space.

He doesn’t, obviously. Eddie pushes his palm against Steve through his jeans, not rubbing or anything, just giving him a little pressure to strain against. Steve gasps and the sound is embarrassingly loud, but Eddie nods like Steve’s done something right. 

As Eddie opens up Steve’s fly, Steve is suddenly aware that Eddie’s the tallest person he’s ever hooked up with. Eddie’s always in motion and he’s on the skinny side, so it’s easy to forget that they’re about the same height. Steve hadn’t really thought through how it would feel to have Eddie bending over him like this, pinning him down and caging him in, hair hanging down. He’s definitely going to be thinking about it a lot from now on. 

Eddie pauses and sits back. Steve can’t help the pathetic noise he makes at the loss, but Eddie just grins, eyes sparkling.

“Not going anywhere, Stevie. You’ll get yours. Just avoiding any potential mishaps,” he says. He tugs his rings off quickly and efficiently, twisting at the waist to dump them on the coffee table in a little pile. Steve wants to buy a special dish to keep them in. Maybe something with Eddie’s name on it. 

Bare-handed, Eddie reaches out to run his knuckles lightly up Steve’s dick before tugging at the hem of his briefs playfully. “C’mon, lift your hips for me. Can’t do anything without getting these off you.”

It’s a little awkward, especially because Eddie doesn’t even try to get off Steve’s lap and Steve isn’t about to make him move, but they manage to get Steve’s pants and briefs down, and then Eddie’s just—there, staring at him.

“Shit,” says Eddie, laughing a little under his breath. “Life really isn’t fair sometimes, huh? King of Hawkins High, popular jock extraordinaire, and you’re packing some serious heat. Leave some for the rest of us, huh?” 

Steve barely stops himself from telling Eddie that really, he can have Steve’s dick any time he wants. 

Eddie keeps staring at him, and the pleased squirmy feeling in his gut is faltering a little. He can feel his erection start to wilt as the nervousness builds. His shirt’s still on, which seems kind of stupid now that he’s thinking about it.

“If,” he says. “If you don’t want to, man. It’s fine. No big deal.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to Steve’s face. Without breaking eye contact, he sticks out his (long, jesus) tongue and licks his palm. 

“No way, man. Never let it be said that Eddie Munson leaves his debts unpaid,” he purrs. Steve is embarrassed to realize that the deep rasp of his voice alone is more than enough to get Steve back to full attention, suddenly back on that desperate edge. 

And then Eddie’s hand is finally around him, just the right side of painfully tight, and Steve stops thinking altogether for a while. 

———

“Okay, so you traded handjobs,” says Robin. 

“You don’t get it,” Steve hisses. “It’s so much worse now! I’m spacing out in the fucking checkout line just thinking about how to get him to take his clothes off around me.”

“I want you to know that I have never related to you less in my life, even including that time when you asked Mrs. Click whether the Romans or the Greeks invented Olive Garden.”

“Greek food has olives, right? Anyway, come on, I thought you were supposed to be my supportive gay friend. My gay support friend? My friend who is gay and supports me in gay stuff.”

Robin makes a noise like a dying cat and flops over the counter. “Fine! I’m supportive, I’m being gay-supportive. I’m just saying, I’ve heard way more than I ever wanted to about all the girls you’ve had sex with and all the different freaky ways you had sex with them, and Eddie Munson giving you a random handjob in your living room is what rocks your world?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Exactly! Because of, you know. Feelings. And stuff. You’re missing the, the poetry of it all.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a loser,” says Robin, but she sits up and butts her head against his shoulder to show she loves him.

(Snippet directory)

[zosanbrainrot]

part 06!! and the end of Act 1

01 02 03 04 05 06

OK SO THAT'S THAT

I don't have anything else storyboarded right now, I have the dialogues for Act 3 written down, but for the 2nd Act I'm gonna have to rewatch parts of WCI. I'm also thinking of a different approach, more like a series of illustrations not a comic, but idk yet, I'll have to rewatch and see!

It's not like I'm actually using a 3 Act structure as in 'a method of writing a story', I don't know how to and I haven't tried learning that (YET). I just think its neat and reflects how I divided my artistic process. I've always seen this story in my head as 3 parts.

And before I delve into part 06, I can't stop myself from saying that....... part 05 really needed another closeup on Sanji's face. If I ever try and repost it to another site then maybe I'll add it (between the panels of Ichiji & Zoro and the closeup on the spear, it would help the rythym but also strengthen the emotional connection, before Sanji shuts himself off)

Anyhow part 06

Most panels were a breeze, but the last two, my god, I just couldn't get them right for the longest time. In the end my favourite panels are the closeups of Luffy and Nami, I should really draw them more.

Here's how this panel in particular went:

I did like how the pose was looking in my first rough pass, the face is scrunched, the shoulders are high with tension, the direction is consistent

Couldn't execute it though... I think in the first rough sketch the camera is looking at Luffy slightly from above? Like he's leaning into it. That's why the shoulders can be so high up, but I didn't realize what it was when trying to clean it. So when cleaning the sketch I drew the head on the same level as the camera which made the whole pose look flat, also in this weird angle, like it's not fully 3/4, but it's not facing forwards either.

I didn't know what wasn't working, so I doubled down and tried with the lineart, but it didn't magically help. It just looks like he's slouching.

4. so I tried to rethink the pose and commit to a 3/4 view. I like that more of the neck is visible now, you can feel that he's leaning forward with the scream, but I think I could have pushed it a bit more still

5. with linework I made some small changes, like a bit shorter hair, smaller nose and the eyes pushed back a bit. I also added the scratches and filled in the black parts

6. added flat colors & shading!

Last panel with Sanji was even harder to draw hehe

so I thought this would be easy bcs I wanted to basically redraw the panel from the anime

that's why my rough sketch was extremely rough, I didn't think about it much

and then I had so much trouble with it lmao You'd think that it would be easier when you're covering the character's face, but I was in this undecided space of on one hand wanting to show the pain on Sanji's face and staying truthful to the anime scene on the other. I also found it super diffucult to show the emotions without the eyes

4. The pose in 3. also wasn't working so I tried to make him more slouched, like he's curling in on himself more, it was definitely a better direction. I tried going into lineart from here but I didn't like how the fingers were turning out

5. So I decided to get a new ref and took a picture of how I'd make this gesture myself. With this pose I also changed the position and angle of the face slightly, bcs it would have created a very small space between the hand and the nose and I wanted the two shapes to connect

6. I really liked the hand, but was having trouble with the hair, it felt too short, still couldn't get the face right either

7. so I elongated the hair and worked on the face some more and was finally happy with what I had!

8. added colors! At first I had it colored like the other panels, color just on Sanji then gradient on the bottom helping it fade to black, but it wasn't sitting well with me. Maybe because the space above his head was too big and I didn't want to have a background here and also wasn't adding the little floating pieces to the carriage scene (these were reserved for the grass battlefield)

9. SO! I made Sanji's figure darker and also added a darker shade to the whole scene and I think it ended up working really nice. Like he's drowning in the darkness, the only element piercing through it are Luffy's words. It also just fills up the space better lmao, feels less empty visually

Its gonna be A WHILE, before I have updates for this, I'm gonna have to start with the rewatch anyway. Right now I'm gonna have to focus on finishing my extra pieces for the @rdtriozine !! If any of you read this far you may as well check it out lmao I have a full illustration spread there and gonna have spots for a fic too ❤️ I just need to draw them!!! AGHHHH

[hoshifighting]

Arranged Marriage

— Synopsis: Where you and Minghao parents had this grand scheme to merge their companies by marrying you off, thinking it'd be a brilliant business move. Determined to stake your claim and keep your marriage intact, your make a bold move during a business party—planting a lipstick-stained kiss on Minghao's lips and yanking him by his tie, leaving no doubt that he's yours and yours alone. — WC: 5.5k — WARNINGS: Smut, throat fucking, blowjob, fingering, penetrative sex, public make out, jealous kiss, angst, forced marriage, mentions of diets.

You're standing there in this fancy white dress, all sparkly and shiny, making your way down the aisle to where Minghao's waiting. He's looking all sharp in his suit, with his hair on point and a little smirk on his face. But as you're walking towards him, you can't help but remember the last time you two really talked was at some boring company event.

Now here you are, about to say your vows like you actually mean them. But deep down, you know it's all just a bunch of lies. You and Minghao both know it. It's all for show, to make your parents' company look good. And the worst part is, everyone at this big fancy wedding knows it too.

The party's huge, like a wedding and a business conference all mashed together. People you've never seen before are milling around, probably part of some shady business deal your parents cooked up. It's like this whole thing isn't even about love or unity anymore. It's just one big networking event disguised as a wedding.

But you go through the motions anyway, smiling and nodding like everything's perfect. You exchange vows that are as fake as the smiles plastered on both of your faces. And as the night goes on, you can't shake the feeling that this whole thing is just a sham. A pretty, expensive sham, but a sham nonetheless.

You watch as people schmooze and mingle, making deals and connections left and right. And you can't help but wonder if this is what your future holds too. A life of pretending, of smiling for the cameras while behind closed doors, it's all just business as usual.

But for now, you paste on your best fake smile and dance the night away, pretending that everything's okay. Because that's what you do when you're part of a family like yours. You put on a show, no matter what's really going on behind the scenes.

You're feeling suffocated by the crowd inside, like the tightness around your waist is almost causing claustrophobia. So you slip away to the backyard, sneaking a slice of cake from the waiters. Your mom had you on some ridiculous diet for a whole week leading up to this wedding, all so you could look "good" in your dress.

You plop down on a wooden bench, the dress spreading out in a big poof around you. Just as you're about to take a much-needed bite of cake, you're interrupted by a voice.

"Why isn't the bride inside enjoying her own party?" The voice belongs to Minghao, hands in his pockets as he stands there, looking at you.

You scoff, shooting him a look. "I'm sure no one's noticed. They're all too busy discussing the stock market or whatever." Your tone is sharp, the underlying tension between you and Minghao palpable.

Minghao snorts, clearly not impressed by your response. "Yeah, well, maybe if you spent less time worrying about your parents' company and more time actually enjoying life, you wouldn't be stuck in this mess."

You bristle at his comment, feeling a surge of anger rising within you. "Oh please, like you have any room to talk. Last time I checked, you were just as tangled up in all of this as I am."

Minghao's expression darkens, and for a moment, you worry you've gone too far. 

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a half-eaten slice of wedding cake. You watch him go, feeling a mix of frustration and something else you can't quite name. Maybe it's just the champagne talking, but for a brief moment, you can't help but wonder what life would be like if you weren't tied down by expectations and obligations. 

You stare at Minghao, disbelief written all over your face as you take in the sight of the one hotel room your parents booked for the both of you. A single queen-sized bed sits in the center of the room, effectively splitting the space into two halves. You shoot a glance at Minghao, and from the look in his eyes, you can tell he's just as shocked as you are.

The tension between you is palpable as you both stand there, sharing silent but deadly gazes. Finally, you break the silence, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, isn't this just perfect? Our parents booking us one room to 'get used' to each other. As if this whole shit wasn't enough already."

Minghao lets out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yeah, because nothing says 'happily ever after' like forcing two strangers to share a bed on their wedding night."

You bite back a retort, opting instead for a more diplomatic approach. "Look, I think it's only fair that I take the bed and you can sleep on the couch."

Minghao raises an eyebrow, his expression incredulous. "And why is that?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You roll your eyes, feeling irritation bubbling up inside you. "Because I'm the bride, for one," you retort, "and two, I've been on my feet all night, walking around in a dress that weighs a ton and heels that could rival skyscrapers. I think I deserve a decent night's sleep."

Minghao lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, please. Do you even know how exhausting it is to be the groom? I've been dealing with people all night, pretending to be someone I'm not, just like you."

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms defiantly. "Fine," you say, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, "then let's settle this once and for all. Who's more tired: the bride who's been carrying around twelve kilograms of dress and heels all night, or the groom who's been putting on a show for hours on end?"

Minghao looks at you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he's trying not to smile. But then he shakes his head, a look of resignation crossing his face. "You win," he says, finally relenting, "you can have the bed."

You smirk triumphantly, feeling a small sense of victory despite the absurdity of the situation. And as you crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.

The next day rolls around, and before you even have a chance to properly wake up, you're thrown into a meeting. Brunch with both families sounds nice in theory, but when Minghao's dad starts putting papers on the table and declaring, "Let's get to what matters," you realize this isn't going to be a typical family gathering.

You try to maintain a facade of composure, but the discomfort gnaws at you like a persistent itch. So you do what you've gotten used to doing – you look down, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room.

