#and you should have just blocked them too

[envy-of-the-apple]

Ruptured Amethyst; Splintered Tanzanite

Dark!Satosugu x reader - Yakuza Au

Synopsis: In hopes of paying off your debt, you start working for two dangerous men. Soon, you realize they want more from you than money.

Word count: 9.2k

(Warnings: dark content, sexual coercion, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, piv sex, threesomes, gun, blood, violence) Ageless blogs will be blocked

In this job, you quickly learned that it's better to just keep your head down. 

Do what you were called for and leave. Do nothing but sit on your computer and look at numbers. Stepping out of your makeshift boundaries led to nothing but trouble.

It worked perfectly like that for the first few weeks you were brought here. The other workers never bothered you, and it took you a moment to realize they were in the same boat as you were: owing a debt. You wouldn’t quite say things were peaceful; every so often, one of Geto’s men would hurl someone through a table, but things were manageable.

And then Gojo came back.

You hadn’t met Gojo, yet. He was overseas on a business trip when Geto brought you in. You hadn’t met him, but you’d heard enough to make you want to stay away from him. Ijichi had told you enough stories to make you want to sink into the floor altogether. You just had until the end of the year until your debt was paid. It was the beginning of September, right now. Surely, you could avoid him until then, right?

“Ah, you’re the one Suguru was talking about.”

It was your fault. It was entirely your fault. Ijichi had begged you to stay after work for a bit longer and desperate to pay the debt off, you had agreed. No one else was supposed to be in the office besides you and him.

But Gojo didn’t follow other people’s rules. It'd take you a while before you fully understand that.

You could do nothing but stand there, wobbling in your heels as Gojo loomed over you. His sunglasses were tilted, cresting over his nose as he scrutinized you. You clutched the laptop closer to your chest, as though it’d save you somehow.

Gojo didn’t look dangerous. If you had seen him on the street, you would have assumed he was a model. Tall, long hands, pretty features. Gojo doesn’t look dangerous. Gojo is dangerous. He doesn’t need the gun (casually on his side, right in your line of sight) to prove it.

You say nothing. You don’t know what to say. So far, you’ve only dealt with Geto. Geto with his fake smiles and soft words of thinly veiled threats. As intimidating as Geto was, you felt safe enough with him to answer his questions. Speak when spoken to.

Gojo was uncharted territory. Should you speak? Should you greet him? Should you get on your hands and knees? Gojo was new. You had to deal with something new, alone.

You opt to stay silent, hoping that’s the best move. It’s not. Above you, Gojo’s clicking his tongue. He leans down, stooping his head low to get a better view of your face. You stare at him until it gets too much and you’re turning away. He likes that even less, grabbing you by the chin so you’re facing him again.

“You mute or somethin’?” He asks, tilting your head like he’s assessing you.

“No,” you finally murmur. It was a question, correct? He won’t get mad if you answer his questions.

He doesn’t seem mad. But he doesn’t seem happy, either. If anything, he looks a little disappointed.

“I really don’t get it,” he’s talking, but it’s more like he’s saying his thoughts out loud, “Suguru would not shut up about you. Thought I was gonna see something more exciting. You’re so...”

He trails off as though even describing you would be a waste. The thought that Geto speaks about you to his partners scares you, but you’re wise enough not to pry. Instead, you wait. Waiting often works. You’ve been cornered by Geto’s men (before they knew he was the one who brought you), most just want to intimidate you, they get a kick out of fear. When you give them what they want, they usually leave you alone.

Gojo doesn’t leave, even when you’re sure your horror is printed on your face. Obvious to even the blind. Instead, he leans back, eyes trailing down your outfit. Despite how most of the stuff done here was off the record, Geto still prioritized a professional workplace. You were expected to put on a clean blouse and skirt every day.

You yelp when Gojo tugs on the fabric of your skirt, bunching the material on your thighs. Forgetting where you are, who you’re with, you grab his wrist.

“Don’t be like that,” Gojo chides as though you were being the unreasonable one, “I just wanna look. Seriously, what was that guy going on and on about—”

“Satoru.”

Geto’s voice stops the both of you. He’s leaning against the wall, watching the two of you with a less than impressed look. You’re relieved when he’s more focused on Gojo than you.

“Sugu!” Gojo cheers, a complete 180 from his past demeanor. He lets you go and you sink against the wall in relief. “I’m home!”

“I can see that,” Geto retorts, but there’s an odd fondness laced in his tone that you’d never heard before.

The kiss they shared was violent. Tongue and teeth and messy. Gojo reached up, scrunching Geto’s hair, dragging him closer. Respectfully, you glanced away. You don’t yet leave. You know better than that, especially now that Geto is here.

“How many times have I told you to stop harassing our employees?” Geto sighs, once he’s pulled away. His tone is filled with exasperation, as though he were talking to a child.

“I didn’t do anythin’,” Gojo responds. When you finally turn back, Geto is shaking his head.

He smiles at you.

“Apologies, my dear,” he states, “you can leave. Remember to tell Ijichi you’re going.”

You eagerly nod before scurrying away. You can hear Gojo scoff, another murmur from Geto. You couldn’t care less what they’re saying, more than happy to grab your things, bid Ijichi goodbye, and leave.

Keep your head down, and don’t ever bother with what they are doing.

🗡

Technically, you weren’t in debt, your father was.

He had close ties to the underground. You weren’t sure of the details, you were so young when your mother left with you in tow. She was always stingy with the details, but she never failed to remind you that your father was a stupid man who worked with dangerous ones. She passed away right after you graduated from college. You’d mourned her.

Now, a part of you felt grateful she passed just before she saw your life fall apart.

They came in the middle of April. You remember that day purely because of the flower blossoms littering the sidewalk, the first sign of blooming spring.

There were three other men besides Geto that day, and you hadn’t known his name back then—just the man with long, pretty hair. They were all waiting for you, loitering right beside your home. When you hesitated, slowed to a stop, the man with long hair smiled at you. Geto calls your name. When you don’t respond, his smile widened.

“That is who you are, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nervously said, “sorry, but—but who are you all?”

He introduces himself. The other three don’t bother. You don’t yet realize that they’re only henchmen, mere puppets for Geto.

“Apologies, but this is a rather sensitive subject. Can we talk someplace private?”

You don’t want to let these men into your home, but his soft words and intimidating company coax you into agreeing. You lead them up the steps, praying to God that you were wrong about this—whoever they were. When you unlock the door, only Geto follows you. The rest wait outside. You don’t know if that’s better or worse.

He seats himself right on the sofa. It’s your apartment, and yet his mere presence makes you feel like he’s the owner. You loiter next to the door, twiddling your thumbs.

“Would you like tea?”

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you a polite one?”

It was more for you than for him—scurrying to the kitchen, away from his searing purple eyes. It’s a reprieve to start the burner, pour water into the pot. You take as much time as you can, but eventually, you have to come out.

Geto says nothing when you place the cups down. He takes it, humming at the taste. You don’t touch your cup.

His tone is soft. His words aren’t.

Your father did far worse than work with dangerous men. He’d stolen from them. He was already dealt with, his punishment had sent him careening off the Earth far sooner than your mother. Still, the topic of the missing money was still there.

Something that had fallen onto you, his next of kin.

You were already crying once Geto finished. Your body is wracked with sobs. You can barely suck in a breath.

“Please—please,” you’re already saying, “he—we—I swear we never received any sort of money from him.”

He takes your hand within his own, curling his fingers around them. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a nice gesture.

“I’m aware,” Geto comforts, “we know you haven’t been in contact with your father for more than a decade.”

His fingers are warm. They trace your cheek as he gently wipes away your tears.

“But in this line of business, family matters, no matter how estranged, my Dear.”

You look at him through your tears. He’s beautiful. Long black hair. If you touched it, you bet it would feel like silk within your fingers.

It’s his eyes that truly suck you in. Purple. It’s a rare eye color, you’ve never seen someone with purple eyes until now. They resemble amethyst, unpolished, but still just as beautiful.

“My partner would have much less...humane ways of dealing with this situation,” Geto continues, “but I think you could be far more useful warm rather than cold, do you agree?” You shrivel in your spot, already having an inkling to what he’s saying. It’s not like you haven’t already figured out where this was going. You’ve heard the stories of what dangerous men do to those who’ve wronged them—to the vulnerable girls who accidentally trip and fall into their trap, forced to work in brothels and debase themselves all for the sake of keeping them rich.

He laughs right then. It’s rich, deep, startling you out of your misery.

"Come now, it's the 21st century."

Geto smiles. Fake. Unsafe. 

"Women are worth far more than just their bodies." 

It turns out that even the Yakuza had paperwork.

It was a menial deskjob, on the surface, at least. If you don’t think too hard about who you’re working for, it could be a regular office. It’s not like any of the work you are provided with is illegal, but you doubt you’d put it down on your resume.

Your education had saved you. Ironic that it was your father who instilled your desire to learn.

If you don’t think too hard about it, your new ‘job’ wasn’t horrible. As notorious as they were, your new employers weren’t downright cruel. You still got paid. You had a contract. Things could honestly be a whole lot worse.

It was still very hard to get used to, especially in the beginning.

Something you learned very quickly was that the men around here did not like it when women had an attitude. You were far too meek to have one, but the other few women who worked with you became your teachers, showing you exactly what the men would do if you didn’t stay in line. You were more than happy to listen, and even then, your eagerness to learn didn’t help. In order for the lesson to truly sink in, you needed trial and error. 

You stepped out of line exactly once. And then you never did it again.

It had been an accident. You’d forgotten that Geto had an important meeting that day. You knocked on his door, shuffling some documents in your hand. It was muscle memory to just go in because he’s never said anything but come in before.

They’d all stared at you, eyes lingering up and down your body. One of them grins. Immediately, you look at Geto. Horrified. Ready to grovel at his feet if need be.

His eyes flashed dangerously. Purple turned into sharp magenta knives. Geto tilted his head.

“Come here, dear.”

You take one step. Another. Then another. The way they look at you makes your stomach twist and sink but Geto only looks at you expectantly. When you linger at his side, his lips quirk.

His grip on your waist is gentle as he guides you into his lap. Your cheeks burn, but you don’t dare move, not even when the men start laughing at the free show. Geto only curls a hand on your waist, keeping you in place as he leans back again.

“Continue, gentlemen.”

The rest of the meeting continues with you on Geto’s lap. You don’t look at any of them, hands balled into fists at your sides. You feel naked. The air within the room is stifling. You refuse to look anywhere else but the floor.

The conversation goes back to business. Despite the compromising situation, he put you in, Geto’s hands don’t wander. He's content to keep his fingers on your waist until the room filters out and everyone leaves.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Geto.” You murmur, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He doesn’t answer, at least not to that. He just sighs, sinking into his seat. Still, Geto doesn’t let you get up. Not yet. He waits until you’re looking at him, still smiling that fake smile.

This had been a punishment. The next time you made a mistake, you doubt you’d be let off so easily.

“Learn quickly, my dear.”

You nod. You apologize again. When Geto finally lets you go, you are quick to stumble away, pushing your way out the door. Purple eyes follow you out. You don’t think they stop looking until you’re out of the room, curled into your desk, steadying your heartbeat.

You stepped out of line exactly once. You never did it again.

Despite being under Geto, technically, Ijichi is your direct superior. You thanked the Gods for it. Ijichi was the only person here you were certain didn’t have blood on his hands. He was in a similar situation as you were; stuck working off a debt that he didn’t owe. You two bonded on your shared misery. He was the one reprieve you had in your new life.

Unfortunately, now that Gojo was back, Ijichi was far busier. It gave you little time with him. You suppose you were always welcome to join them, but considering your first encounter with Gojo, you’d much rather not.

It’s not like you hadn’t had similar encounters before Gojo's arrival. In the very beginning, one of Geto’s men tried something remarkably similar. You can still remember his hand on your hip, his other hand slowly unbuttoning your shirt while other men stood to the side laughing.

It hadn’t lasted long.

You didn’t realize he was shot until he was already on the ground, twitching in pure agony. He screamed and cried louder than you had. Blood was already dripping to the floor.

Geto had already tucked away the gun, striding away as though nothing happened. He didn’t say anything, the incident was never mentioned. Even to you, his statement rang loud and clear.

You were off-limits.

Clearly, Gojo didn’t care about the unspoken rule.

So far, Ijichi hasn’t acknowledged him. If anything, your superior is hunched behind his computer, typing away, rarely taking his eyes off-screen. You admired his concentration, but it was hard for you to follow suit, considering that Gojo had taken a seat right next to you.