Minghao notices immediately, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face. His cheeks flush with embarrassment from his father's directness, but you can't bring yourself to look up and meet his eyes. The weight of expectation hangs heavy in the air, and you can practically taste the tension swirling around the table.

As Minghao's dad starts talking about business deals and partnerships, you try to focus on the sound of his voice rather than the sinking feeling in your stomach. But no matter how hard you try to block it out, you can't shake the feeling that you're just a pawn in someone else's game – a game you never asked to play.

You steal a glance at Minghao, but his expression is unreadable, his mask firmly in place. And in that moment, you realize just how alone you really are in this world of high-stakes deals and empty promises.

You're lounging on the couch, the TV blaring in the background, but your mind is miles away. The penthouse feels emptier than ever, despite being filled with all the trappings of luxury. You and Minghao live under the same roof, yet it feels like you might as well be living on opposite ends of the earth. Separate rooms, separate lives, with only a perfunctory "good morning" or "good night" exchanged between you.

The loneliness weighs heavy on your chest, suffocating you with its presence. You long for something more, something real, but it feels like an impossible dream in this gilded cage you've found yourself trapped in.

You're lost in the numbing glow of the television when your phone buzzes with a notification. It's Minghao, informing you of a press conference he's scheduled for later that night. You furrow your brow, puzzled by the sudden announcement.

But it's his last message from the previous night that catches your attention. "Can you at least put on your best smile tonight?" he'd asked, a request that feels more like a demand. And you can't help but feel a pang of frustration at his presumption.

You make your way to his room, finding him hunched over his computer, the glow of the screen casting harsh shadows across his face. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you watch him for a moment before speaking up.

"What do you mean by that?" you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. "Put on my best smile? What's that supposed to mean?"

Minghao looks up from his computer, his expression unreadable. "It means exactly what it sounds like," he replies coolly, his tone clipped. "We both know how important appearances are in our world. So why not make an effort for once?"

You roll your eyes, feeling the anger bubbling up inside you. "I think you mean that you want me to play the dutiful wife once again, to plaster on a fake smile and pretend like everything's fine," you snap, the bitterness seeping into your words.

Minghao's jaw tightens, and for a moment, it looks like he's about to argue back. But then he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly tired and defeated. "Look, I know this isn't what either of us wanted," he says, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. "But it's what we have to do. For our families, for the company."

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "Is that really all that matters to you? The company? "But fine," you say through clenched teeth, pushing yourself away from the doorframe. "I'll put on my best smile tonight. But don't expect me to enjoy it."

You sit in the backseat of the chauffeur-driven car, your gaze fixed on the passing landscape outside the window. The skyscrapers blur into a haze of steel and glass, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside your mind.

Minghao breaks the silence with a casual remark, his tone tinged with amusement. "You don't look like someone who agreed to the terms of our agreement," he observes, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

You let out a frustrated huff, tearing your eyes away from the window to glare at him. "Yeah, well, maybe I need some time before I can fully commit to this whole acting profession," you retort, your words dripping with bitterness.

Minghao presses his lips together, trying to suppress a laugh at your expense. The corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, but he manages to keep his expression neutral as he looks away, pretending to be absorbed in the passing scenery.

You bristle at his reaction, feeling a surge of indignation coursing through you. "What's so funny?" you demand, your voice sharp with irritation.

Minghao shakes his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Nothing," he replies casually, his tone disarmingly nonchalant. "I mean, take all the time you need… Just try not to look too pitiful when we walk through those doors." 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

As the chauffeur stops and opens the door for you, signaling your arrival at the event, Minghao's voice cuts through the silence.

"Hand," he says simply, holding out his hand towards you.

You raise an eyebrow, shooting him a skeptical look. "Excuse me?" you reply, not quite sure you heard him correctly.

Minghao's lips twitch into a smirk as he repeats himself, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I said, hand," he repeats, his tone playful yet insistent.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his audacity, but begrudgingly, you reach out and grab his hand, almost aggressively. His grin widens as he intertwines his fingers with yours, the touch surprisingly delicate despite the underlying tension between you.

As you and Minghao step into the event, hand in hand, you can feel the weight of your parents' surprised stares on you. Their eyebrows shoot up in disbelief at the sight of you two holding hands, a rare display of unity between the two families.

Minghao squeezes your hand gently, a small smirk playing on his lips as he catches your parents' reaction. "See?" he murmurs softly, leaning in close to you. "It's easy. A little thing like this makes them happy."

You can't help but feel a surge of resentment bubbling up inside you at his words. Easy for him to say, you think bitterly. He's always been the one who effortlessly falls into line, who knows exactly how to play the game to get what he wants.

But despite your inner turmoil, you force a tight smile and nod in agreement, not wanting to cause a scene in front of your parents. "Yeah, easy," you echo, your voice strained as you try to keep up the facade.

As the long-winded speeches from the ambassadors drone on, you find yourself sinking deeper into your chair, exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders. Minghao leans in close, his voice a soft whisper against your ear as he asks if you want something from the bar. You shake your head, declining his offer with a tired sigh.

He nods in understanding and excuses himself, disappearing into the crowd for a moment. But as the minutes drag on and the speech finally reaches its conclusion, Minghao still hasn't returned. Your eyes scan the room, searching for any sign of him, and that's when you spot her – a woman leaning in close to him, her body language oozing with flirtation.

Your stomach churns with a mix of anger and disbelief. What does she think she's doing? That's your husband she's flirting with, for crying out loud. You glance down at your wedding ring, then back at Minghao, then down at your ring again, the weight of it heavy on your finger.

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you stand up from the table, your movements cautious as you make your way over to them. Fuck, you hate that you're doing this right now, but you can't just sit idly by while some random woman tries to make a move on your husband.

Minghao's eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of your determined gaze, and for a brief moment, you almost feel guilty for interrupting. But then you remember who you are – his wife – and the guilt fades away, replaced by a steely resolve.

"I have a wife," Minghao's voice cuts through the air, firm and unwavering, as you approach him and the woman who's been flirting with him. His words send a jolt of surprise through you, momentarily halting your steps.

But before you can even react, Minghao continues, his tone tinged with irritation, "And she's storming over here, so please, just leave me alone."

"Hi, Hao," you greet Minghao as you finally reach him, unable to hide the hint of irritation in your voice. "You took a long time. What happened?"

Minghao's eyes widen slightly at your abrupt approach, and he stammers for a moment before the woman beside him interjects, "Oh, she's your friend?"

Minghao's response is immediate and almost defensive. "No, I don't know her," he says quickly, his tone betraying his discomfort.

You can't help but suppress a smirk at his awkwardness, feeling a small surge of satisfaction at seeing him squirm. "Nice to meet you," you say smoothly, extending your hand to the woman. "I'm Mrs. Xu."

The woman's eyes widen in surprise as she takes your hand, clearly caught off guard by your assertive introduction. "Oh, um, nice to meet you too," she replies, her voice slightly shaky.

You turn your attention back to Minghao, noting the relief in his eyes as you come to his "rescue." Poor Minghao, you think to yourself, feeling a twinge of sympathy for him despite your earlier annoyance. He clearly didn't know how to handle the situation, and the sight of you coming to his aid seems to help him breathe a little easier.

The woman walks away, leaving you and Minghao standing there in the aftermath of the awkward encounter. You turn to him, your expression a mix of frustration and concern.

"Come on, Minghao," you begin, your voice low but firm. "You need to know how to handle situations like that. What if people who know our family saw that? It could cause all sorts of rumors and complications."

Minghao's jaw tightens as he meets your gaze, a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. "I didn't ask for her to approach me," he retorts, his tone defensive. "I told her I have a wife. What more do you want from me?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair as you try to keep your temper in check. "I just want you to be more aware of how your actions reflect on both of us," you reply, your voice tinged with exasperation. "We're married, Minghao. That means we have to think about each other's reputations and how our behavior affects them."

Minghao's expression softens slightly at your words, but there's still a stubborn set to his jaw as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I know that," he says, his voice quieter now, more subdued. "But sometimes things happen, and I can't control them."

You shake your head, feeling a surge of frustration rising within you. "That's not an excuse, Minghao," you say firmly. "We both have to do better if we want this marriage to work. We have to be a team."

Minghao's lips twitch into a smirk of his own, a challenge flashing in his eyes as he steps closer to you. "Oh, is that so, Mrs. Xu?" he replies, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "And what exactly would it take for me to earn back the privilege of being called by my first name?"

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his cheekiness. "Maybe if you stopped getting yourself into awkward situations with random women at parties," you shoot back, unable to resist the opportunity for a playful jab.

Minghao feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "Hey now, that wasn't entirely my fault," he protests, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Besides, you were the one who came to my rescue, remember?"

Minghao's playful grin falters as you shoot him a pointed look, hands firmly planted on your hips. "Am I wrong now? What should I do then?" you challenge, your tone laced with frustration.

He shrugs, his expression sheepish as he searches for an answer. "You need to make them know I'm your husband," he suggests vaguely, a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes.

You narrow your gaze, a surge of determination coursing through you as you follow his line of sight to the woman who had been eyeing him earlier. She's still watching him, her gaze lingering a little too long for your liking.

"Fine then," you declare, your jaw set in determination. Without another word, you reach out and grab Minghao by the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Before he can protest, you press your lips to his in a firm, possessive kiss.

For a moment, Minghao freezes, his hands hovering uncertainly in the air. But then, as if realizing what's happening, he responds eagerly, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair as the kiss deepens.

You trail kisses along his neck, feeling a low hum of satisfaction reverberate through him. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer as you continue to explore the sensitive skin of his neck with your lips.

When you pull back slightly, his eyes meet yours, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths. You reach up and gently tug on his bottom lip, a silent invitation for him to surrender completely to the passion between you.

Minghao's lips part in response, his eyes darkening with desire as he leans in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, the intensity of the moment threatening to consume you both.

As you finally break the kiss, your lips swollen and tingling with the taste of him, you look at his face, satisfied with your handiwork. His lips, jaw, and neck are adorned with smudges of your red lipstick, a visible testament that being arranged or not, he is your husband.

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you reach out and grab Minghao by the tie, tugging him gently but firmly in the direction of the exit. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at your sudden assertiveness, but he follows your lead without hesitation.

As you walk through the party, you make no effort to hide the fact that you're leading Minghao out by his tie. You want everyone to see, especially that woman who dared to flirt with him earlier. With each step, you feel a surge of satisfaction knowing that you're marking your territory, making it abundantly clear to anyone watching that Minghao belongs to you.

People turn to look as you pass by, their curious glances met with a confident smile from you and a sheepish grin from Minghao. You hold your head high, your grip on his tie unwavering as you guide him through the crowd.

Finally, you reach the exit, and with one last glance around the room, you pull Minghao outside, the cool night air washing over you both. Alone at last, you turn to him with a victorious smirk.

"Well, that was fun," you say, a hint of laughter in your voice as you release his tie. "But I think we've made our point. Shall we get out of here?"

Minghao chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he takes your hand in his. "Absolutely," he replies, a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. "Anywhere you want to go, Mrs. Xu."

As soon as you step through the door of your home, you're wrapped up in a frenzy of passionate kisses with Minghao. Clothes, shoes, and his tie fly off haphazardly as you stumble towards the nearest surface, unable to keep your hands off each other.

Between kisses, Minghao pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. "I didn't know you were that jealous," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You hiss in response, your breath catching in your throat as his lips trail along your skin. "I wasn't jealous," you protest, your voice tinged with frustration. "I was just...rescuing you, you bastard!"

Minghao laughs at your outburst, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Hmm, just like a predator," he teases, his hands roaming over your body with a newfound confidence.

You scoff at his comment, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "You've seen nothing yet," you reply, meeting his gaze with a challenge in your eyes.

Minghao's eyes light up with excitement as he looks at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Yeah," you confirm with a smirk, pulling him in for another kiss.

But then, his hand moves to the top of your head, gently guiding you downwards until your knees find the ground. You look up at him with a mixture of desire and anticipation, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you eagerly await his next move.

With a shaky breath, Minghao pulls himself free from his pants, his cock standing proudly before you. You wrap your hand around it, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath your touch. A wicked grin plays at your lips as you tap the tip of his cock against your face, biting your lip in anticipation.

Minghao lets out a shaky moan at the provocative sight before him, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. "Fuck, you're so damn sexy," he groans, his voice rough with need. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

You smirk up at him, your hand still wrapped around his cock as you tease him with your lips. "Mmm, maybe," you purr, your voice dripping with seduction. "But I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you want me, Minghao."

His breath hitches as he meets your gaze, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guides you closer to him. "I want you more than anything," he confesses, his voice thick with desire. "I need you, baby. Please, show me how much you want me too."

You eagerly lower your mouth onto Minghao's throbbing cock, sucking greedily as you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth. You can feel him thrusting his hips, the need for more driving him to move against you.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, giving him the freedom to move as he pleases. His fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements as he sets the pace, his hips rocking against you in a rhythm of his own making.

As you take him deeper, you close your eyes, relaxing your jaw to accommodate his length. Minghao's voice breaks through the haze of pleasure, his words a gentle reminder of his concern for your well-being.

"Tap if you need to breathe," he murmurs, his hand tightening in your ponytail as he continues to move his hips.

You press your hand against his thigh in affirmation, letting him know that you're okay as you continue to take him deeper, your throat working to accommodate his length. Minghao lets out a low groan of pleasure, his hips moving in tandem with your movements as you both chase the pinnacle of ecstasy.

Between thrusts, Minghao's voice fills the air with a husky whisper. "God, you feel so fucking good," he moans, his words driving you to take him even deeper. "You're amazing, baby. Just keep going, just like that."

As Minghao's cock throbs in your mouth, you feel a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Drool drips from your chin, a testament to your eagerness and arousal, as you continue to take him deeper, your mouth working tirelessly to please him.

With each throb of his cock, you can feel the tension building, the heat of his arousal radiating through you. Your eyes roll back in your head, lost in a haze of pleasure as you surrender yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And as Minghao's cock pulses in your mouth, you know that you've pushed him to the edge, his release imminent. With one final throb, he cries out your name, his body tensing as he spills his cum into your waiting mouth.

You swallow eagerly, savoring the taste of him. You moan softly as Minghao's lips meet yours again, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue, and he slowly guides you towards his room.

As you fall onto the bed, Minghao's fingers trace lazy patterns along your inner thighs, making you squirm beneath his touch, unable to hide your arousal as he gazes down at you with dark, hungry eyes.

"You're so wet…" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he continues to tease you with his fingers.

Minghao's lips curl into a smug grin as his fingers trailing lower until they reach the damp fabric of your panties. With agonizing slowness, he begins to peel them away, revealing your glistening folds to his hungry gaze.

"Tell me what you want, baby" he whispers, his voice a low growl in your ear as he leans in close. "Tell me how you want me to make you feel."

You arch your back, aching for his touch as you meet his gaze with a sultry smirk. "I want your fingers inside me, Minghao" you breathe, your voice dripping with desire. "I want you to make me come so fucking hard"

Minghao's eyes darken with lust as he hears your words, his fingers finding their way to your slick entrance. With a wicked grin, he plunges his slender fingers deep inside you, his touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, he finds it – that deep spot that sends electric jolts shooting through you. Your pussy clenches around his fingers in response, a desperate attempt to hold your orgasm.

But Minghao isn't finished yet. With a wicked grin, he leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he whispers his intentions. "You're not going to cum yet," he murmurs. "Let me hit that spot with my cock, then you can cream around it as much as you want."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, with the promise of what's going to come. With a nod of agreement, you bite your lip in anticipation, eager for the moment when Minghao will fuck you with his cock.

As Minghao positions himself above you, his gaze locked with yours in a silent promise of pleasure to come, you sneak a peek at his cock. It's long, with bulging veins and dripping with pre-cum, making it clear he's rock hard and ready to go. The contrast with his slender body just makes it look even bigger.

Before you can even think of a response, Minghao speaks up, his voice low and husky. "You ready for me, baby?" he asks, his eyes smoldering with desire.

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can get a word out, his cock is stretching you out, leaving you breathless and speechless as he fills you completely.

As soon as Minghao finds your g'spot, your pussy immediately tightens around him, milking him with such intensity that he has to hold himself back from coming right then and there. His pretty moans only serve to heighten your own arousal, making it even harder for you to hold back your impending orgasm.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure as he tries to control himself. He hopes that you'll stop clenching, but as soon as he hits that spot again, he hisses in response, the sensation driving him wild.

Realizing that he's in danger of cumming too early, Minghao decides to focus on fucking you in just the right way, hitting that spot with precision and intensity. He squirms, desperate for you to climax first, knowing that your pleasure will only fuel his own.

With each thrust, each movement, the pleasure builds between you, reaching a fever pitch that threatens to consume you both. Minghao's hips move in a steady rhythm, his cock driving deeper and deeper into you with each thrust, his own pleasure mounting with each passing second.

And then, finally, it happens. You reach the peak of ecstasy, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm as pleasure washes over you in relentless waves. Your pussy clenches around Minghao's cock, milking him for all he's worth as he loses control, his own release crashing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure.

With a tired groan, Minghao collapses beside you, his body spent from the intensity of your shared passion. He turns to you with a lazy smile, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

"If I'd known all it took to get you to kiss me was making you jealous, I would've done it ages ago," he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

You roll your eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "I wasn't jealous," you protest, crossing your arms over your chest.

Minghao raises an eyebrow, his expression incredulous. "Imagine if you were then" he scoffs, his tone teasing. "I don't think we'd be here right now if you weren't just a little bit jealous."

You huff in mock indignation, but deep down, you know he's right.

ou nudge Minghao playfully, a smile dancing on your lips. "Well, lucky for you, a little jealousy was all it took," you quip, teasing him.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling as he gazes at you. "I guess I'll have to remember that for next time," he replies, his voice tinged with amusement.

You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, so there's going to be a next time now?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Minghao grins, leaning in closer to you. "Count on it," he murmurs, his voice low and husky as he brushes his lips against yours.

[izvmimi]

cw: izuku has a bit of an embarrassing secret. minors dni. smut.

You feel guilty laughing a bit too loudly, wondering between booth confessions on the reality tv show you’re watching if the crunch of your chips or your laughter is disturbing your boyfriend’s concentration, but Izuku insists that staying connected, your legs dangling over his knee on the couch as you lay and he sits up hunched over a bright laptop screen is necessary. Something, something about body doubling helping him concentrate, particularly when it’s you.

To be fair, he’s sighing so often that perhaps he’s really the one disturbing you, but you drop your bag of snacks on the coffee table then reach over to rub his knee with your clean hand. 

“How far did you get?” you ask.

He grimaces.

“I’m stuck with this particular paragraph,” he starts, and you’re already reaching for the remote to turn off the TV and help with his work document, but he grips your thigh gently and shakes to reassure you.

“Let me just think through it some more, I’ll ask you for help in a bit,” Izuku insists, smiling at you. His smile is wide and genuine when he looks at you, but once he turns back to the computer, the frustration is back, eyebrows furrowed as he starts to bite on his thumbnail. You’re less than enthused, but you decide to let him hear himself think, lowering the volume on your television just slightly as you go back to your show. 

A few more moments pass as he types, then pauses. Finally, he lets out a groan, and rubs his face and you pause your show but before you can ask him any questions he’s gotten up, telling you he needs a quick break. It’s sudden so you don’t go and follow him assuming he’ll be back.

You assumed he meant the bathroom when you turned your show back on and raised the volume slightly, and if you hadn’t made that assumption you’d probably have noticed that the wrong door closed, the one to the bedroom on the left and not the bathroom on the right. 

Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen, and suddenly concern sets in. Insane as you might be, you’re familiar enough with Izuku’s bathroom habits to know that fifteen minutes is a little too long, and he’s either still muttering up a storm on the toilet bowl or constipated.

You make your way down the corridor to see that the bathroom is empty but the bedroom is closed shut. There’s a noise you can’t yet identify coming through the other side as you peek your way in, but just as you notice the bright white light coming from his phone, you hear him let out a sudden, strangled moan and through his head back, and quickly you flip on the light before he gasps, and scrambles up to a sitting position, dick still hard and poorly covered by his crossed legs. The hand he uses to cover himself is dripping and you stand there, eyes completely wide as you take in the scene before you.

“... Um?” you start, and he blushes a deep red, strawberry like with the dotted freckles on his unscarred cheek.

“Listen, I can explain!”

You blink, but walk over to him, and tilt your head as you climb onto the bed next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and look at the mess now on your bed sheets.

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

You’re in no way upset, simply… curious.

Izuku swallows thickly, then laughs. 

“It helps me concentrate.”

You raise your eyebrow, but it’s not an unreasonable thing he’s suggesting. Looking over at his phone placed aside him, you realize he’s looking at one of your pictures, not even one of the sexier ones you’ve taken to spice up one of his days on patrol, but a candid of you at the cafe down the street for brunch last week.

You can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“So masturbating to a picture of me having pancakes helps you concentrate,” you repeat slowly, and he reddens even deeper. “To be honest, it’s so on the nose, I’m going to have to check your browser history because no way you love me this much,” you say laughing a bit louder.

“Stop making fun of me,” he whines, but you only laugh harder, then lean into him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“If you wanted to have sex, I would have stopped my show, by the way,” you insist. One of your hands finds its way up his shirt, ignoring just the few drops of sticky semen that have made their way onto his lower belly and trailing up. His flush is different now, extending further down his body, and he looks at you for a moment, contemplating before pressing his hand over yours.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked comfortable.”

You snort.

“When would I pass on a good fuck?”

He pulls his lower lip behind his teeth gently as you move back down his chest, gliding all the way to the base of his cock. He shudders and closes his eyes.

“I don’t want to use you for that purpose.. It just feels disingenuous.”

Your head lowers and the kitten lick you offer on his still sticky tip practically makes his cock jump. You giggle, then look back up at him.

“You’re allowed to use me however you want,” you remind him. Your fingers close around him more, sliding up and down the shaft once before letting your tongue run up your palm. 

Clearly you’re messing with him at this point. 

“___,” he whispers your name, and you can tell he’s cooked. You bat your eyelashes gently.

“It was meant to be quick…” he adds, but he’s losing ground more and more every second, and you’re about to bob your head down again. “I… I want to make sure that when we’re having sex, I can take my time with you instead of worrying about this damn dead- oh.”

You’ve taken him down to the base, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone, and his hand finds its way to cradle the back of your head. Sucking up and down gently and slow, you let your tongue twirl around the head again before you pull back, and grin at him.

“We can still be quick...” you offer. 

From the look on his face, any circulation to his brain that could be used for writing is now down to that thick, strong cock just inches from your face. His mouth practically waters as he looks at you, in a stupor.

You barely see him move before he’s on top of you, and you gasp before you laugh.

“You’re right, this is a far better option.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Let’s see how fast you can make me cum and clear both of our heads.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ways they show they love each other pt.1 - Lewis Hamilton

5 snippets of fluff - part 2 here

Also there's a bunch more just like these ones if you like them - Ways to say I love you p1 / p2 ; All these little things - p1 / p2 ; Small firsts

request : "i was thinking after reading the one shot you did about fans favorite moments and 5+5, and i got an ideia of a compilation of moments caught on cameras of Lewis and Y/n basically forgetting there’s people around" - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +4k

a/n: Hi anon, your request made me realize how I was relying heavily on dialogues, so it took me a bit to get these done, but I hope you like it as much as I loved writing them❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

A stolen glance

The behind-the-scenes of any photoshoot was always a controlled chaos—a blend of soft chatter, click of cameras, the occasional bark of direction.

Bright lights bathed the studio in a cool, almost clinical glow, every corner meticulously curated for perfection. Lewis was the center of it all, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone present.

And even in the midst of the frenetic energy, he had his calm, collected demeanor that made the whole affair seem easy.

He was, after all, no stranger to the spotlight.

Y/n stood off to the side, nestled in a corner of the studio where she could work without drawing attention. Her laptop perched on a small table, open to a report she had been poring over since they arrived.

She knew her place there—quiet, supportive, and out of the way. And the last thing she wanted was to be a distraction.

But as the photoshoot progressed, she found herself stealing more and more glances at Lewis, unable to resist the magnetic pull he had, specially on her.

He was dressed to a tee, as always, the tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly.

The photographer would call for a slight adjustment, and Lewis would respond with a slight tilt of his head or a shift in his posture, a model of effortless grace.

But it wasn’t just the way he looked that held Y/n’s attention; it was the way he carried himself, the way he seemed so completely in his element.

Lewis, ever attuned to the energy in the room, could feel her eyes on him even when he wasn’t looking. After all, it was a sensation he had come to know well—the warmth of her gaze, the quiet intensity of her presence.

He let a small smile play on his lips as he adjusted his cufflinks, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. He didn’t need to look directly at her to confirm his suspicious.

But then, it happened.

The photographer called for a brief pause to adjust the lighting, and Lewis took the opportunity to glance over in Y/n’s direction.

She was no longer pretending to work, her focus entirely on him now. Their eyes met across the room and the rest of the studio seemed to fall away.

They didn’t need words to communicate; everything was said in that single, stolen glance.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like nothing more than a casual exchange of looks, but for those who paid close attention, there was a depth to the way they looked at each other, a silent conversation happening beneath the surface.