His stare is impossible to ignore. You can feel it even as you desperately try to focus on the screen in front of you. As if he can tell you’re intimidated by his mere presence, he leans over, shoulder pressing against your own. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Watcha’ workin’ on?” He asks as though he can’t already see.

Still, you falter. “Um—”

“Um’” he repeats, “that’s all you’ve been sayin’. Hey, Ijichi—” The man in question jolts up, eyes already panicked.

“Your assistant always this jumpy, or is your personality just that infectious?”

“Sir, uh—” Ijichi starts before getting cut off by a tsk.

“See? Again,” Gojo sighs, “I see why you two get along so well.”

You and Ijichi exchange glances, unsure what to do. When Gojo says nothing more, you decide it’s okay to resume work again, typing away.

Childhood friends, Ijichi told you back when you were still morbidly curious. Gojo had come from a lineage of powerful businessmen. Geto had more or less worked his way up. They became partners somewhere along that time.

It’s hard to imagine them as friends or as anything more. They’re so different. Geto is so controlled, measured with every response he takes. Gojo is more like dynamite, ready to go off at any moment.

You suppose the only similarity is how unreadable they are. To this day, you can’t tell whether Gojo dislikes you or not. Every action you take seems only to disappoint him, yet he constantly hovers around you.

It takes another minute for you to be on the keyboard before Gojo decides he doesn’t like you working peacefully. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts closer. His head rests against your shoulder. With his new position, you can feel his breath on your collarbone as an arm casually wraps around your shoulders. You don’t dare react, but you send Ijichi a panicked look. He looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t move to help you. You can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his inactions.

“You never answered me, by the way.” He murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear.

You respond as diligently as you can, making sure you use as few word fillers as possible. It’s clear Gojo doesn’t like that. Or rather, he doesn’t like the nervousness your voice exudes but you doubt you could fix it, especially with his presence around.

“Sounds boring.” Gojo interrupts your rambles. “You don’t do anything else more entertaining?”

“No, sir,” you reply, “I’m only in charge of paperwork.”

Despite the other co-workers you have, you are still an anomaly. Everyone here has had an experience holding a gun—even Ijichi. It’s clear Geto ‘hiring’ you was a change in pattern, something you would always be grateful for. If he hadn't, you wouldn’t want to know what was in store for you.

That’s probably why Gojo was so curious about you. However, considering how close they were, you were now wondering why Geto hadn’t explained it.

“How long have you been working here—hey,look at me when you’re talking.”

You turn, and for the first time, you willingly face Gojo Satoru. His sunglasses are tilted down, and you can see his eyes now. They are blue, so painfully blue, like an ocean, curled up tightly within his eyes. Glittering tanzanite stares back at you—beautiful gemstones that glisten beneath the fluorescent light.

Gojo tilts his head, and you remember that he asked you a question.

“Three weeks, Sir.”

He doesn’t seem all that pleased with your answer. You wonder if you should have lied instead. He’s embarrassingly close, and the position he’s forced you into doesn’t help.

“That quick, huh?” Gojo murmurs, and he sounds a little impressed, “how many times have you and Suguru fucked?”

You gape at him, horrified at even the insinuation. It takes a while for you to even find your voice. 

“I—we’ve never. Never.”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. C’mon, I'm just curious.”

It feels even worse that Gojo's question isn't even unreasonable. Geto has always treated you differently. Softer. Kinder, if you wanted to be charitable. It isn't a stretch to assume you've been doing favors for the man, in this line of work, it must be a normal occurrence. Yet, you haven't. Apart from that one blunder weeks ago, Geto has never touched you inappropriately. 

Still, you shake your head rapidly, feeling heat flush in your cheeks. Being cornered and interrogated like this is humiliating, especially in front of everyone. Ijichi is nice enough to look away while you’re being humiliated, but you know he’s listening. You know everyone’s listening.

Thankfully, Geto intervenes.

“You.” A sigh of exasperation. “Get off.”

Gojo rolls his eyes, but you almost cry in relief when he pushes away and stands up.

“We were bonding,” Gojo argues, though, like everything he says, it sounds like a tease.

Geto’s murmuring something else, and it’s clear that this interaction between them is normal. It's almost a repetition of what happened last time. Both times, you’d been the commonality.

Gojo leaves eventually, shooed away by his partner. The office finally grows quiet when the white-haired man disappears to God knows where. You feel like you can breathe again, but Geto still has not left.

When you look, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and you’re strangely reminded of a stressed mother. Finally, he lets out a breath, opening his eyes and staring down at you.

“I apologize for his behavior, my dear,” he says. There’s a hand on your shoulder, mirroring the touch Gojo gave you.

“He’s excitable, like a dog.” You don’t think that part was for you, though you don’t think you could ever even fathom comparing the terrifying anomaly that is Gojo to a mutt. You don’t respond. Geto squeezes your shoulder.

“Come to me if Satoru goes too far. I always take care of my people, don't I?”

He doesn’t leave until you give a nod. His hand finally retracts, allowing you to sink into your seat. You watch him until his figure disappears from view.

“I’m taking a break,” you say, not even a minute later.

Ijichi gives a nod as you push yourself up away from the computer. You spend your break the way you usually do: tucked inside the bathroom, trying to wonder how your life turned out this way.

🗡

Sometimes, you accompany Geto on his trips.

You don’t want to, but it’s not like you can reject his ‘requests.’ It’s part of the job, whether or not you can refuse is up to Geto’s whims.

The trips aren’t too bad. Most of the time, it’s a meeting with other dangerous men. You mainly just sit in a corner, peering down at the ground, trying your best not to be noticed. It works, most of the time. The few perks of this new life is how seldom the people of the underground want to associate with you, especially when you're with Geto. His presence is everywhere, a blanket of protection bestowed only to you. These days, you feel safe even when walking home alone at night.  

The trips aren't too bad, but Gojo's insistence on tagging along changed even that. 

You should be sitting up front. There's a perfectly vacate passenger seat, right beside Ijichi, the least dangerous man in the vehicle. Gojo had practically dragged you into the car with him, holding you hostage. Geto slid into the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two men. 

Despite your attempts to keep your body to yourself, every other minute, your thighs brush against theirs. It's a miserable affair, but neither comment on your breach of personal space. They're both too invested in their own little worlds. Geto peers peacefully out the window, enjoying the city life pass by. Gojo is glued to his phone, tapping away every so often. 

It's tempting to sneak a peek at them in their natural states, relaxed, unbothered. You don't stare for too long. 

Every so often, their worlds will collide. Geto will point out a cat. Gojo would reach over you, showing Geto something funny on his phone. Unfortunately, Gojo catches your lingering eyes.

"Wanna see?" He doesn't bother to hear your response, shoving his phone in your face. 

It's a cat video, of all things. You almost wanted to laugh at how normal it is, but you're too intimidated to do anything but give a strained smile, more designed to please. You expected something darker. More blood. More screams. On the screen, the orange kitten lightly bats at a ball of yarn.

"Got a cat?" Gojo asks, tucking away his phone. 

"No, Mr. Gojo." 

He tsks, but before your blood can freeze, he says, "I told you: It's Satoru." 

He's been insistent about it these past few days: Satoru. Satoru. Call me Satoru, as though you'd even dare. Beside you, Geto rumbles out his disapproval. 

"Don't be childish, Satoru." He chides.

The car rolls to a stop eventually. The relief in your lungs expands. Ijichi gets out first, followed by Geto. Before you can move, a hand grabs you by the chin, halting your movements. 

"You're not leaving this car until you say it, pretty thing," Gojo tells you. "C'mon. Sa-to-ru." 

Behind you, Geto sighs, but he doesn't move to stop him. Right, Geto promised he'd step in only when Gojo goes too far. Clearly, this is within his bounds. 

You wilt under the hardened tanzanite. 

"Satoru." You mutter. 

Satisfied, Gojo releases his hold on you, hopping out the car, humming a happy tune. 

Geto holds his hand out to you. You'd be an idiot not to take it.

"Bear with him today, dear," he tells you when you step out in the pavement, "he's in a mood." 

Amythyst sears into you. You can only nod. 

Even then, Geto doesn't release you. He gently maneuvers your arm until your elbow is interlocked with his. He takes his time, walking into the building, mindful of your heels. Ijichi and Gojo are already ahead. Gojo takes a look behind him, spots the two of you, scoffs, but doesn't do much more. 

It's another thing you don't know how to feel about. The two have always instigated less than friendly gestures toward you. Yet, neither of the two have expressed any kind of jealousy. You know they are clearly lovers, yet the way they allow their significant other to behave with you makes you feel a bit nauseous. 

 Most likely, they see you as a pet. Not even a threat to their relationship. It makes sense. In their eyes, you're probably a scared gazelle in the middle of a lion's den. Cute. Something to play with. 

There's another theory in your head that you're pushing away.

You follow the same procedure you've always followed. You stay still and silent, like a doll, right beside Geto. Strange men come up to him, greeting him with smug smiles. They barely give you a glance. That's good. It means they know you're one of Geto's. 

Gojo being there changes the dynamic. He's more serious, in this setting. You sit right next to Geto's side, listening as Gojo talks. They both do that a lot. Talking. Negotiating. Scheming. You're a bit disappointed in yourself at how easy it is to let the words swirl around until there's nothing left to understand. It's easy to ignore them now. The horrors they partake in. The horrors you are indirectly part of. 

Are you allowed to be innocent now that you work under these people? You've never pulled the trigger yourself, but is that an excuse? Morally speaking, you're the same as the men you are terrified of. 

How laughable. You came to that conclusion right when they were discussing the price of narcotics. 

Sometime later, you find yourself alone, roaming down an unfamiliar hall. It's foolish to be out without Geto or Gojo or even Ijichi, but Geto had an errand he wanted you to run. Now that it was complete, you needed to return back to him. 

Except, you had no clue where he was. 

You were lost. You should have known this would happen. Why didn't you pay more attention to where you were going? This wasn't any old building. Dangerous men lurked around, even the weaker ones carried guns and weapons. 

It was only a matter of time before one of them caught you. 

"Hey. You." 

You were considered one of Geto's, but without him in sight, you were nothing. You knew that. It's why you cower immediately. 

"I'm busy," you speak quickly, "My boss, Mr. Geto, he's—" 

His hand is rough and scared and filthy on your skin. You are basically thrown against the wall, cornered against this stranger. He smiles. His teeth are yellowed and filled with tarter and plaque. 

"C'mon, there's no need to rush. 'Just wanna have some fun. How much?" Disgust rolls off your tongue, but you don't have the courage to reveal it. 

"I'm not like that," you mutter, "I'm not for sale." 

But, aren't you? You've sold yourself to Geto, haven't you? Underneath his thumb, his whims. What makes you so much different from a hooker?

"Sure." And then there's a shift in his eyes. His face scrunches up, like he's just tasted something sour. 

"Hold on...you're—you're that bastard's kid, aren't you?" 

He says your last name, the name your father gave you with so much spite that you nearly flinch. In that moment, you realized that your father had messed with a lot more people than just Geto. 

"Yeah yeah, you're a spitting fucking image!" He gripes you harsher. "Your daddy fucked me over while you're sitting over here nice and pretty? What the fuck?" 

He's dead. He's dead and you hadn't spoken to him in over a decade, but his ghost still wants to punish you for being his kin. And this man is his executioner. 

You're expecting something violent. Something that hurt more than his hand's squeezing your bicep. Perhaps he was, perhaps he would. Unfortunately, for him, Gojo interupted his plans. 

You didn't even know that it was him, at first, on the floor, on top of the man. Gojo, despite his hungry smile, eager eyes, was always so angelic. He isn't supposed to be using his hands. He isn't supposed to inflict violence, not by himself. 

He's punching him. The man isn't a man anymore, reduced to a mere punching back. Gojo doesn't stop until he breaks skin. He doesn't stop until you can hear a distinct crack. 

Satoru doesn't stop until Suguru tells him to. 

"Don't kill him." Geto warns. "It'd breach the agreement." 

You can feel his presence, always silent, never revealing himself until he wants to be known. So unlike Gojo, who is hungry for even a second of attention. More than happy to spill blood over it.

Gojo grits his teeth, as though he's debating to even listen. He stands up eventually, chest heaving. His knuckles are caked in blood. It's not his. His glasses are off. His eyes are blown wide open like he's just hit the greatest high of his life. Geto calmly hands him a clean towel. You don’t want to know how many times this situation has repeated.