Her eyes softened as they met his, a small, almost imperceptible nod of understanding passing between them. His smile widened just a fraction, a quiet acknowledgment of her support.

The moment was fleeting—just a few seconds, really—but it was enough.

Enough for the photographer’s assistant, who had been adjusting a reflector nearby, to notice the subtle exchange. She glanced between Lewis and Y/n, a curious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

As the photoshoot resumed, Y/n kept stealing glances at Lewis, and each time, she found him looking back. It was a dance they played often, the stolen glances—a way of staying connected even when they were surrounded by people.

Another crew member, tasked with holding up the boom mic, caught on as well. He nudged his colleague, nodding subtly in their direction. “You see that?” he whispered, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

His colleague followed his gaze, catching one of those silent exchanges. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice low with amusement. “They’re not exactly hiding it, are they?”

The shoot continued, but for those who were paying attention, the focus shifted slightly. It was no longer just about capturing the perfect shot of Lewis Hamilton; they were capturing the stolen glances, the unspoken words—a part of the narrative, an unexpected layer to the day’s work.

And when the shoot finally wrapped, Lewis walked over to Y/n. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached out to take her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. She looked up at him, her expression soft, a silent question in her eyes.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his voice low, meant only for her.

She replied with a nod, the smile on her lips answering more than just his question.

As they walked out of the studio hand in hand, the photographer couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he should have captured those stolen glances on camera.

Because sometimes, the most beautiful moments aren’t the ones that are posed or staged—they’re the ones that happen when you think no one else is watching.

Except someone always is.

A playful nudge

The video started with a shaky view of the Malibu coastline, the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance, and the rhythmic hum of cars passing by.

The camera panned over the scenic beach for a moment before a voice behind the camera blurted out “Oh my God, is that Lewis Hamilton?”

The camera zoomed in, focusing on a couple standing just before the crosswalk, both decked out in running gear.

Sure enough, it’s Lewis, slightly out of breath, hands resting on his hips as he waits for the signal to cross. Next to him, Y/n standing with a relaxed smile, glancing up and down the road.

“Are they out for a run smack in the middle of Malibu?” another voice chimed in from off-camera, clearly excited by the sighting.

The camera adjusted, capturing the full view of Lewis and Y/n as they stand side by side, the breeze lightly tousling Y/n’s hair.

She had her phone in hand, taking a quick peek at the screen before tucking it back into her shorts. The shot lingering on them for a few seconds, the fan behind the camera trying to stay as quiet as possible.

Y/n nudged Lewis gently with her shoulder, just enough to make him stumble a step to the side. The camera zoomed in at just the right time, catching Lewis’s amused reaction. He laughed, the sound carried by the breeze, and shakes his head, clearly enjoying the playful jab.

The fan behind the camera giggled softly and it was clear when a voice whispered “Did you see that?”

Lewis, grinning, turned toward Y/n, his expression full of that familiar warmth fans would seldom catch a glimpse of.

He nudged her back lightly, more of a gentle tap, like he doesn’t want to push too hard. The camera catching the playful spark in both of their eyes, the kind of silent exchange that speaks volumes.

The fan continued filming, capturing how Y/n laughs at his halfhearted nudge, rolling her eyes as if to say, Is that all you’ve got? She gave him a mock glare, but it’s softened by the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

There’s an ease between them, the kind that makes anyone watching feel like they’re intruding into something private, something special.

With the light finally turning green Lewis gestured toward the crosswalk, but Y/n made no move to start jogging again. Instead, she just stood there for a second, shaking her head with that mischievous look still on her face.

Lewis nudged her again, this time even lighter, before giving her a mock-serious look like he’s trying to get them back on track.

Y/n giggled, finally taking a step forward as they begin to cross the road, but not before throwing a playful glance over her shoulder at Lewis.

The camera zoomed in on the way he followed her with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the moment.

As they make their way across, Y/n’s pace picked up, and Lewis kept right alongside her, their matching strides making them effortlessly in sync.

The fan behind the camera sighed “Look at them. Relationship goals, for real.”

The video lingered for a few more seconds as Lewis and Y/n continued their run, their figures growing smaller against the backdrop of the coast.

Just before they disappear from view though, Lewis reached out, placing a hand on Y/n’s back for a split second as if to push her on, the two of them laughing as they ran off down the road.

The video cut out with the fan’s last words: “I swear, I don’t want it if it’s not like that.”

A stolen kiss

The celebration was electric, the kind of moment that would be burned into everyone’s memory for years to come.

Ferrari had finally done it. Lewis crossed the finish line in first place, the prancing horse charging ahead of the pack in what felt like destiny fulfilled.

The garage exploded into cheers, the pit wall erupted in a frenzy, and the grandstands painted a sea of red echoed the voices carried on the wind.

It wasn’t just another victory though. It was his first win with Ferrari—a culmination of months of hard work, adjustment, and even doubts.

The weight of expectation had been heavy, but now, standing in the aftermath of triumph, he felt lighter than air.

The team swarmed around him as he finally made his way back into the garage, hands clapping his back, smiles wide and infectious.

The sea of red uniforms buzzing with joy as they prepared for the post-race photo—Ferrari’s tradition to mark the moment with everyone who had a hand in their success.

Y/n was already there, waiting on the outskirts of the group, smiling at him with a look that carried every ounce of her pride.

He caught her eye, and for a second, the noise and chaos dimmed, leaving just the two of them locked in a gaze that said everything without needing to speak. She was beaming, a mixture of joy and awe in her eyes, and he knew that this win was as much hers as it was his.

As the photographers tried to position the team into position, Lewis found his way toward Y/n, weaving through the jubilant engineers, mechanics, and team staff, until he was beside her.

She was grinning, arms already outstretched as he pulled her into a tight hug, both of them laughing breathlessly in the whirlwind of it all.

“Your first win here” she whispered in his ear; her voice barely audible over the din of celebration. “You did it.”

“We did it” he corrected, voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

Before either of them could say anything more, a team member called out for Lewis to join the front of the photo, waving him over to stand with the trophy.

He gave Y/n a quick look, something cheeky and playful dancing in his eyes. She smile in response.

“Go on” she nudged him, gesturing toward the growing mass of Ferrari crew.

But as Lewis moved toward the group, he didn’t go far.

Instead, in one swift, practiced motion, he spun around, grabbed Y/n by the wrist, and tugged her toward him. It was quick, almost too fast to catch amid the chaos, but then—there it was.

A stolen kiss.

His lips met hers in a flash of spontaneity, right in the middle of the noise and celebration, brief yet brimming with passion.

The kind of kiss that left a spark even in its brevity, enough to draw a few cheers and whistles from the surrounding team, though most were too busy being caught up in the victory to fully take notice.

Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise for a split second before she melted into it, a soft laugh escaping against his lips as her hand came up to the back of his neck. Lewis grinned against her mouth, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable even in such a fleeting moment.

As quickly as it had happened, it was over. Lewis pulled away, his trademark smirk firmly in place as Y/n stood there, flushed and breathless, trying to suppress the giggle that bubbled up in her throat.

“Get in there!” someone from the team shouted shaking their head with amusement at the exchange - clearly a jab at his former team.

Lewis winked at Y/n before finally joining his team, stepping into the heart of the crowd where the Ferrari flag waved high, and the race trophy gleamed in the sunlight. He held it up, his teammates cheering louder than ever, the cameras snapping relentlessly to capture the moment in all its glory.

The celebration photo would show the entire team draped in victory, smiles wide and arms slung around each other. But if you looked close enough, tucked away in the background, you’d see it—Lewis with that telltale grin, Y/n just behind him, the traces of their stolen kiss still lingering in the soft curve of her smile.

It was a tiny moment in the grand scheme of things, almost imperceptible amid the fanfare and noise.

But for those who knew what to look for, it was impossible to miss.

Because even in the chaos of celebration, even in a moment as public as this, their love found a way to slip through the cracks—brief, stolen, but undeniable.

And that was the beauty of it.

A tender moment

The pit lane was quieter now, a contrast to the earlier chaos of the day.

Most of the crew had packed up, the cars were tucked away in the garage, and the hum of the engines had long since faded into memory. The track waiting the next day’s action, and only a few lingering souls wandered about, soaking in the calm before the storm.

Among those few, a fan stood by the barrier, camera slung around her neck, taking in the rare stillness of the circuit. She hadn’t expected to see anything interesting at this hour, not with the hustle and bustle already behind them.

But as her eyes drifted across the pit lane, she caught sight of something—a scene so simple that it stopped her in her tracks.

There, just outside the Mercedes garage, stood Lewis and Y/n. They weren’t hurried, weren’t caught up in the business of racing. No, this was different.

They were wrapped in their own little world, their bodies turned toward each other as if nothing else mattered.

Lewis had his hands loosely around Y/n’s waist, his thumbs gently rubbing circles against her sides, grounding her in their quiet corner of the pit lane. His head was tilted slightly, eyes focused entirely on her as she spoke softly to him, her words just for his ears.

There was a warmth in his expression, something tender and utterly unguarded.

He wasn’t the man under pressure, expected to perform at the highest-level day in and day out. Right now, he was simply Lewis, listening with all the care in the world to the woman he loved.

Y/n’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as she spoke to him. She was leaning in just a bit, her hands resting lightly on his chest, and from a distance, it almost looked like they were swaying slightly, as if caught in their own rhythm.

Whatever she was saying though didn’t seem urgent—it was the kind of conversation that unfolded naturally, without need for resolution.

The fan watched, unnoticed, her breath catching slightly as she witnessed the way they moved together, as if the rest of the world had faded away and left only them standing in the soft glow of the overhead lights.

There was something so private about it, and yet so visible in its simplicity—an everyday moment captured in the stillness of a place built on speed and intensity.

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Lewis leaned in. His lips brushed her temple, soft and unhurried, lingering there for just a second longer than a simple kiss.

It wasn’t meant for anyone else but her, a quiet reassurance, a silent promise. Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her body relaxing into him as his arms tightened around her waist, pulling her gently into a hug.

Her hands rested against his chest, and he bent slightly to accommodate her, his mouth grazing the top of her head as he left another kiss.

Lewis shifted slightly, tightening his hold on Y/n for just a second before loosening his grip, but not letting her go.

He said something then, his voice too low to carry, but whatever it was made her laugh softly, the sound like a ripple in the still night air. She tilted her head up to look at him, and the fan could see the way her eyes lit up in response to whatever Lewis had said.

Here, late at night on the pit lane, far from the roar of engines and the scrutiny of crowds, Lewis wasn’t the global superstar. He was just a man in love, holding onto the person who made everything else fall into place.

It wasn’t the flash and dazzle of a public relationship; it was something quieter, more personal. And yet, in its tenderness, it said so much more.

The fan’s camera captured it all. And in less than an hour everyone had witnessed their moment.

A moment that was meant to be quiet, meant to be just for them, but one that also showed so much to everyone lucky enough to watch the video.

A moment that proved love wasn’t always about grand gestures or declarations.

 Sometimes, it was as simple as a kiss on the temple and the way two people held each other in the stillness of the night, saying everything that needed to be said without a single word.

A playful tease

The fan video started with shaky footage as the camera panned across the crowded Vegas club, neon lights flashing to the beat of the music.

People were dancing, laughing, completely wrapped up in the energy of the night, but then the lens focused, and the camera zoomed in, capturing a familiar face standing at the edge of the VIP section.

It’s Lewis Hamilton, casually leaning against the rail, drink in hand.

He’s cool, relaxed, but there’s something else that catches the attention of the person filming. The camera shifting slightly to the right, catching a glimpse of Y/n moving through the crowd, dancing.

She’s not facing Lewis at first, but there’s no doubt she’s teasing him. The way she swayed, her body moving to the rhythm, full of that playful energy.

The camera zoomed in further, capturing the way Lewis watched her, a small smile playing on his lips. He stood there, arms crossed, amused, but anyone watching the video can tell he’s completely tuned in to her.

A few seconds into the video, Y/n spined closer, twirling just out of his reach before laughing and disappearing into the crowd again.

The fan holding the phone shifted slightly, following her movements as best they could while keeping Lewis in the shot. A few muffled voices could be heard in the background, someone saying, “That’s Hamilton, right?” and another voice chiming in, “Yeah, and that’s his girlfriend!”

Y/n circled back into view, closer to Lewis this time, brushing past him with a light touch, just enough to make him chuckle. The fan holding the camera catching the moment perfectly.

His smirk turning into a quiet laugh as he leaned down slightly, calling something out to her over the music. The camera didn’t pick up what he said, but the spark in Y/n’s eyes is clear when she looked back at him.

The person filming giggled quietly, clearly amused by the interaction, and the video cut to a new angle as the fan moved closer.