"Who gives a shit." Gojo bites out, his eyes , trailing to you, and you flinch away. He looks like a wild animal, growling and spitting. You don’t want to be next on his plate. Geto steps in front of you, barricading you from his sight.

The man on the ground had recovered enough to pathetically crawl away. It such a stark change to how he was just a few minutes ago, when he was lording over you, drunk off of his power. 

Gojo steps on his calf. The broken thing gives a strangled scream. It only makes Gojo’s manic grin wider.

"Let him go. You made your point," Geto says, "calm down." 

Firey blue eyes. Bright and violent. You don’t know how Suguru is able to withstand the intensity. Even you’re wilting when it’s not even directed towards you.

"Calm down?” Satoru asks. “You want me to calm down? Did you see what that bastard was gonna do to our—" 

"Satoru." You've never heard Geto use this tone before. "Not here. Not now." 

A silent battle warred between them. Tanzanite bore into amethyst. Which gem would rupture first, splinter into defeat? 

Eventually, Gojo looks away, cursing. He glares down at you, as though he were blaming your weakness of all things. In a way, he’s not wrong to.

"I'll wait outside." 

And then he's gone, striding down the corridor. Geto watches him go, before glancing down at you. 

"Did he hurt you?" He asks. 

You're not supposed to lie to him. You nod. 

Geto pulls on your sleeves until he can see the imprints. Light bruising, nothing too horrible. You'll survive. Geto looks less than pleased. He glances down at the remnants of the man, the imprints of blood on the floor. You pitied the person who'd have to clean it up. 

"I apologize, dear." He sighs. "I should have kept an eye on you." 

He stares at the blood some more. Then, he smiles. 

"Perhaps, it's better if I just let things run its course, this time." 

You blink at him. He ignores your silent question. Instead, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, gently leading you outside. The car is already running. This time, Geto silently ushers you into the passenger seat. You take it immediately. Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off of you. You're grateful for any barrier. 

This time, the car ride was silent. You don't relish in it. If anything, it just feels like the calm before the storm.

🗡

Soon, what Geto was talking about became apparent. 

The man who had nearly been killed by Gojo had talked. You don't know what your father did to these men, perhaps you never will, but they didn't let you forget his crimes. If they couldn't get to him, then clearly, his kid was the next best option. You know it was them. It would be no one else. 

Someone broke into your apartment one weekend. Everything was ruined. The TV was shattered and broken. Your mattress was tossed onto the floor. Every plate, cup, and bowl was smashed onto the floor. They took nothing, but they broke everything. 

You hadn't been home that night. Ijichi needed more work from you. If you had, if you had come home that night, alone, locked the door, slept in that bed, then what would have—

Geto finds you on the stairs of your apartment, curled into a ball. You watch with bloodshot eyes as he observes the damage, clicking his tongue. He doesn't look particularly shocked.

You do nothing when you feel his hand on your shoulder, brushing against the sleeves, a feign of sympathy. You don't even care to ask how he came even though you never called him. Geto has a keen sense for you. 

"It'll get worse." His voice comes. Soft, and sure. 

Yeah, you knew that. You'd been naive, following after Geto with wide eyes. You thought that if he was untouchable, then so were you. 

He speaks about an enemy group, people with debts with your father, just as he did. Of course, he knows who did this to you. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t.

You don’t care. His words go in one ear and out the other. The reasons don’t matter. Your home is still destroyed. It’s no longer yours.

"They got my phone, too," you mention to your discarded cell phone. "My emails, messages." 

You're trapped, with nowhere else to turn. All the doors are shut and bolted, and only one remains open. 

You turn to the devil. 

"Can you...help?" 

The angler fish uses its darkened habitat to its advantage. Hundreds of miles beneath the water's surface, it produces its own light as an olfactory bulb. It's an excellent predator, swinging its bio lantern around in the dark sea, the only light around for miles. 

Geto tilts his head, a smile on perfect pink lips. 

"You want my protection? It's a steep price, darling." 

You feel like an empty well, forced to give and give until you're all dried up. Who could be so greedy? Who could be so willing to take?

"I've given you everything." It's barely a whisper. "What else do I have left to offer?" 

He doesn't say anything to that, not at first. Geto kneels in front of you, a slender hand lifting your head up by the chin. Fingers trail down to your neck. Not choking, just holding. His thumb lightly presses into your throat. 

"Not everything," Suguru says quietly. 

He's right. You hadn't given him everything. So far, you have always been one of Geto's people. You were Geto's employee. You were indebted to him, but you weren't conquered by him. 

Not yet. 

He's kneeling in front of you, holding your soul in his hands and demanding for your heart. In a way, you find it a bit funny. You just don’t have the will to laugh anymore.

He's smiling again when he can tell you're finally starting to understand. "We couldn't have been that subtle, were we? Satoru never failed to express, at the very least." 

No, they never tried to hide it. Even in the beginning, when you first met Suguru, you saw the hunger. You just tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your head in the sand, hoping it would pass. It makes you wonder if you had just agreed on that very night, led him into your bed, and bared it, would things have been different? 

"I can leave. We can pretend this never happened," he coos, "it's all up to you, sweetheart." 

He's making it seem like you had a choice. In a way, you did. You're choosing between two monsters. A known and an unknown. It takes longer than you'd like to figure out which one scares you more. 

You take the bait. The angler fish siezes its prey. 

"One night?" You're trying not to beg but it's coming out anyway. "Just—just one night?" 

Geto leans forward, pressing a kiss on your forehead. It’s not an answer.

🗡

Despite the many months you've worked with him, you've never been to his home before. 

It's not a house. A villa maybe. The property stretches itself stretches for miles. Filthy rich. Bleeding gold. 

Geto—

("Suguru," he corrected you in the car, "considering this isn't really business, anymore.") 

—had ushered you throw a double-door entrance. You couldn't even admire the architecture. Not when Gojo was already standing there. His eyes were hidden away, tucked underneath his glasses, but you still felt his stare. And all too wide smile stretched on his lips. He greeted Suguru with a kiss. For the first time, you looked down at their hands. 

Matching rings. 

You felt sick. 

'It's all up to you, sweetheart' Suguru's voice rings through your head all through a dinner that's really nothing but a flimsy padding for the rest of the night. Food was served, wine was poured, all in a bid to ease you into it. As of right now, it's still your 'choice'. You know, without a doubt, if you backed out now, they'd let you go without a fuss. Suguru or Satoru themselves might drive you home. You'd crawl into bed without a scratch.

But you don't. You stare at your plate, picking at it when they ask questions. Satoru's in such a good mood he offers to feed you. 

It's mostly because it doesn't feel real yet. You feel like you're watching yourself go through the movements. Eat. Speak when spoken to. Smile when prompted. Empty. 

You only come back when you're standing in their room, and the door locks with a click. 

The window blinds are drawn, but there's no light to seep in. The moon is already out. You wonder how many hours you've already spent here. 

You take another step towards the bed. Then, you turn around. 

Satoru and Suguru stare right back. You feel their heavy gazes immediately, flicking your eyes down to your feet, playing with your sleeves. 

Satoru laughs, perceiving the terror as shyness, or maybe he doesn't care. He steps forward first. 

"Don't be like that." He lightly chastises you, tucking one arm around your waist. "We'll be nice. Promise, baby. We're gonna be so so good for you." 

He finds your lips, then. Satoru kisses like the sun, all fire and passion. Sinking into you, wanting to melt. It's impossible to turn away and ignore his presence. He gropes at your chest, your waist, trying to feel all of you at once. When he finally lets go, you feel dizzy. 

Suguru's kisses ground you, makes remember where you are, who you're with. He's like the Earth you're crashing back into from your high. You hurdle through the atmosphere as his hands grasp at your throat. He never squeezes, but it's more than enough to sober you. 

"You smell so nice, baby," Satoru says from his place at your neck. You flinch when teeth sink into your sink, but you don't complain. 

"That's creepy, Satoru." Suguru chastizes him.

Serpentine eyes stare into yours. You don’t get the chance to hide before you feel his breath on your cheek. Suguru tugs at the hem of your dress.

“Take this off.” He whispers into your skin. “And get on the bed for us, sweetheart.”

This is the lesser monster. It’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you pliantly nod, hesitantly gripping the fabric of your dress. It’s horrifically easy to take it off and let it drop by your feet. You can’t bear to look at them anymore.

The soft duvet sinks under your weight. It looks expensive. Silky pillows. On either side is a nightstand covered with trinkets and personal items. You spot one of Suguru’s shirts on the floor, and it takes you a second to realize this is their room, not an impersonal guest room they use to fuck the less fortunate.

They stop paying attention to you. Satoru moans loudly into Suguru’s mouth. Suguru fiddles with the buttons on Satoru’s shirt, close to ripping it off entirely. Satoru palms at the tent in his pants as he unbuckles his pants. Suguru loosens his tie. They’re so violent with each other. Dread soaks through your palms, and you curl even further within yourself. You prayed this was all they wanted from you—someone to just watch, someone less interactive.

It’s not. When they pull away, their lips are swollen. Satoru leers at you, licking at his busted lip. You can’t seem to cry anymore.

They’re both half-naked. You can see the tattoos spread on Suguru’s hand, crawling up to his shoulder. Another peeks just behind Satoru’s neck. You only get a glimpse before he’s on top of you, eager for a continuation.

“Shit, you’re so soft.” He hisses as he squeezes your bra-covered breast. It doesn’t stay on for long. You wince when his fingers trace over your sensitive tits.

Your hands squeeze into fists, because you choose this, choose them. Satoru’s more than happy to sink into your breasts. His warm tongue swirls around a nipple before fully taking it in his mouth.

“Like a baby,” Suguru says. Satoru scoffs, tossing him an impressed look.

“Shut up.” Satoru releases your breast with a wet-sounding pop. They’ll be marks there tomorrow.

His fingers trail down your breasts, your ribs, your stomach. They linger on the band of your panties.

You can’t help it. It’s instinct.

He freezes when your fingers snap around his wrist. There’s no strength behind your grip, he pauses more out of surprise than anything.

His eyes, filled with hardened tanzanite, shoot up to yours. You think, if they’d be anyone else’s, you would have envied them.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Suguru. The silence is crushing.

“Sorry.” You feel pathetic apologizing, but it’s outweighed by the fear. “I—I’m sorry. I was just—”

“It’s okay, dear,” Suguru coos. “Satoru just scared you, hm? He’s such an idiot, isn’t he?” He violently smacks Satoru on the head. You flinch at the sound. Satoru just whines, rubbing at his temple.

“Mean.” Satoru childishly says, but he’s slower now, rolling down the hem of your panties.

Suguru is quick to distract you. He’s busy with his own bottoms before he’s taking you by the chin.

His cock is already leaking precum. He’s big, and you don’t think you’ll be able to do want he wants. Suguru smiles down at you, he doesn’t need to say anything. You’re swallowing down your self-hatred before opening your mouth.

You take him in just when Satoru buries his face between your thighs. The two of you have very different reacts. Satoru just hums, finding your clit to lick. You gasp, your legs jolting as you accidentally take Suguru even deeper.

He’s nice enough to let you go at your own pace. There’s a hand on your head, petting you, easing you through the process. Even then, your mouth is stretched uncomfortably wide. Tears prick at your eyes. Suguru’s face gets blurry. You don’t think you want to look anymore.

Below you, Satoru is enjoying his meal. He’s slobbering on your pussy, eating you out like it’s his last meal. His hot tongue finds his way into your sopping hole. You squeeze your eyes, a muffled whine comes from your mouth. The only loss of control Suguru shows was how he ever-so-slightly gripped your head.

By then, you’re unintentionally squeezing Satoru’s head in between your thighs. It’s so much. Pleasure tingles up your spine as Satoru continues to worship your pussy. His nose grinds into your clit and, for a moment, you’re wondering how he’s even breathing.

Suguru’s close. You can feel it every time his balls slap your chin. He’s speaking now, words stilted and heavy. It’s the only hint you get that he’s only holding his control by his teeth. That thought scares you. At any moment he’d snap, choking you with his cock, let you suffocate while he fills your dying mouth with his cum.

“Good,” he’s hissing out, “so good—good for me. C’mon, baby, take it.”

Satoru’s hand squeezes your ass, urging you to arch off the bed. You come like that, pressing your thighs around Satoru’s head, moaning around Suguru’s dick.

Suguru barely gives a grunt before something salty fills your mouth. You have to swallow it down. It burns your throat.

The air tastes sweet by the time Suguru’s cock leaves your mouth. You’re sucking in deep breaths, breasts heaving. Incidentally, you hadn’t suffocated Satoru. He’s kissing his way up your body. A trickle of Suguru’s cum had escaped your lips. His tongue presses against your chin before he pushes it back into your mouth. You can taste your tangy essence on his lips.

“Gotta’ swallow it all,” Satoru says with a teasing lilt, “he gets mad when it’s wasted.”

You can only nod. He gives you another wet kiss before he pulls away.

They switch places, Suguru moving over until he’s between your thighs. His large cock lays on your cunt. He’s still hard, his cock twitches when he angles his hips down, letting the head run over your leaking slit.

“The only reason he's going first is ‘cuz he’s been pining for you for months.” Satoru murmurs into your ear. Strangely enough, Suguru doesn’t comment. Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend what that means.

You hold your breath just as he presses himself inside. You’re almost grateful Satoru took the time to prepare you. His salivia, and your stretched walls make it easier for Suguru to bury his length inside you.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You hiss. Satoru feels enough sympathy to coo at you, kissing your neck, trying to distract you from the pain. It doesn't help, not even when Suguru presses light circles into your clit, easing his way through.

Suguru’s giving a harsh laugh when he’s fully seated inside, his hips meeting yours.

“Feel good, hm?” Satoru goads, reaching up to nibble on Suguru’s ear.

“Shit, so tight—fuck.”

Your hips twitch and you’re clenching down on him. Suguru doubles over, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, darling.” Scarred hands grasp your neck. “I’m going to ruin you, aren’t I?”

Your bottom lip wobbles. He’s eyeing you like a piece of meat. A gazelle in the lion’s den. To them, to men like them, you suppose you’re nothing more.

“Suguru.” You whisper because your voice is failing you. “You-you promised you’d be nice.”

Silence. And he’s laughing so hard his shoulders shake. They both are.

“We did promise that, didn’t we?” Suguru glances at Satoru. “Next time, then.”

He pulls his cock out of you slowly, dragging his head through your cunt. He’s so slow and deliberate that you think it’d feel better if he just went ahead and fucked you already.

And he was, technically. His hips rolled back into you, his cock disappearing inside your wet pussy with each thrust. It’s so much that you’re willingly arching your back, trying to do anything to alleviate the intensity.

Beside you, Satoru is pulling out his cock, his eyes never leaving the lewd sight of Suguru fucking himself into you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s cursing under his breath, fisting his cocl in one hand, “so fuckin’ hot.”

Suguru growls, grabbing Satoru’s stiff cock, crudely pumping his hand up and down. His movement are getting more erratic losing his pace, his patience. You’re at your end too, almost crying when someone squeezes your sensitive tits.

“How does it feel, darling?” Suguru asks with a ragged breath. His eyes are blown, you don’t even think he’s looking at you, anymore.

When you don't give an answer fast enough, Suguru snaps his hips punishingly in response. You give a sharp wail.

“I said.” Suguru hisses through his teeth. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can barely suck in a breath. You’re losing oxygen too fast.

But you’ll die if he keeps doing this.

“Good.” You tell the truth. “It—it feels good, Suguru.”

He grins, serpentine. You’ve lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing. His fingers descend on your clit.

“That’s my perfect darling.”

You sob when your walls clench around his cock, milking him dry. Your orgasm triggers his own. He curses, and something is spilled into your used cunt. Out the corner of your eye, Suguru and Satoru are kissing, going together like rabid dogs. Satoru shudders, and then all three of you are a panting mess.

You take in deep breaths, barely caring when Suguru lets out an exhausted laugh, collapsing into your chest. He licks at your sweaty skin. You just sink your head further into the pillows

It was over. It was finally over.

“You got it everywhere.” Suguru suddenly says, disgusted. He wipes Satoru’s cum off your stomach.

Satoru just snorts.

“I didn’t have a hole to dump it all in.” He snarks back. “Twice, by the way. So selfish, Sugu.”

“Quit whining.” Suguru groans. “You have your chance now, don’t you?”

What? Exhaustion blinks away.

Suguru stays by your side. Gojo is the one moving, rising from the blankets. He places his hands on either side of your hips, spreading your legs.

Geto catches your panic, easily catching you before you can even do anything. He hushes you while Satoru settles himself between your thighs, his cock pressing right at your slit.

“The night’s still young, dear.” He sounds almost sympathetic. “Be good for just a bit longer.”

By the time they’re finally done with you, it’d been hours. You can’t count how many positions they put you in, how many times your holes were filled by their cocks or their fingers or their mouths. You’re barely coherent by the time Suguru is tucking you under the soft duvet.

You feel sore and used and dirty. His soft words, filled with praises, just make you feel worse. Despite how exhausted you feel, you’re just waiting until they finally get bored of seeing your body and kick you out.

You’ll call a cab home. You’ll cry yourself to sleep. You’ll be okay.

They’re taking a while to get to that part. They’re mumbling soft words too each other, it sounds too intimate to be something you should be overhearing. Satoru’s at your back, hands curling around your waist, another brushing Suguru’s mussed hair. You can feel his soft breath at the nape of your neck.

Suguru’s eyes are on you. Amethyst watches you intently.

"Satoru,” he finally says, “go uphold our end of the deal." 

Gojo groans, annoyed. He snuggles closer to you. "Why me? You go do it." 

An adoring smile crinkles on Suguru’s lips. It makes him look younger.

"Because I don't trust you alone with this one for the night. Go."

“Ass.”

He sighs, but Gojo sits up, letting the covers shift off his naked body. 

"Stay right here for me, baby, 'kay?" He leans over, pressing a delicate kiss on your hairline. Despite everything that happened tonight, this was the most intimate thing he'd done to you. It's too...loving.

When Satoru leaves, you wait for a few moments. Suguru had yet to tell you to go. It probably meant that he didn’t want to waste his breath dismissing you. You take the hint, rising from the bed.

His fingers snap around you wrist just as your feet touch the floor.

“Where are you going?” His voice doesn’t sound accusatory, but you flinch anyway.

A wobbly smile makes its way across your face, you hope it comes across as submissive. Weren’t you done? The deal was made, that meant you could leave now, right?

"I—I need to go home?" Suguru gives a doting smile, as though you said something adoringly naive. He barely pulls on your hand, gently leading you back under the covers.

You follow because the gun glints by the nightstand. 

“Is that the best idea right now, dear?” He asks, “Who knows if those men have come back? I’d hate to see them find their target, wouldn’t you?”

He draws you into his chest. Your head is tucked underneath his chin.

“And besides, Satoru will be disappointed if you left without saying goodbye. It’d be horrible to deal with one of his tantrums so late at night.”

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Why don’t you leave in the morning? I’ll be sure to drive you back myself. By then, I’m sure Satoru will have made the proper arrangements. Don’t tell him I told you this, but—” Suguru drops his voice as though he’s scared someone might overhear”—he tends to be more efficient when you’re in the picture.”

You don’t know what he means by that, and you don’t think you want to know. Still, you lift your head, finding the courage to stare at him.

His eyes are such a beautiful color. Glittering purple in the moonlight. You’d stare at them all night if you could.

“I can leave in the morning?”

Suguru hums, kissing your forehead.

It’s not an answer.

[seat-safety-switch]

One of the greatest joys in life is using your shitty old car to shut down a legitimately nice car. For any law enforcement folks reading this, I would never endorse street racing. Also, I think I heard someone shoplifting in the other room, and you should go check it out. The best kind of street racing is the street racing the other person doesn't know they're having.

Now, I've had nice cars in the past before. Once, I had a Mercury Cougar XR7 with most of its original paint. Come to think of it, I might still have it somewhere in the backyard. Hard to keep them all apart these days. Anyway, when you drive a nice car, you get this sort of ego boost every time you see a lesser vehicle. How dare you peasants not realize how inferior your base Corollae are? Only a connoisseur can truly appreciate the divine features of this fine automobile.

That kind of mentality is simply not healthy. All of us, each and every one of us, are just a few generations away from being shit-throwing apes. The fact that we managed to make a machine that gets us down the highway quickly is a total miracle, and it's not any more of one because we put a pretty logo on it and charged $20,000 extra to put precision-engineered butt manipulators in the seats. It is this problem that the very fast beater is meant to solve.

When you have a shitbox and that shitbox goes faster than a nice car, whether because of superior driving (not me) or a significant amount of horsepower (not me) or a lack of understanding of your imminent mortality (possibly me) it is a great feeling to shut down those rich folks tooling around in their "good cars." It knocks them down a peg, which keeps them from doing things like going into work and causing another housing crisis. In fact, I'm going to go out and gap some Porsches with an old rusty fire extinguisher filled with nitrous oxide right now. You should come too, so I can get a ride home after the cops bust me for shooting my engine block across four lanes of the highway.

[royaltozaki]

doctor's advice

synopsis: y/n decides to go to the leading plastic surgery clinic in korea bcs she's sick of feeling the way she does about how she looks. she catches the attention of dr. im nayeon, the head of this practice who thinks y/n is way too pretty to warrant any of those feelings she has about herself.

warnings: this is lowkey just smut oops, fingering, oral, body image issues - so a lil angsty in the beginning

w/c: 4.2k

a/n: this one is kinda all over the place and i lwk hate it but i needed to finish it so i could get over this writing block like i did kindaaa have a vision for it but i gave up halfway and just turned to sex which is why it doesn't flow well LMAO but hey! doctor nayeon is hot so!

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

"can i get your full name please?"

"y/n l/n."

the receptionist smiles at you, typing something into her computer and handing you a form, "alright y/n, just fill in this form and someone will be with you in a bit."

you nod, accepting the form and taking a seat in the waiting room of the plastic surgery clinic you were currently at.

you scan over the details of the form. most of it was just demographic information, asking you your age, gender, a little about your daily activities, whether or not you actively exercised, all the simple questions.

you were feeling a little desperate when you finally decided to make a first consultation at the most well-renowned plastic surgery clinic in seoul. you had been thinking about doing it for a while now, but lately the feeling of disgust at being in your own body was overwhelming.

your parents didn’t understand why you’d want to do anything to the body they brought into this world. your friends thought plastic surgery was an excessive response and that it could potentially be dangerous. but none of them understood what it felt like to wake up everyday and be reminded that you were stuck in this body, the fear that no-one will ever be able to love you and that you’d consequently end up alone for the rest of your pitiful life.

your grip on the pen grows a little tighter as you remind yourself why you’re here.

you feel a set of eyes on you as you’re getting to the end of the form, so you look up, locking eyes with a gorgeous woman in a clean white lab coat, curious eyes behind a set of thick spectacles that frame her face perfectly. with all your experience analysing how you look you can't help but think she would be the perfect reference for your surgical procedures.

but you're also hit with thoughts of why is she looking at me? is she judging me? i bet she's judging me. fuck what is she looking at? is it my legs? my arms? my nose? is she thinking i'm an unsolveable case? fuck i shouldn't have come here. i should go now-

"hi, y/n?"

you're snapped out of your thoughts when you realise the pretty woman is now standing in front of you.

"y-yes." you curse at the stutter but she pays it no mind, offering a smile.

"the receptionist gave me your name. i'm dr im but you can call my nayeon. do you want to come with me?"

your eyes widen when she introduces herself. dr im. the most well-renowned plastic surgeon in the industry. you heard rumours that she had waitlists up to 20 years long and that you couldn't get an appointment with her except through referral. she was the one who brought this clinic its reputation of the leading plastic surgery clinic in the country.

"i-i'm sorry there must be some mistake? i didn't think the dr. im would be my advising clinician today."

she smiles again, "well no i wasn't meant to be but i came to grab some files from the front desk and i saw you and asked jiyeon," she gestures to the receptionist who handed you your form, "and found out you were here for an advisory session and forgive me if i'm being forward but i just thought you were beautiful and wondered what you possibly could've wanted to get done."

you feel your cheeks rapidly heat up as you gape up at her in shock.

"i can call back the previous doctor who was assigned to you if you want! i didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable i'm sorry if i-"

you interrupt her quickly, "no no! sorry that was just a surprise to me i definitely wasn't expecting that from you but um- yeah sure we can go now i'm fine with you being my doctor."

she grins then, and you're entranced by her slightly larger front teeth that make an appearance, "great! follow me."

you stand up a little frantically, gathering all your things and quickly following dr im.

it's more of an office than a doctor's room, you note the expensive leather and framed awards and certifications hanging on her wall, the neatly organised desk and pretty flowers that decorate and give the room some colour.

you sit cautiously in one of the chairs in front of her desk as she moves to sit in hers

"water?" she offers you.

you shake your head no, glancing down at your hands and fiddling with them just to be able to do something.

she looks over your form very briefly before looking back to you with a kind smile. "so what were you hoping to get out of coming here today y/n?"

you can't look up at her, "u-um just... y'know. like... everything..."

she cocks her head, "everything?"