Y/n could be seen fully then, standing just in front of Lewis, dancing to the beat, a wide grin on her face. She didn’t say anything, just kept on teasing him with her moves.

Every now and then, she glanced over her shoulder, making sure he was watching – and of course, he was.

One of the fans nearby cheered her on, and the camera shook a little as the person holding it laughed, saying, “He’s down bad.”

The footage zoomed in again, focusing on the way Lewis watched Y/n with a look that was both amused and completely smitten.

Another cheer came from someone in the crowd as Y/n finally moved back toward Lewis, this time leaning her back against his chest for a second.

The scene caught perfectly—the way he smiled down at her, his hand brushing against her waist before she moved away again, still dancing.

The video blurred for a second as the fan tries to get a better shot, but when it cleared, it captures the way Y/n leaned in, her lips moving as she says something into Lewis’s ear.

The music is too loud for the camera to pick up her words, but Lewis’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with that playful light that only she could bring out of him.

“I’m so single, look at them.” someone off-camera said, and the video shook again, this time zooming out slightly to catch the whole scene—the lights, the crowd, the two of them standing in the middle of it all, lost in their own world.

At the end, Y/n spined one last time, landing in front of Lewis with a dramatic little twirl.

She laughed, throwing her arms up in the air, and Lewis taking his chance, reached out before she could escape again. His arm closing around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

Y/n let out a surprised laugh, her hands instinctively going to his arms. He leans into her, whispering something into her ear that made her smile as she tilted her head back to look at him.

The camera zoomed in once more, catching the way his fingers tighten around her waist, holding her close. It was just them—wrapped up in their moment, amid the noise of the club.

Y/n turned in his arms, facing him fully, their smiles softer as she placed her hands on his chest. The music pounding on.

The video ends as Lewis pulled her in closer, their foreheads almost touching, his lips moving as she looked into his eyes and a smirk rising up in her own lips.

______________________________________________________________

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[raekensluver]

moonlit confessions

description: connecting with theodore nott after escaping the chaos of a slytherin rager.

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: partying, late night confessions, drinking, mentions of alcohol, smoking.

song rec: i'm yours by isabel larosa- "nervous, trip over my words, you're so pretty it hurts."

w.c: 1.4k

an: in my slump era....

the room was a blur of motion and color, the air thick with the scent of spilled alcohol and the haze of cigarette smoke. the pulse of the music thrummed through the floorboards, setting a rhythm that seemed to dictate the movements of the slytherin students as they danced and cheered. you leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the game of beer pong unfold with a detached amusement. mattheo and blaise were a formidable team, their laughter echoing off the walls as they scored point after point, while pansy and draco's competitive banter added a sharp edge to the atmosphere. it was the kind of party that you used to love, but tonight, it all felt a bit too much.

you decided to take a break from the chaos, making your way through the crowded room, looking for a familiar face. your eyes scanned over the faces, some flushed with excitement, others with the beginnings of a hangover. lorenzo berkshire caught your gaze from across the room, his dark eyes twinkling as he leaned in to whisper something to the girl he was flirting with. you rolled your eyes and continued your search for theo, wondering if he had retreated to one of the quieter corners to escape the cacophony.

as you moved through the party, the twins, fred and george, intercepted you with mischievous grins. "looking for someone?" fred asked, his hand offering you a beer. you took it, smiling politely. "theo nott," you replied. "ah, the mysterious one," george said with a wink. "last we saw, he was playing hide and seek with a group of his adoring fans." they both chuckled, their playful teasing a welcome distraction.

you thanked them and continued your search, the music's bassline vibrating in your chest. the party was in full swing, but theo's usual charm and presence were nowhere to be found. the crowd grew denser, a mix of laughter and shouts as the game grew more intense. you felt a gentle tug on your sleeve and turned to see luna lovegood, her eyes wide with curiosity. "have you seen theo?" you asked, raising your voice over the din. she tilted her head, considering for a moment before pointing towards the balcony doors. "i think he went outside," she said, her voice delicate as ever.

you pushed through the crowd and stepped into the cool night air, the stark contrast from the stuffy room making you gasp for breath. the moon was high and full, casting a soft glow over the grounds. you spotted theo immediately, leaning against the castle wall, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. he looked lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

his posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his shoulders that spoke of his discomfort with the raucous festivities inside. you approached him slowly, the gravel crunching under your feet. "mind if i join?" you called out, your voice low and gentle. he glanced over, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "thought you'd be in there, cheering for the champs," he said, nodding towards the party.

you took a seat beside him, the cold stone wall biting into your back. "not really my scene tonight," you confessed, taking a sip of the beer that had grown warm in your hand. "yeah, me neither," theo said, taking a long drag of his cigarette. the silence between you grew comfortable, filled only by the distant sound of the party and the occasional hoot of an owl.

theo's eyes flickered to you, the embers of his cigarette casting a warm glow on his face. "you okay?" he asked, his voice genuinely concerned. you shrugged, feeling the weight of the night's expectations lifting. "just needed some fresh air," you replied, watching as he exhaled a plume of smoke. the air around you felt charged, as if the very molecules were holding their breath.

his gaze searched yours for a moment before he spoke again. "it's not easy, is it?" theo said, breaking the silence. "keeping up with all of this." you knew he wasn't just talking about the party. the unspoken understanding between you grew stronger with every shared glance. "sometimes i feel like i'm drowning," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. "i know what you mean," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. the warmth of his hand found yours, and for a moment, you felt like you weren't alone in the sea of noise and expectations. "theo," you began, but he leaned in, cutting off your words with a kiss.

his lips were warm and firm, the taste of tobacco faint on his breath. his ring clad hand slid up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you would slip away. you felt your heart stutter in your chest, the suddenness of the kiss taking you by surprise. but you didn't pull away. instead, you melted into him, the warmth of his embrace a comfort you hadn't realized you needed.

his thumb traced gentle circles on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. theo's other hand rested on your hip, grounding you as the world around you faded away. the music and the laughter were just a distant echo, the only sounds that of your mingled breaths and the crackle of the cigarette between you. it was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party just a few feet away.

you pulled back, your cheeks flushed and your eyes wide with surprise. "theo," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. he looked at you, his own eyes dark with something unreadable. "yeah?" he responded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk that was all too familiar.

you opened your mouth to speak, but the words got tangled in your throat. his beauty had always been a silent punch to the gut, leaving you struggling to breathe, let alone form coherent sentences. "you're just… so pretty," you stumbled out, your eyes flicking down to his chest, where his shirt lay open, revealing a hint of his collarbones. it was a clumsy compliment, but it was all you could manage.

theo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "thanks," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. he took another drag of his cigarette, the orange ember burning brightly in the dark. "you're not so bad yourself," he added with a wink. the confidence in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter.

you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting to him. the warmth of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself leaning into it, craving more of his touch. his hand on your neck had left a trail of fire, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you again.

the silence stretched out, filled with unspoken thoughts and racing hearts. you felt your cheeks heat up as you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right ones to express the tumult of emotions churning inside you. "theo, i… i just…" your voice trailed off, and you bit your lower lip, feeling your heart thud in your chest.

his smirk softened into a gentle smile, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. the touch sent an electric jolt through you, and you leaned into it, your eyes searching his for any sign of what he was thinking. "i know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "i feel the same."

you took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne and the night air swirling around you. it was a heady combination, making you feel both lightheaded and grounded at the same time. the party inside beckoned, the music and laughter a siren's call that you couldn't ignore. "we should get back," you murmured, not really wanting to leave the sanctuary of his arms but knowing that you couldn't hide away forever.

theo nodded, stubbing out his cigarette against the wall before standing up. his hand found yours, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through you as he pulled you to your feet. "yeah, we don't want to miss the grand finale," he said, his voice teasing. you couldn't help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly as you allowed him to lead you back into the mayhem of the party.

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

[dean-winchesters-clit]

Been thinking about the kiss scene and Ed asking to go slow and Stede reaching out to hold his hand, asking if it's okay.

Yes, it's awesome that Ed is setting boundaries and Stede is honoring those boundaries, but I think there's more to it than that.

Stede tries to initiate more during their kiss. He's the one who grasps Ed's hair, the one who takes the kiss from chaste to passionate. Stede is a man who has been denied human connection and intimacy for most of his life. He's a man dying of thirst in a desert and Ed is the beautiful oasis he's stumbled upon, so of course Stede wants to drink his fill. Who wouldn't want a piece of Edward Teach? But then Ed pulls away, uses Stede's own words against him, and you can immediately tell that Stede is scared he's being too much.

I've been a very physically affectionate person my whole life. I love hugs and giving cheek kisses and snuggling so much. I still sleep with my baby blanket so I have something to hold at night. I'm always afraid of being too much for other people. I've overstepped other people's boundaries before and it feels awful to do so. Because of this, I've often compromised my own need for physical affection, always letting other people set the boundaries and never telling them if I need more. This became a big problem in my last relationship; I accepted less than crumbs even though I was starving.

Stede is clearly starving for any physical contact with Ed. He sits close to him on the couch in Anne and Mary's house, always moving and leaning closer. He tries to initiate more during their kiss and even grabs Ed to keep him from moving away. So, when Ed sets a clear boundary, Stede is terrified to even initiate another touch. He's afraid of being too much, of scaring Ed off.

Which is why it's so fucking brave of him to ask if holding Ed's hand is okay.

Ed jokes about them both being the fish that wants to get caught and Stede visibly relaxes at the familiar banter between them. So, he takes a risk and reaches out for a point of contact that he needs. Because he's scared of being too much, scared of scaring Ed away, scared of never being touched ever again. He needs reassurance, needs to make his own need for contact known, needs to make sure he's not too much.

And it's almost like Ed realizes this and immediately takes Stede's hand, immediately says "this is perfect this touch is perfect this contact is perfect your touch is perfect." And then Ed initiates even more touching by stacking their hands, by initiating play that Stede immediately latches onto. Ed sees Stede's desire and says "I'm not ready for more yet, but I can meet you halfway. I can give you reassurance and contact in simple ways until I'm ready for the next step."

And that is just so beautiful. It's not just the boundary setting and boundary honoring, it's the recognizing of needs and making a compromise to meet someone halfway.

[nolita-fairytale]

something will happen | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: you and luca embark on another a big new adventure together: one of second dreams and second chances. the long-awaited sequel to 'burn your life down.' titled inspired by something will happen - berlioz.

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: it's really happening! i can't promise i'll be updating frequently, but season 3 got me inspired and i've really missed this world. this feels more like an intro than a chapter but here we are anyway. all italicized scenes are a part of the same conversation. i just wanted to play with something new so i hope it makes sense. lmk if you'd like to be tagged.

masterlist | chapter two

Late Spring

“Well? What do you think?” Luca asks you, the anticipation in the silence between the two of you palpable. 

“I don’t know!” you practically exclaim, all giddy at the mere idea of it. You chew on your lower lip as you wait for him to say something next. 

“I’m just saying. It’s not a half-bad idea and ehm… well, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot, actually,” he reasons with a shrug. He sends a loving glance your way because you look so damn cute wrapped in your twin-sized duvet that makes up one half of the bed you share. 

“For how long?” you ask, cautiously. 

“Dunno,” Luca shrugs. “Ever since Marcus mentioned it, I suppose.” 

He’s almost too casual about this—as if he hasn’t been stuck on the idea for the last month or so since his friend had returned to the States.

This is most certainly not a lazy Saturday morning with breakfast in bed kind of conversation. 

This is a paperwork and really nice pens kind of conversation

A big step.

Huge, even. 

You’ve already agreed to live with the man. 

And now this?

“Luca…” you struggle to get out on an exhale. “I just. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just-.” You pause, collecting your thoughts as you shake off all your nerves before choosing to pivot.

“What if we just-.” you begin again, taking a breath as you brace yourself to jump over this specific cliff. “Total fantasy. No limitations, no logistics, then sure. Okay. We could talk about it.” 

“Alright,” Luca accepts with a nod, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes like he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. He sits up straight, pushing himself off of where he leans against the headboard, shifting so that he’s closer to you. The smile that spreads across his lips begins to grow as repeats your words back to you. “Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?” 

—---------------------------------------

Summer

The dream was only supposed to be this—one where you’d begin living with your very sexy and very sweet pastry chef of a boyfriend—and yet, months later, as you move your things into Luca’s Vesterbro flat, your thoughts are consumed by ‘what ifs.’ 

What if you did it? 

What if you opened the restaurant of your shared dreams? 

What if your dreams came true with the love of your life by your side? 

Opening Kokuore had been different. It was your first step towards your next chapter, one where you had moved to Copenhagen in search of a new beginning. But this would be… a proclamation: that you were here to stay, that you and Luca could be something permanent, that you could be more than just romantic partners. 