"yeah like... face, body, all of it."

nayeon frowns, "that would be quite an expensive procedure."

"oh money's not really a problem. i've saved up a lot for this." you try to joke a little, if only to ease your own nerves, "worked my ass off all throughout high school and college so i could do this one day."

"you don't want to spend that money on anything else?"

you're confused and finally look up at her, "well i mean sure there are plenty of things i could spend it on but this is something i've thought about for a long time now and i'm finally ready to do it."

she's quiet for a little, seeming to be deep in thought, before she speaks up, "y/n... has someone made you feel like this?"

you frown, your sweaty hands gripping your pants tighter, "i'm sorry what does this have to do with my appointment?"

"i want to make sure you're doing this for the right reason. wanting to alter your entire body is a big decision and it can have lasting impacts. i don't want you to regret it afterwards."

you're getting more and more frustrated. this was a famous plastic surgeon who dealt with thousands of surgeries and has probably met cases like yours but she still doesn't seem to understand you. just like your parents and your friends, no-one understood.

"why does it matter to you? i want to get lots of things done that’ll make you lots of money and that really should be your only concern."

she narrows her eyes at you, “y/n, i couldn’t care less about the money. look around.” she gestures to her office, all the expensive trinkets and decorations she has lying around, “i have enough money to support a family for 100 lifetimes. what i do care about are my clients-”

you burst, “what do you know?! you’ve probably spent your whole life being adored for everything you do. people probably fall over themselves just to get a chance to talk to you! you’ll never understand how it feels to be unloved, to hate yourself when you wake up every morning and look in the mirror, to think everyone’s always talking about you, looking at you, judging you, you’re so beautiful you couldn’t ever know!”

she’s surprised at your sudden increase in volume. you had kept all of this in for so long, you felt like if you ever told anyone else they’d just think you were complaining but it was so much more debilitating than that. you couldn’t talk to your parents or your friends out of fear they’d think you were too needy or attention-seeking or whatever. nayeon was the first stranger who had shown they cared for you and you took that as a sign to release all your years of pent up frustration at her.

“i- i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to explode like that i-“

“it’s okay y/n. i’m sorry you’ve had to feel like this for so long on your own. but i just want to say, i’m not one of those people. i know it’s hard to believe when you look at me and what i’ve accomplished, but i find it hard to believe no-one loves you. and sure i judged you when i first saw you but not negatively. i told you i thought you were what i thought to be the perfect model for other people’s procedures and i was curious what you wanted to change about that.”

she’s collected herself and responds to you calmly, only with the curiosity of a scientist in her eye.

you’re unsure how to respond to her, feeling more than a little awkward now after your accidental outburst.

you attempt to clear your throat to start, “right… um so-“

“why don’t you take off your clothes and show me what you’d like to have done?”

you blush a bright red at her response, nodding slightly as you both stand and you begin to strip. you leave your underwear on as she stands in front of you, running her eyes over your body.

“um… so i guess if we’re starting from the bottom… i wanted to slim my calves down and shape them a little better… obviously um my ass i’d like to be a little rounder-“ you gesture to your various body parts as you talk, and she’s nodding, eyes focused, hands reached out as you feel goosebumps litter your skin when she gently probes the areas you're talking about.

"would you mind taking off your underwear? i just need to get an estimate of what you're talking about."

you blush again as you nod shyly, peeling the offending piece of item off you and turning as she prods and pokes again.

"um... yeah so i was also thinking a tummy tuck? just to tighten all the skin here-"

the feeling of her fingers on your body is slowly driving you insane. you're shivering a little as she runs her hand along your lower stomach, humming a little.

"um also like y'know, a boob job-"

she gestures for you to take off your bra and you do so, now standing completely naked in front of the doctor.

her hands come up and cup them, your nipples are hardening in the cool air of her office, "what size were you thinking?"

"i-i- u-um-" she squeezes a little and you take a deep inhale, trying to calm yourself, your eyes glued to the ceiling as she fondles you, "m-maybe one up?"

she hums and you feel a thumb brush across a nipple whether intentionally or unintentionally and you're suddenly clenching your thighs together praying she doesn't notice.

"so also um arm lifts, a face lift, kinda wanna hollow out my cheeks a little more and maybe highlight my cheekbones? lip fillers and a new nose, all of my scars obviously, and probably a brow lift too..."

her hands are on your face now, cupping your cheeks and she's close enough you can see the small specks of gold in her eyes and the little mole under her left eyebrow. your breath hitches as her eyes meet yours, they're so full of wonder and curiosity and you're reminded of the fact that you're very naked right now and standing in front of an extremely pretty woman.

she hums again, eyes dropping to your nose, than your lips, and you unconsciously wet your lips in tension, watching as her eyes trace the action.

then all of a sudden she's gone, moving back towards her chair and turning on her monitor. you quickly scramble for your clothes, hurriedly putting everything back on as you join her, blushing at the slightly sticky feeling between your legs.

"okay so we can do everything you just said. i'm going to need a few references-"

"you can use yourself for most of them."

she raises an eyebrow at you, a slight lift in the corner of her mouth.

"i appreciate the compliment y/n but if you're going to play that game then i'd like to say i wouldn't want to be sitting here discussing what to change about you in the first place."

"what would you be doing then?"

there's a glint in her eyes and you swallow, "helping you realise how there's nothing to change. eventually i'd get you to help me take a few pictures maybe, as reference for future customers who come in."

"and how would you do that?"

"how would i make you feel beautiful?" she's standing up and rounding her desk, taking her glasses off and placing them on her table, and you're looking up at her feeling strangely defiant.

"well yeah it'd be pretty hard knowing how much i hate myself-"

her arms now bracket the sides of your chair and she's leaning down with a clear smirk on her face.

"i'd touch along here," she's trailing one of her hands up your arm, leaving goosebumps in her wake, "here," she reaches your neck, then up to your face, leaning in to speak into your ear now, "everywhere just so you know exactly what i'm talking about. and i'd make you feel so good like you've never felt before, and i'd keep doing that until you realise just how crazy you drive me."

your eyes are lidded when you speak up again, voice hoarse and deep, "try it."

she's all in your space now, climbing into into your lap, lips closing around your ear lobe as she sucks. your eyes close and you groan a little when her hips meet yours, tilting your head back distantly wondering how the fuck you got yourself in this situation but quickly shaking that thought off when you feel her move towards your neck, licking and sucking.

soon enough she's moving up your jaw and towards your lips, one hand on your shoulder, the other one at your waist. she stops just short of your lips with a little smirk on her face as you share the same air.

your eyes meet her in a blaze and you surprise her when you yank her down, she moans when that brings your hips together even closer and you capture her lips with impatient want. her hands are tangling into your hair now, pulling lightly as your lips slide against each other, your breath hitching when she licks a tongue along your top lip.

“these- fucking- lips-“ she’s breaking away between kisses for air, panting softly.

“i can’t believe- you’d want to do anything- when i could kiss these- all fucking day-“

she’s breaking away again, leaving you chasing as she places pecks all across your face, “new nose? please this slant is perfect. these cheeks are adorable and these eyebrows shape your pretty pretty face just right-“ she’s kissing every inch of your skin, moving back down to your neck and nipping at your collarbone.

her hands are at the bottom of your shirt, sneaking up to caress the lines of your stomach and you let out a sharp inhale when one hand comes unashamedly up to cup your breast.

“how could you be making those pretty sounds if this wasn’t your body i was touching hmm?” she’s lifting your shirt over your head, sliding her hands everywhere.

"breast implants?" she scoffs as she brings her hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, flinging it behind her and moving her hands straight to cup your tits. "please darling look how perfectly these fit in my hands. and the way they spill out between my fingers if i squeeze like this-" you moan unabashedly now when she gropes and grasps.

"god i could just hold these all day-" she's dipping down, a tongue tracing the top of your breast, the hot feeling against your skin driving you absolutely mad as you roll your hips against her with a whimper.

she pushes you back down roughly with her hips, looking up at you, her hands never stopping her fondling at your breasts, she is obscene. "don't do that now sweetie. i'm meant to be taking care of you and showing you just how pretty you are to me. so you're gonna sit there and look pretty while i do exactly that mmk?"

she's taking a nipple into her mouth now, licking and sucking, and you hiss when she bites down softly, feeling her mouth turn upward at the sound.

she lavishes your breasts, leaving you quivering and flushed in her wake, she makes small comments in between periods of sucking marks into the side of your tits, her tongue has never once left your body since she started, wet trails leading everywhere.

she's kissing down your stomach now and you suck in a breath as she sinks to her knees in front of you, looking up at you with those curious eyes, completely clothed still in her white labcoat, mouth wrecked and lips in a pretty little pout. she's spreading your legs and you're fighting a little against her, embarassed at the fact that her face would be so close to you and she could see every little detail of your arousal.

she tuts but shuffles back a little, letting you close your legs again but she picks one up and starts feeling along your calf, pressing gently at the muscles there and feeling you unclench in relief.

"these don't need anything done either. you're just a little tense here. some stretching and a good massage will work those kinks right out and you won't even notice them anymore."

she's pressing down on all the pressure points to release the tension in your calves, and you moan slightly in pleasure as your head lolls back, eyes squeezing shut, cool air hitting your wet breasts, nipples perking at the lack of attention and you shudder.

you're helpless when she starts spreading your legs again, miraculous hands moving up to your knees, still kneading and massaging, then up to your thighs.

then her mouth is on you again, hot and wet against the inside of your thighs and you're squirming, breathing picking up as the tension in the room multiplies tenfold. you don't dare look down at her afraid the sight may just push you over the edge.

but hands come shooting down to her head when that tongue, that fucking tongue, licks a gentle strip from the bottom of your cunt to the top, stalling at the hood of your clitoris and pushing it back only to place a small peck on the nub and moving back down to drink in the essence flowing out of you.

"f-fuck dr im i-i-"

she stops, looking up at you with a quirk of an eyebrow, a lustful darkness seeping into her curious eyes, "call me that again."

"doctor im?"

she's back to lapping at your pussy and you moan, closing your thighs around her head, one arm raised up and holding on to the back of the chair to keep yourself upright.

"so fucking delicious. my god i could just tie you up and eat you out for hours."

you're whining, cunt clenching at her words but she's prying your folds open with her fingers, enamoured by the way your hole only seems to leak more with every action she takes, then she's licking into you and you cry out at the feeling. her tongue lashing against your walls as she moans at the taste of your core, sending shockwaves of pleasure right up your spine.

you can't take much more but she's lifting your ass and gripping, tugging you closer to her so she can explore even more of you.

eventually her mouth comes up for air and she's grabbing and kneading your ass cheeks, "these?-" her voice is a lot more gravelly now, thick with lust and she's panting slightly, "you don't know how perfect these are. they're the exact amount of firmness but still soft enough that i could use your ass like a pillow and you're talking about shape?" she sends a light slap up into you and you gasp, only clenching even harder around nothing, "just look how that rippled for me darling you need to know how fucking hot you look right now and how much you turn me on just from looking at you."

she almost sounds like she's growling with the low tenure of her voice and she's tugging you back into her, kissing your clit and sucking it into her mouth.

"d-doc- i- i- oh fuck- i'm gonna-"

she offers no response, just humming into you and you rut your hips into her at the vibration, completely helpless and positively dripping.

soon enough you're spilling over, coming with a moan, your back arching and she's licking you through it, you're completely blissed out heaving in effort before you slump back down into the chair.

but she doesn't stop. you're feeling overstimulated as she continues her assault on your pussy and you're lightly tugging her hair upwards trying to get her to come up but she's shaking her head no, and then shaking her head to tongue you side to side and you're building up all over again.

"w-wait d-doc i- i can't i just- doc-"

she looks up at you then, and holy fuck you almost came again at the sight. her slightly disheveled hair, eyes glazed over, mouth open and tongue sticking out absolutely ruined.

she's moving back up your body, kissing along places she's already left her mark on. "what did i say about sitting still and looking pretty baby? hmm?" a long finger finds its way to your folds and you're clenching in anticipation. "i said i'd make you cum as many times as it'll take for you to realise you're hot right? i'm not one to take back my words sweetie."

"f-fuck i- oh shit doc i-"

she's pushing into you torturously slow, a teasing smirk against your neck, "hm?"

"nggh fuck please- please i need- fuck- i need you- oh shit-"

"this?" another finger joins her but she stays hilted inside you, unmoving as you wriggle under her.

"ah- y-yes! p-please move- oh fuck i- please-" you're babbling at this point, almost incoherent but she's sliding out of you and then pushing in oh so wonderfully.

she's back to mouthing at your nipple, the sensitive nubs sending flares of heat down to your core, "so so pretty."

"i- yes- i- oh fuck-"

her fingers are entering you at a faster pace now, the wet sounds of your fucking filling the empty office.

all of a sudden there's a loud knock at the door and she stills inside you, looking up in slight alarm, nipple popping out of her mouth.

"doctor im your 3pm is here."

you can't help but clench around her fingers and she whips her head back down to you, wiggling her fingers a little at the feeling and you gasp.

"tell them to wait! i'll be another 10 minutes."

she's started moving inside you again and you bite your lip trying to keep quiet.

"alright." the sound of footsteps walking away is quiet before nayeon is driving into you again with renewed vigour.

she's hitting the spot inside you that's making your toes curl, her lips are back around your nipple sucking and licking, and then she's using a hand and pressing down lightly on your lower stomach stimulating your g-spot both from the inside and outside and you cry out around her as you come.

you're panting as she brings you back down, caressing your face and pushing your hair back, moving up to leave kisses all across your face again.

you're only able to open your eyes after a minute or so, blinking dazedly at her as she smiles and plants a kiss on your lips.

"listen... if you want... how about you give me a chance to make you feel loved, to show you how beautiful you are, and if you still feel that way about yourself afterwards, then i'll do all those surgeries for you personally, no more questions asked." she's soft against you, and you can't help but nuzzle your head into her neck, still a little boneless.

"okay."

"okay?" her eyes are bright as she pulls back so she can face you.

you nod with a lazy smile and she's hugging you, kissing your face again murmuring sweet you're so prettys and you did so wells.

too soon and she's lifting herself off you, helping you back into your clothes and standing by the door.

"i'm sorry that i had another appointment. i totally forgot. but i've got your number in my files so i'll message you after work today okay? maybe if you're free tonight we can grab something to eat together?"

you're shy as she's sending you off, nodding a small yes.

"okay don't ghost me now yeah?"

you blush, "y-yeah. see you dr. im."

"nayeon please. you can call me nayeon when we're not... y'know-" she sends you a wink and you only blush more, only barely stopping yourself from bowing to her in apology.

"alright n-nayeon."

"there we go. i'll see you in a bit okay y/n?"

you smile and walk out the door she's opened for you. it would still be a long way before you could be happy with yourself, but you thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to postpone your surgeries for a little and see what im nayeon likes so much about you.

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Chuuya Nakahara Edition ♡

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ MDNI. really needed a fun lil drabble to break up my writer's block and this was perfect. silly but super fun to write. lemme know whatcha think. luv u ♡ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chuuya definitely gives you aftercare, it's just not always the most well thought out when he’s gotten back from a long night at work. He doesn't remember to have dinner ready or pajamas laid out, but he still holds you as you collapse onto his chest. Laughs with you while the two of you place the 4th doordash order of the week to his apartment since you're both too spent to even think about cooking. He runs light fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead, teasing you for how hard you came while also reminding you of how fuckin' gorgeous you looked bent over for him. The thought of it alone promptly brings his lips back to yours, nearly earning you a round 2 before the food arrives.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It takes Chuuya a long time to admit it, even if it's fairly obvious, but he's self-conscious about his body. About the way he thinks it should look versus the way it actually does. He’s always praising you. Always so good about making you love parts of yourself that you didn't know you could, though he rarely gives himself the same respect. Your thighs get a lot of his attention. He touches them constantly without meaning to. His hand resting on them while he drives. His fingers mindlessly gliding across them while you watch TV before bed. His face buried between them any chance he gets. He loves 'em. You decide to challenge him one day after a shower, using his own words against him: "Chuuya, tell me one thing you love about yourself -" you shoot him a pointed look, not giving him the chance to deflect with his usual sarcasm, "and be serious. You have to mean it." He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, apprehensively looking over his reflection before he lets out a sharp exhale. "Fine. My eyes." "What about them?" You press. "They're... nice."

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

One of Chuuya's favorite highs in life is being pussy-drunk. Being so completely enamored by your taste and scent that he can't physically think of anything else besides you. He loves the feeling of your cum dripping down his chin. The insanely beautiful fucked-out noises you make for him when you sit on his face and nearly drown him in your release. He gets a sick satisfaction in showing up to work, knowing that there are still remnants of the morning head he gave you clinging to the collar of his shirt. You're his girl and he takes making you cum very seriously.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chuuya is a dominant people pleaser, which is a dangerous combination to begin with, but especially when it starts blending into his finances. Being a Port Mafia executive, he has more money than he knows what to do with and he fucking loves buying you stuff. Taking you on shopping trips and watching you fill bag after bag with frivolous, designer outfits that you’d never buy for yourself otherwise. Swiping his debit card for purses and necklaces and shoes that total out to nearly $10,000. There's something almost addicting about it, he revels in your reactions. The way you look so awestruck every time he drops a fat stack of cash on you, but also how good it makes him feel being able to spoil you as much as he does. Alexa, what does “findom” mean?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Chuuya’s experienced, but a lot of his past hookups were one nightstands or meaningless flings. Drunken mishaps that held little to no weight in his mind. You've both learned a lot from each other by being comfortable enough to explore things you wouldn't have with previous partners. Communication is so strong with him. He always wants to know what you like and if there’s anything you want to try but haven’t yet. He wants to know everything about your body - wants it to only respond to him. He'd had sex in the past, but he realized that he'd never really properly fucked someone until he met you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As much as Chuuya loves bending you over, he’s such a slut for you being on top. Holding your hips to help guide you and thrusting up into you when you’re not expecting it, going as deep as he can while you sink back onto him with a pretty glazed over expression. The way your eyes widen every time he does it. The duality of being in control while also letting you use him. The view of your tits bouncing so perfectly for him while the sound of your ass smacking against his thighs echoes across the room. He loves watching you struggle to take the whole thing. You're usually holding onto him for support, hands clasped around his neck, your stare locked intently with his while your cunt throbs around him. The pouty fucking look that takes over your face when he plunges into you. You become a whimpering mess, trying to tell him how close you are with broken words as if he can’t feel your walls clenching around him. "Chuuya - 'm, I'm gonna -" "I know baby, keep going. Keep fuckin’ going. Doin’ so good f’me.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chuuya's form of flirting is witty banter. Sarcastic comments that the two of you volley back and forth between each other. He's generally more serious in the moment, but he will literally never pass up the chance to whisper a snarky little nothing in your ear to get you flustered, especially in public. He loves making you blush. Loves knowing that he's capable of getting you so worked up without even touching you. Loves seeing you squirm and swat him away with a feeble, "Chuuya! Not here!"

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chuuya never really understood the question, "does the carpet match the drapes?" and why it was such a hot topic when it came to redheads. It was wildly irritating growing up and getting asked that so often by his asshole friends. Of course they matched. Why wouldn't they? As an adult, Chuuya fully embraces this though. He takes pride in making sure he's well-groomed. If it were up to him, your lips would always be wrapped around his cock, so he makes sure to keep things as trimmed and polished as he can for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Chuuya is the consent king, always making sure that you're just as into what's going on as he is. He finds subtle ways to check in on you while staying in the moment. "Tell me, baby. Tell me how it feels." He likes to make sure you're present, that you're not thinking about anything else besides the way he feels inside you. He would do anything to make you feel good. Anything. What he can't aways say with his words, he shows through his actions. He lets you know he loves you by stretching and filling you until you can’t see straight. He may act like he’s the one calling the shots, but you'll always cum before he does. He makes damn sure of it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His work schedule is demanding and doesn't always grant him the amount of time he'd like to have with you, so when he's stuck in his office after hours, Chuuya can't fucking help himself. The urge has been there all. day. and he's certain he'll die if he doesn't take care of it right now. He reaches into his coat pocket, dialing your number while he unzips pants and removes his glove with his teeth. His cellphone is wedged between his shoulder and his cheek when your voice finally spills out of the receiver. Before you can even ask how his night's going, you hear it. That desperate, heady tone that he only gets when he hasn't seen you in a few days. "Baby..." he groans, stroking himself upppp and dowwnn. He closes his eyes, imagining what you must look like lying in his bed. "I need you so fuckin' bad right now." "Yeah?" You tease, quietly slipping two fingers under the hem of your panties. "How bad?" It was only a matter of minutes before he was cleaning off his desk from the mess you'd helped him make.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Chuuya is the softest dom. As much as he likes to be in control, he folds so easily when it comes to you. Even when he’s “punishing” you, he’s doing it with things he knows you like. He loves putting collars on you or wrapping his belt around your neck and pulling at both ends until your pretty little pupils blossom into hearts while you struggle to moan out his name. Hearing you beg does something deranged to him that he can't quite put into words. He stays in control for as long as he can, but you always have the upperhand with how bad he wants to taste you. With how bad he wants to be buried inside of you. He'll tease and nip at you and try to drag it out for as long as he can, but at the end of the day, he's just as addicted to you as you are to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chuuya will fuck you anywhere and when he says anywhere, he means it. His favorite guilty pleasure though is definitely bringing you into Port Mafia. Making everyone well-aware of your presence as he walks around with you on his arm like you're the shiniest, most expensive accessory he owns. Shoving all of his paperwork off of his desk and bending you over, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing your face against the handcrafted Mahogany. Hiking up your skirt and ramming himself into you, knowing damn well everyone can hear you crying out his name as you cum. His two favorite pastimes: pissing off Mori and fucking you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Chuuya secretly loves the attention you get when the two of you go out, even if it drives him a bit crazy at times. He can't deny the way his cock twitches when he notices the bartender size you up and then immediately avert his eyes when he feels Chuuya's stare on him. Chuuya knows you're gorgeous, it's an absolute fact for him, but to see the other people reel in how pretty you are too fills him with a feral sense of pride. He would fuck you in front of the entire world if he could just to show them what they'll never have.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are very few things that Chuuya wouldn't do for you, but the one request he would struggle with if asked would be sharing. Even if it was a casual threesome with no strings attached, he’s a Taurus Sun, Scorpio moon - the man does not share and the thought of having to watch someone else touch you would most definitely send him into a murderous tailspin.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chuuya loves both giving and receiving, for sure. But there's something about the way you taste that almost makes his brain short-circuit. He thinks about it while he's at work. Thinks about it while he's on missions. Thinks about it while he fucks himself when you're not around. He often finds himself daydreaming about his tongue swirling around your clit and the adorable, pitiful, fucked-out noises you make so easily for him. The way you whine and writhe against him. How he can always tell when you're close by the way your words start to break up. That cute little incoherent babble you let out as he plunges an extra finger into you and your eyes roll into the back of your head. He’s pretty sure that if he had to choose his own death, it would be drowning between your thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pacing all depends on the mood and setting for Chuuya. It's 1 am and you guys just stumbled back home from the bar? You're wearing the shortest black slip dress he's ever seen in his life, and he's had to restrain himself all night from not dragging you into the club bathroom and having his way with you? He's fucking you into oblivion the second you step inside his apartment. Hands tangling into your hair as he pins you against the wall of the entry way, pulling you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist. It's going to be fast, rough, deep. You'll both wake up with bruises and love bites and well-deserved hangovers. But - it's 1 pm on a rainy Tuesday and you guys just got back home from the bookstore? You're wearing an oversized cardigan with a comfy pair of shorts, and he's been quietly admiring you all day, watching you dig through countless bookshelves until you finally found the one you wanted? He's fucking you so thoroughly. Taking his time as he helps you out of your sweater, smiling at your body with each layer of clothing that get tossed to the floor. He's kissing the crook of your neck, telling you how beautiful you are. He's fucking you with slow, sensual, affection. You'll end up drifting off to the sound of the thunderstorm afterward, the two of you wrapped up under a blanket on the couch while the rain taps against the window next to you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Chuuya's a giver who loves a challenge so quickies are right up his alley, really. You'll stop by the apartment on your lunch break, warning him that you only have 15 minutes, but he’ll only roll his eyes in response before telling you to hop up on the counter. He locks in immediately, his concentration fully on you as he spreads you apart. Two fingers holding you open so that his tongue has complete access to your clit, the warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his strokes making your legs shake around his head already and he's just gotten started. He's precise. Calculated. Unrelenting. Even if he's only competing against the clock, he's still never lost.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as you're into it, so is Chuuya. He's very open when it comes to sex, especially when it comes to talking about it with you. You had a wet dream about him fucking you against the window in the sunroom so that the neighbors could see it? Lift that skirt up, angel, let's go give them a show. You read a book where the male lead lightly ran a blade across the main character’s throat while teasing her and you think you want to try it? His knife is already out of his pocket, his hand cradling your jawline. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby.” as he slices through the thin straps of your tank top, smirking at how hard your nipples are while it slips down to your waist. There a very few things he wouldn't be willing to at least try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Chuuya can generally go a solid 2 rounds before he's completely spent, but if he's drunk, this number could be multiplied depending on his drink of choice that night. Chuuya's stamina is solid. He lasts awhile, but his entire objective while fucking is to make sure you're getting off. He's very in tune and aware of your body and tries to go with the flow of where you're at. If you can handle an hour or two, he'll gladly give it to you. He has no problem playing the long game, but if you're sleepy and only need twenty minutes to get there, he'll make sure he cums with you in that time. A truly adaptable king ˚₊‧ʚ♡ɞ‎‧₊˚