Proof of a life well-lived and a life well-loved. 

Kokuore had been your dream, your first, your baby. Sure, there’d been talk of expansion—maybe a bigger space, or something along the lines of that—but you hadn’t thought too deeply about a second. 

You hadn’t thought about what would come next. 

And then he did. 

Luca. 

“Need any help, love?” Luca offers, watching you scoop two stacked boxes up into your arms, ready to be hauled into the bedroom. 

“Nope!” you heave with a sigh. “Not with these. But if you could grab the other three I’ll meet you in the closet, babe.”

He smirks, calling after you with a: 

“And what do you suppose we should do there?” 

You chuckle in response, your voice sounding further away as you shout back, “Let’s just unpack a few of my clothes, love, before we start taking them off.” 

—---------------------------------------

“Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?” 

You sigh, like you too haven’t been thinking about it since Marcus brought it up in the first place. 

“Okay, I’m not ready yet,” you preface, cautiously. “But. If we were, hypothetically speaking, talking about opening a restaurant together… I kinda love the idea of a brunch spot.” “Like Marcus said.” “Exactly.” 

“Slash bakery.” “Right.” 

“Hypothetically speaking.” “Of course.” 

For a moment, your mind gets away from you, running wild with the fantasy that’s beginning to unfold before your eyes.

“I think I really like the idea of it being a bakery during the weekdays when we’re open,” you admit, an excitement beginning to bubble underneath the surface of all your reasons why you shouldn’t. “Maybe we do Wednesday, Thursday all grab-and-go sort of breakfast stuff in addition to the bakery.”

“Kind of like a NY-style bodega,” Luca adds, building on your idea. “You know. With a little extra finesse.”

“Yes! Then… Friday, maybe, we pivot to full breakfast/brunch till the end of Saturday,” you reply, building off what Luca’s just said. 

“Think Wednesday – Saturday service would work?” he asks curiously, knowing that most places are closed on Sundays in Copenhagen.

“We could try it out. Extend our hours to Sunday down the line IF it feels right,” you reason with enough ease to worry you a little. You begin to back pedal, your mind flooded with doubt. “But-, I don’t know, honey. Don’t you think Copenhagen has enough bakeries?” 

“Not ours! Copenhagen doesn’t have ours yet,” Luca protests, as soon he begins to recognize what’s going on in your head. His excitement and passion alone might convince you to do this as he sits up on his knees, his body language expressing just how fully IN he is on this idea. 

His face changes—he’s only just a little more serious this time—his tone light and voice gentle as he warns you with a: 

“And I’m not letting you talk to yourself out of this.” He crosses his arms over his chest almost as if it’s a challenge. “So tell me more about this bakery-slash-brunch spot you’ve got in mind.” 

“Luca Davies! I don’t know where you get off thinking you can sweet talk me into this,” you scold him teasingly. 

He’s even faster to reply. 

“Oh I think I can.”

And this time, you know it’s a challenge. 

“Fine,” you concede to him, meeting him right in the middle of his challenge. “But I don’t want this to be all about my ideas. Besides, aren’t you the one who’s been thinking about it for months now?” 

—---------------------------------------

Fall

Over fresh ink that’s barely had a chance to dry, you and Mathilde clink glasses in celebration of the very big step you’ve just taken together. The contract had barely been drawn up before she charged into now-your Vesterbro home, opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, ready to sign on the dotted line.

A promotion, chef du cuisine, and a bigger percentage in ownership of Kokuore—a piece of your heart—now shared between the woman who helped you create your masterpiece. 

“I can’t believe we’re really fucking doing this!” Mathilde practically squeals, bursting at the seams with excitement as she rests her arms against your kitchen island. The two of you sit side by side on twin bar stools, facing each other to the best of the chair’s swivel-ability. 

“I know. It’s unreal and yet it feels like the right thing, yeah?” you agree, half in shock. Shifting gears, your back to business as you continue with an explanation of the ownership plan that you’ve thought long and hard about. “It’s important to me to stay involved, but most of my focus will go towards the new space for at least the next year. We’ll have weekly check-ins and Mathilde, I want you to at least consider some kind of ownership eventually in the hospitality group should we go in that direction.”

“I forgot you went to business school. It’s very sexy,” she teases, but the prospect of a hospitality group feels even more exciting.  

There’s a feeling of familiarity between you and your friend as you begin to break down some of the nitty gritty details of the contract. With Luca out for a jog, it reminds you of the days when it was just you, her, and Jesper, exploring your shared wildest dreams. The nostalgia wells in your chest as you take another sip from your champagne flute. 

You were really doing this and you’re so lucky you get to do it with your favorite people. 

Well, with your favorite people again. 

Who would’ve thought that moving to Copenhagen would bring you this grand of an adventure?

—---------------------------------------

“Fine,” Luca agrees, knowing that the way he looks at you only stokes the flames you feel for him. He’s got plenty of ideas, spent maybe too much time thinking about breakfast menus and laminated pastry doughs folded with all kinds of experimental ingredients. He hasn’t felt this creative in… well… since he met you. 

“I love the idea of breakfast/brunch. And I’m already feeling really inspired by the prospect of getting to create a menu with you, darling,” Luca begins, ready to build off of your previous idea. “I guess my first question is… who will lead it?” 

He’s not expecting the elated, “You, silly!” that escapes your lips without hesitation. 

It’s not that he has doubts about himself, but you are the one with the business degree. You’re also the one that’s opened a restaurant before, so he'd be more than happy to let you take reins. 

“Not that I’m going to totally love being on opposite schedules but…” you continue, this hypothetical conversation feeling less and less hypothetical. “...maybe I turn Kokuore over to Mathilde… spend a little more time developing this next concept with you. But. Without question, my love, I think you should lead it.” 

It’s his turn to be surprised, your unwavering belief in him felt so deeply it practically takes his breath away. The only response he can get out is: 

“I love you.” 

“I love you,” you giggle in response. 

“I guess my question for you,” you shift cautiously, as it begins to dawn on you that this is something you just might want as much as he does. “...is… is this something you want to do? I mean, I know it’s going to be a really big pivot from fine dining and-.” 

“God yes!” Luca exclaims, relieved at the thought. “I’ve been dying to get away from the fine dining stuff. I-. It’ll be an adjustment, sure. But yes. Yes, it’s what I want.” 

You nod as you process, listening to the conviction in your lover’s voice. 

He wants this. He really wants this.

And he’s so sure. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize you don’t have to have to suppress the feeling any longer.

“Fuck it!” you declare, as if you’re inhaling for the first time. “Fuck ‘hypothetical.’ We should totally do this, babe.” 

“Yeah?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

A beat. 

“So…” Luca trails off, the wave of excitement beginning to wash over him. 

“What do we call it?” 

The baritone in his voice catches your attention, and as you look at him, you can practically see it all. In Luca you’ve found your second chapter, your second great love, and now your second restaurant. The word falls out of your mouth as if it were destiny: 

“Seconds. I think… we should call it Seconds.” 

“I love it,” he grins back at you.

And now, you’re just as certain about a second restaurant, because you get to do it with him. Luca chuckles, catching your gaze once more, almost as if he’s about to say ‘I told you so,’ as he utters a cheeky: 

“Well, love. Looks like we gotta call Marcus and let him know he’s about to own 10% of a restaurant.”

[rainyinautumn]

there's a parallel in last life that I don't see talked about as much as it deserves and so I'm going to dissect the ever-living hell out of it. remember the ghast farm incident? everyone remembers the ghast farm incident. Grian turns red, he starts knocking blocks of a bridge out from under Mumbo, "there's a way we can still be friends," etc etc etc. it's fantastic. WELL. two sessions earlier, there's a similar confrontation between Scar and Joel after Joel turns red, except the roles are reversed. Joel approaches and it's Scar who starts breaking blocks of the bridge, trying to put distance between the two of them. HOWEVER, the interesting difference here is that Scar is doing it not because he doesn't want to be Joel's friend anymore, but because he still wants to be. lets take a look at a transcript of part of that scene, shall we?

[Scar breaks several blocks of the bridge.] Joel: Scar, what are you doing? I know you're not my friend anymore, but come on, Scar. Not the bridge. Scar: I wanted to make an arrangement. Are- are we not friends? Joel: We can't be friends, Scar. We can't be friends.

Scar knows that Joel is a red life and that he might hurt him, but he still wants to be friends, so he's providing a way that they can be near each other while he isn't in any danger by putting a gap in the bridge. he even breaks it again when he comes by to chat later. during that chat, Joel reminds him of how dangerous he is, Scar says he "gets it," and then proceeds to let him continue living under magical mountain. Scar doesn't "get" that he needs to be cautious of Joel—what he "gets" is that he's taking a risk by letting him stay and that he's already accepted something might happen. and he's OKAY with that. Joel is red. he gets it.

now compare that to this excerpt from the ghast farm incident:

Grian: Y'know, Mumbo, there's a way we can still be friends. Mumbo: Yeah? Grian: Yeah. [he starts breaking blocks at of Mumbo's feet] You could join me.

with Joel and Scar, it's a red life choosing to step away from his friend in order to protect him, while said friend tries to find a way that they can still be near each other without placing himself in danger. with Grian and Mumbo, it's a red life choosing to try to take his friend down with him so that they can be near each other because he can't accept not being his friend. the fact that in BOTH scenarios the friendship is symbolized by a bridge being broken is a perfect illustration of one of Grian's lines from the ghast farm incident: "it was a bad idea for the wrong reasons." those friendships should have been a good idea, those bridges should have been a good idea, but now they provide a connection that isn't safe, and they all know that.

and I'm not done talking about this. no no no no no. this offers a FASCINATING insight into why desert duo is Like That. Scar would sooner let Grian kill him than have to stop being his friend. Grian would sooner kill Scar than have to stop being his friend. which is all kinds of perfectly fucked up and explains exactly why 3rd life ended the way that it did. it also makes the cactus scene from double life very interesting to think about. remember the cactus scene? it's a doozy.

Grian starts session by dropping a stalactite on Scar's head as a prank and (unintentionally) taking them down to two and a half hearts. Scar then retaliates by leaning against a cactus until Grian breaks it. he then leans against Yet Another Cactus until Grian breaks that one too, at which point they are at only one heart. a question I've been asking since that day is this: if Grian hadn't broken the cactus, would Scar have stepped away before it was too late?

using bridge theory, we can find an answer to this.

the answer is no.

this isn't necessarily because Scar is actively trying to get them killed—it's more because he knows with absolute certainty that Grian will break the cactus. he's not prepared to step away because he isn't worried he needs to. see, the difference between Grian and Scar is that Grian is willing to throw around the lives of other people to get what he wants, and Scar is willing to throw around his own life to get what he wants (the fact that what they really want out of all this is often the other's trust is an issue I will dissect another day). once again, last life is the perfect example of this. Grian steals a life from Scar right off the bat and gets another one out of him by force a few episodes later. meanwhile, Scar makes a business out of selling his soul and threatens Team BEST that he'll kill himself in order to go red life crazy on them. and they don't doubt him! and they SHOULDN'T doubt him, because Scar is the kind of guy that would do that! the same way that Grian is the kind of guy who will drop a stalactite on his soulmate's head but break the cactus he's leaning against.

Grian is willing to risk Scar's life, but he's not okay with Scar risking his own life, because he knows that he's completely willing to stand against a cactus until he dies if it makes a point. so Grian breaks it.

but Scar knows Grian as well as Grian knows him. Scar knows that this is hardly a risk at all. so he leans against the cactus a third second time.

[meggtheegg]

FNAF Movie Theory...

I'm pretty sure there's still one major plot twist in the universe of the movie that's been set up for a sequel but hasn't actually happened yet. Heavy spoilers under the cut:

After watching the movie in theaters and then revisiting a few scenes on Peacock, I'm still kind of convinced that Mike Schmidt is Michael Afton.

Here's my reasoning. A lot of the characters spend time acting like they know something the audience/other characters don't, and those things are...mostly resolved. But some of them just...kind of aren't.

The main thing that sticks out to me is William's whole storyline. Starting with the scene where he offers Mike the job, his behavior is almost explained by the movie's logic. He sees Mike's name, seems...kind of deeply upset, looks at him very closely, stands to get coffee, and has a moment of visible internal conflict. Then he instantly offers him the Freddy's job. The way the movie frames this, it seems to be saying that he recognized the name of one of his victims, realized this was the kid's brother, and decided to kill him right then and there. Which is passable as an explanation, but it has a lot of holes, if you look deeper.