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

There's an armoire in Chuuya's bedroom that houses all of the obscenely expensive vibrators you'd asked him to buy you, not realizing he actually would at the time. He likes to keep them hidden for the most part - out of sight, out of mind. He'll be in the middle of fucking you. Stretching you out while your nails dig into his back. He'll feel your walls start to spasm around him. He'll watch your eyes flutter back. He'll feel how tight and snug your cunt is squeezing him. He'll know you're right there and that's when he'll pull out your favorite wand. Always when you're least expecting it. When you're already so cock-drunk and lost that you don't think you could possibly take anything more, he'll run it along your clit. Your body practically convulsing at the overstimulation. "Chuuya - ohmygod... I... I - can't. I can’t, I can’t -" "Look at me. You can take it, baby. I know you can. Gimme one more, okay? Just like that. There you go. Fuuuck, baby. Just - like... that."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The amount of sheer pleasure Chuuya derives from making you beg for him should be illegal. He’s constantly teasing you. Constantly trying to coax out desperate little cries from you. You're splayed out beneath him, legs spread beautifully, your cunt nearly dripping onto his sheets and he's still ghosting your lips with his. Wearing the most infuriating grin as he continues to rattle off depraved things like, "Baby, I wish I could, y'know? I really wanna give it to you, but I just don't believe that you want it." all while he's stroking himself just inches above you, making you watch the whole thing in agony but still not letting you touch him yet. "C'mon princess, show me how bad you want it. Let me see how you play with that pussy when I'm not here. Make me fuckin’ believe it.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Chuuya will groan and talk during sex, but he's not necessarily loud. He's way more concerned with the noises you're making anyway. As mentioned, his bedroom love language is taunting. "No? You can't take it anymore? Ohh, your pussy's just so sensitive, huh? That's so sad. My poor sweet girl." before slapping your clit and smirking at you as you whine beneath him. "Oh, look at that. Seems like you can take it after all.” He'll groan against you whenever he goes down on you, reveling in how fucking wet you are for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chuuya is secretly sentimental. He might not always admit it, but he doesn't just remember your anniversary - he remembers the outfit you were wearing the first time he met you and what the weather was like that day. He saves ticket stubs from your dates. Takes pictures of you when you're not looking just so he can keep the moment forever. He plans gifts for your birthday weeks in advance. Any time you list off a restaurant that you want to try or a vacation spot you want to visit one day, he secretly jots it down in his notes app. He listens to you, really listens to you when you talk and keeps every gift you give him, no matter how small or insignificant.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chuuya is 5'3, (though he'll most definitely try to convince you that the measurements are off no matter how many times your scale reaches the the same conclusion). Slender. Nice arms and a slutty fucking waist. Hands, hands, hands. Usually covered by gloves but so fucking pretty and veiny when they're not. Speaking of veiny? Chuuya Nakahara is packing. Giiiiirth, babydoll, and a lot of it. Short men are ALWAYS stacked, you can't argue with science.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Chuuya's anger and sex drive mirror each other in the sense that they're both always on no matter what. Even when they're calmed down, even when they're not as noticeable - all it takes is one wrong (or right) move and he's right there, fully up and ready to go. You touch his leg under the table during dinner one night and he immediately finds an excuse to dismiss the two of you for a few minutes, dragging you to a secluded corner of the bar where he pins you against the wall. His leg wedged between yours, leaving urgent kisses along your collarbone as he creates friction against your clit. “This what you want? For me to fuck you right here?” You try to keep your resolve but it’s hard for him to take you seriously when your objections are all coming out in the form of moans. “My needy fuckin’ girl.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll lay with you and talk about your day, but Chuuya is struggling to keep his eyes open after he cums. The minute you nestle into his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of your skin against his, he's fighting for his life to stay awake. Poor baby is just so tired, especially after dealing with Port Mafia all week. He feels safe in your arms. The thought of coming home to you is what gets him through most days anyway so once he's finally actually tangled up in you, he can't help but drift off into the comfort of your scent and the sound of your heartbeat.

⠀𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

[thinemoonshine]

⋆ ˚｡𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

enhypen 8th fem!member x nishimura riki content(s): fluff, jungwon’s defeat by ni-ki’s pettiness, ni-ki lets (y/n) wear his clothes, jake and heeseung third/fourth-wheeling(?), ni-ki's lowkey down bad type: oneshot word count: 977

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ synopsis: ni-ki and (y/n) are like peas in a pod—inseparable and close as close can be—so naturally, they do a lot of things together. some where the others don’t even have the privilege to do so with (y/n) such as sharing clothes ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

riki, (y/n)'s capeless hero

“Hey, Riki. Ni-ki. Riki Ni-ki ding dong,” (y/n) calls as she knocks on the open door of his bedroom that he shares with some of the others.

The said lad furrows at the odd nickname and turns around to look as he sits criss-crossed on his bed. “What?”

Her eyes wander around the room to his wardrobe before back at him. “Can I… borrow a shirt? Or a hoodie? Or anything, actually. I wanna change out of mine because it feels so stuffy.”

Unlike the others, she doesn't stay at the dorm and instead, at her own small apartment nearby but she tends to spend a lot of time at the dorm whenever they have schedules— but never overnight. Because of this, she's grown tired of carrying extra baggage for when she freshens up after their morning events before going to their evening ones. And sometimes, she just wants comfort that her outing clothes can't offer. So, what else to do than ask for some little generosity?

Her teammate stares at her and she stares back and an abrupt staring contest begins before he stands to his feet.

“Wait,” he says simply before rummaging through his clothes, eventually pulling out a pink and white tee with its colours blending into each other in gradients. He approaches her. “Here.”

With a quick “thanks!” she then, leaves to change.

“Ni-ki Riki!” (y/n) summons as she slides through the corridor with the help of her socks and she’s caught by the youngest male who exits his room at her beckoning.

His hands on her shoulders to hold her from crashing into him. He blinks fast with eyes widened slightly from surprise as he looks down at her.

“Thanks for the shirt! I feel like I can breathe so much better now without that high-neck collar choking me,” she expresses with theatrics before breaking into a playful grin again. Her eyes are upturned, cheeks rounded at her smiley face and she’s practically buzzing at her newfound comfort.

Ni-ki’s eyes are fixated on her, their cutting sharpness unable to conceal the tenderness and endearment of his gaze as the corners of his lips hook upwards. “Looks nice.”

“I’ll wash it and give it back to you tomorrow.”

“Keep it.”

riki, the exclusive (and only) clothes-lender for (y/n)

Ever since he lent (y/n) his shirt, it's become exclusive (to the members) that he is her official clothes-lender. Mainly because, no one else is allowed to. Not that she rejects them— but Ni-ki prevents them.

A giddy Jungwon spots (y/n) sitting on their couch scrolling on her phone and he approaches with a colourful hoodie in his arms. "(y/n)! This hoodie will look grea—"

"(y/n)~" Riki calls with his deep, bass tone in a short sing-song tune. He swerves in front of Won and drapes his hoodie onto the girl's head when she turns to look— blocking her vision from seeing both him and Jungwon. "You wanted this one right? You liked the wording."

"Oh! Um, thanks, Ni-ki! My shirt is fine for now though so—"

"You should change. They say it's gonna get cold soon," Ni-ki claims, lying through his teeth and (y/n), although slightly finding it odd, decides to listen.

She pulls the clothing from her head as she stands, brows raising at the sight of them. "Jungwon! Didn't know you were here too."

Just before she can look down at the piece he holds, Ni-ki spins her around by the shoulders before pushing her gently. "Go, go."

And once she's out of frame, he turns to his hyung who's staring with confused, round eyes and Ni-ki pulls his lips to a line.

"Don't worry, hyung. It's settled now."

At some point, he has clothes set aside just for (y/n). Once again, emphasis on the just.

Heeseung passes by Ni-ki’s room and sees the pile to which he curiously reaches out for— only to get jumpscared by the maknae who appears behind him suddenly.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. Whose clothes are these?”

“Those are (y/n)’s,” Riki says as he slowly lowers the older’s outstretched hand.

The older furrows. “These look pretty big, though. And why are they in this room? Are you sure they’re—”

“(y/n)’s,” the other will say again despite the said girl not even knowing what these clothes look like yet. But he’s decided they’re hers so they are hers.

An awkward chuckle sounds from his hyung who slowly retracts his hand before Ni-ki can lower it any further to the floor and he takes backward steps out the room.

riki, the (not) discreet no.1 fan

"She looks cute, doesn't she?" Jake gushes at their female member who's sitting at the dining table, knees against her chest but unseen from the way they're hidden under the large hoodie she wears.

Heeseung chuckles with a nod. "She's practically wrapped all over by the hoodie. Just her toes and head popping out."

Light laughter emits from the two as they admire the oblivious lass who's resisting the urge to gnaw the edge of her phone at the stressful game she's playing.

"Yeah. She's cute, right?" Ni-ki abruptly appears beside his hyungs, smiling at the girl from afar. The other two whip their head at him, jumpscared by his abrupt presence. He turns to them, his smiley face contrasting the two who wears expressions of confusion. "That's my hoodie."

"...Yeah, you told us that 3 times in a span of 7 minutes earlier," Heeseung says with a dead expression and a nodding Jake besides him.

But fanboying Ni-ki barely bats an eye at his monotone as he dreamily gazes at a raging (y/n) who's knocking her head on her phone screen. "That's my hoodie she's wearing."

"Uhuh..." Jake sounds as he and Seung quietly slide away and Ni-ki walks to (y/n) with a skip in his steps.

"(y/n)~~" He sings with moe flowers practically fluttering around him, contrasting the dark, gloomy lines that surround the defeated (y/n) by her game.

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[mochidolls]

n : just a little blurb to avoid writers block as i go through writing requests! mom abby literally has me in tears every time.

click for palestine / please read (important!!) / how you can help palestine

your son was a splitting image of abby. down the blue eyes and faint freckles scattered like stardust across his cherubic cheeks. only his hair and smile bore resemblance to you. a smile abby which never failed to melt her heart terribly even if she’d argue otherwise. abby was know to be rather protective of you. this trait revealed to you in the early stages of your relationship, wayy before kai was even a fleeting thought. now at the age of 5, your son kai had adopted the same protective tendencies from his mother.

the overprotectiveness only got worse when news of your second pregnancy was revealed to the two. the two of them were non stop hovering over you. waiting at your side beck and call.

especially since abby had been swamped with meetings and other work related stuff, only much to her disapproval, resulting her coming back home late.

midday boredom plagued you, a sensation exacerbated by the heaviness of pregnancy. ordinarily, you'd fill your hours with chores and entertaining lai, but your swollen belly made such tasks arduous. laundry was the next best thing. with everything washed and dried by abby, all that remained was folding— a task you could manage, albeit with effort.

you slowly rose from the couch, a hand instinctively pressed against your back, a huff escaping your lips under the strain of your burgeoning belly. kai's concerned gaze followed you, mirroring abby's recent looks of worry.

your heart swelled with affection at the resemblance.

"where are you going, mommy?" kai inquired, his voice laced with concern.

"just to the kitchen, my love. i'll be fine," you reassured him with a gentle smile.

but kai, inheriting his mother's protectiveness, wasn't easily placated. "

mama said you should sit down," he persisted, his brow furrowing. chuckling softly, you assured him, "your mom worries too much. i'll be okay, i promise." you chuckled, tickling him playfully before planting kisses upon his giggling face. his giggles only drawing laughter from you before you put an end to the merciless tickling before a foot accidentally landing on your belly.