Why would William so instantly recognize a fairly common last name as the brother of some kid he killed that wasn't even anywhere near Freddy's? Why did he kidnap/kill Garrett in the first place, in some random forest in Nebraska? Why did he see the name on the file, then immediately stop and examine Mike's face so closely, when Mike's memories/dreams pretty clearly show that they never saw each others' faces when Garrett was taken? Why did he send Vanessa to "keep Mike in the dark" if he purposely gave him the job to get him killed? Why not have the animatronics kill him right away? He didn't know that Mike was searching for the man who took his brother, and while he could have maybe guessed he was still actively haunted by what happened based on Mike beating up a guy that he thought was kidnapping someone, it still feels like a weird choice to go and hire him, then just have him do the job with no issue for a few days.

As for Vanessa, we see that she's been cleaning up William's messes for years. Why is Mike the one she changes her mind and stands up to her father for? There's no implied romance between the two and no particularly meaningful connection beyond them both having family issues. I guess she cares about Abby because she's a kid, but kids getting hurt clearly never stopped her from helping her father before.

And, on a more meta level, this is Scott and his storytelling style we're talking about. The man puts plot twists inside of plot twists and everything always ties back into the Aftons, somehow.

So, here's my theory: I think that Mike is William's kid, but Mike's mom left Afton when he was young and remarried the man that Mike thinks is his father.

It seems convoluted and maybe cliche, but if it's true, then suddenly there's an answer to all of those questions. "Michael Schmidt" isn't exactly an eye-catching name, unless you had a kid named Michael and your ex-wife married a guy with the last name Schmidt. Garrett's kidnapping, then, becomes an act of intentional, petty revenge rather than an extremely random coincidence. Giving Mike the job and sending in Vanessa suddenly becomes about piecing together how much he knows and figuring out if he's worth trying to reconnect with or is just a threat that needs to be killed. (It feels worth noting that William is as far as I can remember the only person to call him Michael in the whole film. He also very pointedly never says "Schmidt" until he's decided to kill Mike and suddenly announces his full name out loud. If he went by Michael as a little kid, that is what William would default to calling him, but if he took the new husband's last name, that would be like like salt in the wound that he wouldn't want to voice. By finally saying it out loud, it feels like he's making the decision to fully separate himself from Mike.)

As for Vanessa, if Mike is her brother, it makes sense that he would be the person she'd turn against William to save. It would be weird for her not to tell him, but she could also be trying to protect him, in some way. There's never any mention of her mother, and it seems like it's just been her and William for a long time. Also, ending the movie with her in a coma feels like a strange narrative choice, but it makes sense if she knows information that's purposely being kept hidden for the sequel.

Of course, it could just be that the movie has kind of messy writing and I'm trying to fix it because I want there to be a deeper reason for it. Maybe there is no Michael Afton in the movies, or maybe he's off chilling and doing his own thing somewhere and we'll see him in the sequel. Only time will tell.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

PHIA SABAN INTERVIEWED BY ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY.

SO MUCH HAPPENED IN THE FINALE, AND HELAENA WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SO MUCH OF IT. WHAT WAS YOUR REACTION WHEN YOU FOUND OUT HOW MUCH INFLUENCE HELAENA WAS GOING TO HAVE IN THIS EPISODE?

"When I read the episode, I was so excited to be involved in that trippy dream sequence."

"I was hoping that I was going to arise from a lake of goo or something, or fly."

"But I was also really happy to stand there and talk."

"That was really exciting because we did that all in a green screen stage, just me and Matt, so it was really cool."

"I watched the last episode last night, and it was really cool to see all of that come to life."

"I was very pleased to be involved in that."

"My other thought was if she feels this kind of clarity in that scene that she has with Aemond, and that isn't historically how she's felt about her power and everything."

I needed to work backwards from there and try and work out what journey she has been on, for that moment to be so clear, when usually she's a bit more like, "Oh, there's a beast somewhere."

WHAT CONVERSATIONS DID YOU HAVE WITH SHOWRUNNER RYAN CONDAL ABOUT HELAENA'S EXPANDED ROLE AND HOW SHE'S GOTTEN TO THIS POINT IN THE FINALE? BECAUSE SO MUCH OF HER JOURNEY HAS BEEN INTERNAL.

"Actually, Ryan and [writer] Sara [Hess] and the writers, they very much left it to me as to how Helaena feels, how she connects to that side of it, and how it manifests for her, but it's an interesting one."

"The line between what I know and what she knows, I try and keep quite close together, so it's not always so helpful for me to have this really overarching idea of how exactly she plays in and what magic it is."

"Because I think every time when that happens to her, it feels like the first time."

"So I know as much as she does, in a way, but they were very keen for me to interpret it however I want."

"Then I think they're just going to weave it into the story in their magical way."

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PROCESS IN WORKING BACKWARDS FROM THAT CONFRONTATION WITH AEMOND. HOW DID YOU GET INTO HELAENA'S MINDSET?

"How I describe it is she has this amazingly strong intuition, and things come to her as gut feelings in flashes, but they're not always clear."

"She can't always turn them into advice."

"It's more of like a feeling that takes her over."

"That's where some of those really abstract things that she mutters earlier on comes from, but she also thinks of herself and knows of herself that she's quite a strange girl."

"There's a way in which her family lets her go and be her strangeness in her room and do all of her Helaena things."

But also she partially thinks, "Maybe if I didn't have these weird feelings or this strange intuition or this really intense experience that I have, then I could be a bit closer to people around me, or I could communicate better or it would be less strange."

"Part of her represses that stuff."

"Then I think with the trauma that happened to her in episode 1, essentially the worst possible thing happened, and there's a certain amount of dissociation and almost like a letting go of that, like trying her best to be the same as everyone else."

She has disassociated from the family reality, and maybe she has stepped in a little bit more to the other place, and she has more access because she's gone, "I can't abandon myself as well, so what is this?"

"She's given it the attention and the intensity it needed."

SINCE HELAENA BEING A DRAGON DREAMER ISN'T IN THE BOOK, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF HOW YOU'RE GETTING TO CHART NEW TERRITORY FOR THE CHARACTER?

"It's really fun."

"I know that people feel so passionately and lovingly towards the original story, but I think that me, as a fan of things, I love a certain level of loyalty."

"Then I love the idea that I can be surprised or something could be subverted."

"It more flatters the audience's intelligence when you get to surprise them and subvert things, so I like the idea that people didn't see that coming for Helaena."

"Obviously, I can't watch the show as an impartial person."

I WOULD BE VERY IMPRESSED IF YOU COULD.

"[Laughs] I'd be like a psychopath, yeah."

WHAT'S IT LIKE BEING THE BRAN OF THIS SHOW?

"The thing is that I really have absolutely no idea what's happening next season."

"I think that moment in episode 8 is an example of how clear and how powerful she can be, but I don't think that's the beginning of now she can just communicate like that."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she walks away from Aemond, [mimes shaking her head and shoulders and blows out a breath], and she goes inside and goes to her room and that doesn't happen again for a long time."

"So who knows, but it would be really cool if I got to spend more time in that vision dream world."

"I would love that."

"There's that moment when Daemon's going over to the tree, and then there's a guy with a deer head or something."

"I think Helaena should hang out with him."

THEY SHOULD GO OFF TOGETHER HAVE THEIR OWN SIDE ADVENTURES. NEW SPINOFF IDEA.

"Yeah, exactly."

"That's what I want for the next season."

DOES THIS REVELATION THAT HELAENA IS ACTUALLY A DRAGON DREAMER MAKE YOU RETHINK YOUR CHARACTER AT ALL?

"Yeah, I think it's fun because it's essentially development, which is what you always hope for when you play someone."

"I just really hope that there's momentum from this, that we see her change more and more and keep on being surprising."

WHAT WAS IT LIKE FILMING THAT SCENE WITH MATT WHERE HELAENA KNOCKS DAEMON DOWN A PEG AND REALLY HUMBLES HIM IN THE FINALE?

"It was fun."

We were there on the green screen going like, 'What the hell is this going to look like?'

"But it's great to do work with the people from the other team because at this point the relationships are so bad that you're really only going to get Helaena and Daemon together in a vision."

"They're probably not going to be having lunch together anytime soon."

"[Laughs] I'd love to go and hang out with Harry Collett and Bethany Antonia and Phoebe Campbell next time."

"I'd like to go and hang out with Alys Rivers [Gayle Rankin], all the people that live in different castles."

"Maybe I could meet them in dreams."

"That would be really good."

"It'd be like ... did you ever play Club Penguin?"

[LAUGHS] I HAVE!

"It could be Club Penguin."

It's like, "Meet me here at 3 p.m. by the igloo."

That'd be so fun if Helaena could just be like, "Let's go and hang out in dreams. Go and touch the tree, and I'll be there."

NO ONE HAS EVER LISTENED TO HELAENA UNTIL DAEMON REALLY TAKES HER WORDS TO HEART AND CHANGES HIS ENTIRE COURSE. DOES HELAENA FULLY APPRECIATE OR EVEN KNOW THE PART SHE'S PLAYING IN THIS WAR NOW?

"No, I don't think so."

It's all so intense for her and so immediate that I don't think she even is always like, "I have this overarching understanding of the story."

"I think it comes to her in moments."

"Maybe it muddies the water more, but I feel like that whole dream stuff is up for interpretation as well from the audience."

"How much is she a projection of his guilt, or how much did he just need to hear that from someone?"

"It's this magical realm, so anything could be possible."

"Maybe that's something that she could say in a moment, and then she's gone from there again, and it's just like she was just being channeled through."

"Who knows? Maybe we'll find out more."

I think to her it's just, 'This is my really intense experience of being alive,' and that's enough self-analysis for anyone in that moment.

It's like, "What am I going through?"

"And then there's this clarity."

"She's got a lot to process this season."

"Bless her."

WHAT WAS IT LIKE FILMING THE SCENE WHERE HELAENA STANDS UP TO AEMOND AND REVEALS SHE KNOWS THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT HE DID? THAT'S ONE OF THOSE RARE MOMENTS OF CLARITY FOR HER.

It's really fun to work with Ewan — yet again, I'm answering the question in an annoying way because I'm like, "I just like working with those people!"

"[Laughs] That was really cool."

"God, this is really the first time... it's the most eye-contact she's ever made in both seasons."

And she's really going like, "Don't fuck with me."

Basically, "Because I have this knowledge that's on a higher realm and I cannot and will not go and kill people for male ego and toxicity."

That's the other funny thing with this family: Yes, he's the Prince Regent or whatever, and her husband/brother is the King.

But actually to each other it's like, "You're my brother and you can push me and you can push me, but I know you."

"That is more about a sibling dynamic."

"Actually, I think that Aemond ironically is one of the people that Helaena feels she can communicate with a little bit better."

"They have this sort of affinity."

"It's just fun to play with those dynamics because she doesn't have a lot of long chats with anyone, so it's fun for me."

YEAH, THE LONGEST CHAT SHE'S HAD UNTIL NOW HAS BEEN WITH HER BUGS.

"Exactly, and they don't really answer back."

"This is very new and very overwhelming."

HELAENA DOESN'T WANT TO RIDE HER DRAGON INTO BATTLE, BUT DO YOU? HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT MISSING OUT ON THE BIG DRAGON BATTLES SO FAR?

"Yeah! It's House of the Dragon, and I've got a dragon, and I haven't got on it."

"I'm rusty."

"I really wanted to get on the dragon."

"I went and watched a few people on the buck this season, and I was so jealous."

"I'd really love to get on the dragon, or at least have a scene with Dreamfyre."

"Dreamfyre, like Vhagar, she's super ancient and big and cool."

"I'd like to see Helaena and Dreamfyre having a sort of spiritual connection, but I'm not complaining."

"I'm just happy to be here."

[oceantornadoo]

Imagine trying to get mafia!Simon to take you away on a vacation. He’s been so stressed lately, and you want to be a good wife, and get him away from it for a while.

It also doesn’t hurt that you want him completely alone, while not picking up on how he wants the exact same thing…😩😩😩

yummy. this has a smidgen of primal prey and exhibitionism with a small side of breeding kink

———————————————————————

“hi.” you sat down on the couch, taking advantage of a rare day where simon was home before dinner. you had been sleeping together (actually sleeping) since the incident, but every morning he’d leave at 6am with only a forehead kiss and you wouldn’t see him until that night, sneaking under the covers with you and falling asleep immediately. you wanted more, you wanted your husband, but unfortunately his work was keeping him extremely busy.

simon missed you so much it ached. today was a rare occasion and he was hoping to actually spend some time with you, maybe another kiss or two. he fucked his fist daily in his morning shower, thinking about you, but never had time for anything more. so when you looked at him slyly and mentioned “you know we never had a honeymoon…”, he is all over it, immediately telling his bosses he’ll be gone for a week and booking flights to territories far outside any mafia business.

which is how you ended up on one of those private islands in the caribbean, only you two and the ocean for miles and miles. you’ve decided you need to have your husband, all of him, and are finally comfortable enough to go all the way with him. it’s just a matter of making him see that…

“so if we’re all alone…” you say after breakfast the first day, taking in the sunlight and how your backyard connects to the beach. “and i don’t want tan lines…” simon’s eyes are on you, burning holes into the skimpy bikini you have on, mask halfway up his face from eating breakfast up. he’s taking in all your curves, bit of belly and some stretch marks, cataloging every piece that you’re allowing him to see. your hands track his movements sensually, sliding up from your waist to your neck, and ever so slowly, undoing the ties of your top. you hold them there for a second, reveling in the hunger in your husbands eyes. you untie the straps at the waist and the top falls, baring all of your tits to a man who might devour you right here, right now.

to cover the blush on your face, you turn around, working your bikini bottoms off, adding some sway into your hips. you bend over, fully naked, and hear something between a whine and a growl from behind you. you turn around again, baring all of you this time. if he can’t tell you want him by this, you might need to just jump on him. there’s a glint in his eyes, a reminder of ghost, the man who gets what he wants no matter what.

you’re running towards the beach, simon right behind you. he’s stripping off his shirt and mask as he goes, too caught up in the moment of care. your feet touch the ocean, stopping for a second to take in the salt in the air. that was your mistake.

simon grabs you from behind, marking you with bruises that will last for days. “thought you could run, wife? could tease me and leave?” you’re clawing at him, pretending to struggle while secretly loving it, loving this man who can catch on so well to what you want. “say red if you want me to stop.” he whispers and you nod. simon bites down on your shoulder and you gasp, the sensation so foreign. through the pain you find pleasure in being marked his, finally. he presses you against him, clad in only boxers, allowing you to feel how hard you make him. you try to run again, only moving because he lets you, making it so your torso is above the water.

simon is right there with you, standing in this ocean, captivated by you. “i’m glad we’re finally alone.” he says, stopping the scene from before so you know how much he wants you. “me too.” you reply, hands running up his torso you’ve felt in the dark but never seen. and finally your hands make it to his face, thumbs running over faded scars and bruises. you pull him in for a deep kiss, murmuring “thank you” in between kisses, grateful for this man showing you all of him. he picks you up, chest to chest, hand pulling your hair as waves gently hit you both from behind. simon is done with this, the teasing and the wanting, he just wants to take you.

so he’s running again towards the house, desperate to have you. he lays you out on the kitchen counter, a meal he’s waited weeks for. your kisses turn sloppy and he stops them, causing you to whine. “let me taste my wife, yeah?” and you nod. he makes his way down, licking your nipples, giving you slight bites when you try to tug him down more. next is your stomach, where he places reverent kisses so you know how much he loves it. finally he’s right there, licking the salt from the juncture of your thighs. your hand finds his hair and tugs it, so he tugs your nipple right back. “siii” you moan. he noses the outside of your clit, a sharp gasp bursting from your throat. “that’s what i thought.” he dives in, moving your legs over his shoulders, he starts slow, licking the remaining water from your folds. kitten licks, getting accustomed to the scent of you, his day old scruff scratching your thighs. he moves toward your hole, swirling his tongue around before finally plunging in. he’s sure to keep his nose against you clit as he tastes you, the squelching sounds increasing with every lick.

he moves his right hand from your thigh to your ass, thumb on your other hole, pausing to let you tell him off. when you don’t, he presses in slightly, just the tip of his thumb, giving you more pressure. he can tell you’re on the top of your orgasm, your walls sucking his tongue in as your whines get more desperate. he hums “come for me, lovie.” and there you are, walls clenching around nothing as he pays attention to your clit. he pushes his thumb in a bit more into your ass, prolonging your orgasm as you feel full and empty at the same time.

“simon, fuck.” you whimper at your husband between your thighs. he slowly removes himself, thumb out of you, as he gives you a slow smile, covered in your juices. he climbs forward to kiss you and just as he does, inserts two fingers into your aching cunt. you moan into his mouth, needing more. he knows. “what do you need, lovie?” simon smirks down at you, knowing you’re absolutely cockdrunk and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. “i need…” you lose your nerve, suddenly aware of being fully naked with the doors open. anyone could walk by your villa and see you spread out in front of your husband. like a switch, the thought turns you on.

“i need you to fuck me.” you say, gaining courage. he raises his eyebrows, surprised at his little wife finally saying what she wants. his dick has recovered from the ocean water so he drags down his boxers, letting you see it jut out against his stomach, leaking precum.

“need who to fuck you?” he asks, somehow climbing on the table, forearms braced against your head as his dick lays on your cunt, teasing your clit. “say it.” he growls, pinching your nipple because of your silence. you draw him in for a quick kiss, a moment of tenderness, letting him see the trust in your eyes. “need my husband to fuck his wife.” you reply, hand snaking down to pump his cock. he grunts, cock lengthening at your touch. he lays his hand on top of yours as you guide his cock to your entrance. he takes a second to read your clit with it, and while you’re gasping at the sensation, he slots it in.

you both moan at the contact, reveling in the feeling. his thumb finds your clit, swirling it as he works his way in, small strokes until you fully let him in. finally his hips are against yours, his face in the crook of your neck. “simon.” you cry, needing him to move. and he does, hips pumping into you as he rises up, one hand under your head to protect it as the other plays with your clit. you’re already on edge from his fingers, so when he changes the angle to hit your pubic bone, you’re there, walls spasming around his cock as he draws it in and out. “you feel so good, lovie. i want to make this longer but fuck.” your nails draw his hips in, letting him use you to reach his orgasm. you give him sloppy kisses, saliva dripping down to spread beneath your tits, showing him how much you want him to use you as you suck his tongue.

“come in me, si. want you to get me pregnant.” you both know you’re on birth control but that doesn’t matter in the moment. “waddling around, everyone’ll know how good you fuck your wife.” that’s it, simon’s cumming in you, white liquid seeping down your folds as your womb can’t contain all of it. you both leave his cock in you as he collapses into you, breathing hard. “want you to fuck me like that all the time, si.” you whisper, letting him know how much you liked that. “gonna be a good little wife for me? bend over anytime i want?”

“yes sir.”

[kacievvbbbb]

I’m not someone that particularly cares about a ship being canon or not, in fact I would rather the media I consume have no romance at all (giving my blog confusing yes I know)

But there is something about the canon ties between Shanks and Mihawk that drives me feral with need to see what their whole deal is.

Because like there are so many little inconsequential details that when taking separately seem pathetic and weak. But then put together it feels like it paints the picture of a larger undeniable connection and understanding between two wildly different men.

The fact that their main color is both red (Mihawk’s is a more wine dark red than Shanks’ bright red and a little more “subtle” given that Shanks is literally called red hair) but even then their main symbols, their identifying features, are red! Mihawk’s eyes and Shanks hair (yes while I love the gold and think that’s better I cannot ignore the fact that Oda consistently colors in Mihawk’s eyes red even though the gold is infinitely more popular)

They have the same birthday, are practically the same height, both with the promises to our two main protagonists to meet them at the top with a parting “gift”, both serve as a mentor to the protagonist (mihawk literally thought zoro how to kill him 😭), both with the bird(ish) iconography.

The fact that Mihawk, Mihawk! A man whose introduction was that he didn’t care much about anything and caused destruction on a whim, cares enough about what Shanks thinks to mentally apologize before trying to kill luffy (what the fuck).

The fact that whitebeard felt the need to reference his duel with Mihawk in his conversation with Shanks, despite not really being very relevant to the conversation and the fact that this is the first we’ve seen shanks in years and it is brought up in the same context as his relationship with Buggy (an already established relationship) reveals his relationship to Roger seems to point to the fact that this duel between Mihawk and Shanks is an important relationship to shanks. It couldn’t just be to show strength because he was about to clash with whitebeard the strongest man. It’s also hard to notice that those two relationships didn’t end particularly well for shanks.

Also the fact that it was Mihawk out of every character , Mihawk that brought luffy’s bounty to Shanks. Something he obviously knew would mean a lot to him. I used to think the scene was just there to show us how big a deal Shanks actually is like look at that fun childish alcoholic gang inspired our main hero? He’s actually a super big deal and he used to spar with the strongest character by far we had seen at that point (it wasn’t even close) and they fought on equal footing. It added a new layer of mystery to Shanks.

But it’s also the fact that even now with Mihawk’s bounty Shanks was mentioned and he’s the only one who this was mentioned for. Crocodile is just for his df and intelligence and they don’t mention that he literally tried and almost succeeded in subjugating a country and he was beat by luffy “or smoker given how many marines actually know the truth” even buggy who was literally Shanks’ sworn brother under the pirate king doesn’t get a mention like that. But Shanks and this duel is so integral to Mihawk’s character that it’s mentioned along with the only other long lasting fact we know about him and that is that he is the World’s Strongest Swordsman. Isn’t that fucking insane.

And like I feel insane scrapping all these details together as proof of something because they are all (besides the duel) the barest bones of a connection but god it is actually driving me insane.

And I’m not saying Mishanks is going to become canon or that it should or that I even particularly want it too. What I do want is to see how deeply these two are connected. What are these red strings of fate tying them to each other. Why can’t apparently ten years of little contact sever it? I swear to god if it’s actually nothing much I will lose my fucking mind. If nothing ever comes of all of this I will actually go insane. How can some people look at this and not see foreshadowing!?!?!!

[herejusttosufferalong]

I think L gave us a lot of hints/messages about what might be going on post-premiere in that Jimmy F appearance. Let’s note that this was after Papgate, after his and N’s social media posts in the fallout period, and after Milan if I am remember correctly? The more I think about it the more I think his team crafted the content we saw to reset his public image, explain some things, and encourage the audience to give him some grace. It was damage control/positive PR/but also some explanations for what we are seeing.

First off, he came off relaxed and confident, a big contrast from how stressed he looked when he had been papped. I think they were also trying to portray him as a friendly and relatable regular guy who had suddenly been thrust into fame as a heartthrob and romantic lead.

Him running from the carriage scene music/talking about how he is not used to the level of fame and exposure and recognition that has come with the success of the show (barber story, needing security in Brazil).

The reference to JB passing down the guide that was called “How to fall in love in front of 82 million people” - more messaging that it is difficult to have that level of scrutiny and specifically when playing a romantic lead when you have insane chemistry with your costar.

The romantic lines, read B-ton style (these are so L/N coded and reference things L or N have brought up in interviews, with the exception of “East Peasy Lemon Squeezy.) We’ve got:

Espresso lyrics - song with significance to the ship, also what L was listening to getting ready for the London premiere, Honeybee, come get that pollen lyrics

“Penelope, we were on a break!” -this is the biggest hint right here of why L was papped/appears in a relationship with another woman after we have seen his and N’s chemistry jump off the screen for 6 months and also in the show itself. THEY (N/L) WERE ON A BREAK. I don’t think he wanted to be on a break, but they were, and I think they’re now on another one while he tries to get his affairs in order. And note that he says “Penelope,” not Rachel, which would be the accurate pop culture quote. Which doesn’t really make sense because he and P are never on a break during the show unless you count the time she stops writing to him and he goes off the rails. Penelope is code for N. Also he is referencing the R/R relationship/timing issues again.

Then the Barbie quote. I think this somewhat addresses him being attached to a strong beautiful powerful woman (LWD or N, take your pick) and that dynamic of potentially being overshadowed and having to find your own self worth in order to handle it . I don’t think that last part about being her Ken was scripted (JF even gives him a wtf look and then it gets cut when it airs), but he made it clear he is happy being her Ken. He basically claims his ass as hers on National TV without meaning to.

I think the interview didn’t have purposeful mention of N for a reason, he was trying to emphasize his role as a B-bro and an actor and romantic lead in his own right, and connect him to the other male leads, and the clip they chose showed that.

He then follows up with a social media post confirming a late night/non-work/non PR beach walk with N and said security guards. I mean… that was a date, and for him to post that in the face of everyone saying he had hard-launched A and he and N were “all PR” is crazy. They also have to be aware of all of the Brazil reports and speculation.

I think the messaging was: This is level of fame and exposure is new, he’s figuring it out, give him a break. Also, everything is okay between N&L so don’t worry, there may be reasons for why what we are seeing doesn’t make sense but they are figuring it out between them.

Would the general audience pick up on all of that? No, but the hardcore fans would so they layered it all in there. Maybe his PR team isn’t that dumb afterall?

I know there’s speculation N was there- I don’t know if she was but her immediate like definitely showed support and that they are still a team. Wouldn’t surprise me if she had a hand in some of that strategy.

I think this is the first in depth analysis I have ever seen on the JF appearance that I mostly agree with.

Thanks for sharing 💜🥃