“i’ll be back okay?”

“kay.” kai hums before his attention instantly turned back to the cartoons on the tv.

you walked (waddled) towards the kitchen, the swelling at your feet not making things easier but you persevered, as it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to by now. shortly after you found yourself in the laundry room, slowly bending to open and reach for the clothes in the dryer. you began to fill the basket with clothes, thereafter humming a tune while doing so.

unbeknownst to you, kai, attuned to every sound, heard the familiar rumble of a car pulling into the driveway and he instantly sprung to his feet, his spiderman sneakers hitting the ground before he called out to you.

“mommy i think someone’s here!” the 5 year old called out but didn’t hear a hum nor a response from you. had you closed the door to the laundry room maybe that’s why you couldn’t hear him? or was it that thing abby often teased you about having really bad hearing when pregnant? too impatient to find a suitable reason for the 5 year old, he dashed over to the window to see which was by the door. standing on his tippy toes, peering out to catch a glimpse of the black SUV abby often drove now parked in the driveway.

“mama’s here!” kai muttered under his breath excitedly, eagerly watching his mom step out the car and make her way towards the door, holding what the little boy could see were grocery bags. in mere seconds as the door opened, kai ran into abby’s legs hugging them close, causing an oof to escape your wife’s lips at the impact before she smiles, setting the grocery bags into one hand before managing to pick the boy up and setting him on her hip.

“hey there bud.” abby greeted, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. “where’s your mom?”

“i think in the laundry room. i told her not to mama!” kai tells her, trying to explain himself knowing the duty abby had given him to keep watch over you.

“your mom, i swear to god.” abby chuckled shaking her head affectionately before she stepped into the house, closing the door with her foot (something you often told her off about. did she listen? no.)

“babe?” abby called out as she approached the kitchen, setting kai on the floor then setting the groceries on the kitchen counter on the floor. “yeah?” you called back, emerging from the laundry room, a slight smile gracing your lips as you saw your wife and son standing in the kitchen.

"you're home early," you remarked, your eyes flickering between abby and kai. "everything okay?"

abby nodded, her gaze softening as she took in your appearance. "yeah, just finished up a bit earlier than expected," she replied, stepping closer to you. "how are you feeling? tired? in pain? nauseous?"

you couldn't help but chuckle at the concern in abby's voice. “i'm fine, babe, really," you assured her. "just a bit bored, that's all."

abby's brow furrowed slightly. "and you’re doing…laundry?" she mused, her lips quirking up into a playful smile.

“i’ve been banned from literally everything so…” you shrugged as you looked between kai and abby.

“a great decision on our part by the way.” abby replies crossing her arms over her chest and you could see her biceps through the fabric of her shirt, taking every sort of willpower within you not to drool over the sight.

“you sit down now mommy.” kai’s voice breaks your daze, as his hand grabs yours, pulling you towards the couch making you stumble a bit.

“i still have to finish with the laundry though.” you tell him softly.

“i’ll do it and dinner too.” abby chimes in shaking her head, kai still trying to pull you towards the couch as you anchor yourself to the floor.

“babe, seriously i can make dinne—“ you stop yourself short at the furrowed brows and look your wife gives you and all you can do is sigh and admit defeat.

“okay fine.” you relent before letting your son pull you towards the couch.

“you sit down here, mama.” kai pats the space on the couch and you take a seat on the couch before watching your son run over to your wife to help her cook dinner.

although having the two of them be borderline overprotective of you all the time, you couldn’t help but smile at your family and how much they care for you and the baby.

[monzaaasharl]

Mama McLaren

A/n:: Mark is my favourite F1 dilf. During the making of this I accidentally posted it so this took me even longer than it should have 😝, I also had an insane writer's block, i got this request many months ago and I've only just got around to finishing it. Mixed with this request here!

Pairings:: Mark Webber x Reader, Oscar Piastri x Reader, Lando Norris x Reader

Summary:: Y/n Webber starts to act very motherly towards the McLaren boys

Genre:: Fluff

Warnings:: There aren't any

@pear-1206

Driver x Reader Masterlist Monzaaasharl

It was the third race of the season, but it wasn't just any race, oh no, it was the Australian Grand Prix. Not only was it your husband's home race but also the driver he manages.

Oscar, he was like a son to you with the amount of time he spent with your little family. Well little as in you, your husband, your 21 year old son Noah, and your 17 year old daughter Jasmine.

The Australian Grand Prix was something that the Webber family always looked forward to. And this year, just like the last, you'd be watching the race from the McLaren garage.

"Have you got everything both of you?", you asked your two kids knowing they would forget something.

"Yeah, we've got everything, mum", you received as a response.

"Come on, we don't want to be late now", Mark said knowing fully well there was not a possibily they would be late, but wanted them to get there early to cha to the McLaren boys and give them a small pep talk.

After a peaceful drive in the car through the city, you finally arrived at the paddock.

You made your way through the paddock in your small group, and ended up in the McLaren hospitality.

"How's it goin' you two?" Mark said when he spotted the papaya drivers.

Oscar and Lando both turned around when they heard the familiar voice of the older aussie man.

"Yeah not too bad"

"Everything's going pretty well so far"

"Well we'll just be around if you boys want us", Mark said to both the McLaren boys, not wanting to distract them too much before the race.

"Good luck boys, i know you're going to do amazing", you always felt quite protective over them both.

"Yeah, good luck mate", Noah

"Good luck"

"See ya"

"See you after"

⋆˚✿˚⋆

After an intense Grand Prix and a mix of emotions after seeing Max was out, you found yourself still in the McLaren garage after your husband had left you quickly for the podium ceremony.

Lando had finished third which definitely made you proud, but seeing Oscar so close and just missing out on the podium positions it made you just the slightest bit sad.

When you saw him come back to the garage you made sure to tell him how proud you were of him. He ended up staying with you, Jasmine, and Noah while watching the podium celebrations.

"You did amazing this race, I hope you know that"

"Thank you, I just wish that I could've got onto the podium"

You knew it made him a bit upset knowing he was so close to a podium finish for his home race.

When Mark came back from the podiums he made sure to congratulate Oscar on his race and tell him how well he did even if Oscar didn't feel like he did good enough.

"You did good mate, don't let it bring you down"

"I won't, don't worry"

Oscar made his way to his own family leaving you lot alone.

"Y'know, I always thought after you retired I wouldn't have to worry about someone else racing"

Your husband laughed at your comment and gave you sweet kiss, much to your kids disgust. It didn't matter how old they got, they still didn't like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are all appreciated!

[emmasbrain]

Miscommunication (the fun kind) Part 2

This is part 2, trust when I say it makes very little sense without part 1.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Synopsis: You meet him for your date, but it’s cut a little short.

Warnings: None I can think of other than cringe writing.

A/N: This took ages man, I don’t know what happened but I just felt a block so many apologies for taking so long.

As you click the little green button, you feel unnecessarily nervous. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He replies, and the smile that graces your lips can be heard from the other end of the phone.

“Doc. I’m glad you called.” You try to play it cool, but you know he can sense your excitement anyway.

“I’m glad you asked me to. Look, I’m on my way to a case right now, but I was thinking that when I get back we could do something? Go for dinner, maybe?” He sounds as nervous as you feel, and your heart spikes a little.

“Dinner sounds great. Have you thought of a place?” You do a little spin in the living room of your small apartment and you hear chatter in the background of the call.

“There’s this little restaurant that I normally get takeout from. I know them pretty well so they’ll keep me a table on short notice. They’ve got everything so statistically there’s bound to be something you like.” The way he speaks reaches a spot in your brain, fast and passionate, even about the most mundane things.

“I know I’m gonna like it because you do, and I trust your taste.” You bite your lip, wondering if that was too much.

“You should, I’m very particular.” His voice betrays the fact that he’s grinning, and you match his expression.

“I like particular. Particular is good.” Your voice has dropped a little subconsciously, and he’s about to reply when you hear the familiar voice of Agent Hotchner alerting Spencer that they need him.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you when I’m home?” You almost sigh in contentment at just the sound of him, but you snap out of it quickly to reply.

“I’ll be waiting patiently, Doc. I’ll see you.” You hang up, and stand in the middle of your living room for what seems like an hour but truly is only a few minutes. Why are you so attracted to this guy you only met a few nights ago?

But you feel as though you know him, from the way Penelope has talked about him, from the time you spent together. You feel as though you know them all.

—

You just sent in the final draft of your latest article. This one had been an absolute nightmare, being asked to write a piece on climate change. Your editors loved you for your fresh takes, but after so long there was no angle on climate change that hadn’t already been written. They seem fairly happy with it, but you can’t help the nagging feeling of wishing you could have done the proposed piece on how tourism is ruining the economy like you had wanted.

Through the annoyance of knowing you could have done better, you still feel slightly more at ease knowing the article is finished and out of your hands, and that you can relax and drink your fourth mug of coffee for the day. It’s eleven am.

But as you stand to stretch your achy muscles and make some fresh coffee, your phone rings. You know who it is before you even pick up, but make sure to check anyway just in case.

‘Spencer’ flashes on your screen, and you immediately sit down on your sofa, hitting the answer button and taking a readying breath.

“Hey Doc.” Your voice is unintentionally airy, but he doesn’t seem to notice - or he pretends not to - as he replies.

“Hey. I got back from work late last night, but I didn’t wanna call in case you were asleep. I was just wondering what you had planned for tonight?” The grogginess in his voice is evident, and it raises a question before you can even think about answering his.

“Spencer, how long ago did you wake up?” The simple question makes him go quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“I woke up just before I called you.” He sounds nervous to admit it, like he’s embarrassed to be caught thinking of you so soon into his day.

“Must have been thinking about me in your sleep then. And to answer your question, I’m free tonight.” You can’t hide the tinge of satisfaction knowing he thought about you maybe as often as you thought about him.

The small breath he sucks in doesn’t pass by you. You may not be a behavioural analyst but you are a damn good journalist, and you know what that little breath means. It says “you caught me”. Was he really thinking of you in his slumber? You note it down in the back of your head to try and slip out of him later.

“Would you like to go for dinner to that restaurant tonight?” He seems to have composed himself as he asks his question, and you try not to sound too enthusiastic as you eagerly say yes. “Okay, great- that’s great! I’ll pick you up at six… I don’t drive.” The defeat in his voice makes you laugh.

“How about I pick you up?” You suggest, calming his nerves. “You can tell me where to go.” Truthfully, you had already planned to drive him. Penelope told you once how he doesn’t drive, and you called her two days ago to reconfirm. This information, however, is not something you feel the need to tell him, because it seems a little obsessive - but you were just thinking logically of course - and you don’t want to weird him out quite so early.

He seems to be okay with the idea, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t take it as a blow to his ego like most men would. The call ends after a few short pleasantries - that are actually pleasant - and you immediately get to work.

You throw open the doors of your wardrobe and go straight to the dresses, very slowly narrowing it down to two options. A flowy red dress that you almost go with, and a simple black silk dress that ends just below your knees.

This one is for special occasions, and you deemed this a pretty special occasion. As you rummage through your box of shoes and stack of earrings trying desperately to find earrings and heels in the same colour, you come across a pair of purple strapped heels that you know you have drop earrings in a similar shade to. You just can’t find them.

Suddenly you notice that it’s 12:30 and your brain short circuits. Your entire room is thrown upside down and inside out until you find the earrings you’re looking for, and then neatly arranged back to its original state, all within thirty minutes. Now you have your little purple dewdrops and your outfit is complete, but you have four and a half hours until you need to leave and you know you’ll need it, albeit mostly to panic.

Four hours passes and you’ve showered, shaved, styled your hair and put on some light makeup. Your nail polish is just dry and you have your dress on, so you buckle your heels and stand. Twenty five minutes before you can leave. That’s not bad. You just have to wait twenty five minutes… But what if traffic is bad? You should probably leave fifteen minutes early for that, right? And if you think about it, the time between leaving your house and getting to the car wasn’t considered in the time it would take you to get there, and if you drag it out that’s a good five minutes. So really you only need to leave in five minutes. But what’s the point of waiting five minutes really? You should just leave now. Good idea.

As you park at his apartment building you realise you may have been a little over eager. The drive was ten minutes shorter than expected, so you’re around thirty minutes early. Which is embarrassing, so to speak. But you decide to head up early, a gut feeling telling you that it’ll be beneficial.

As you knock, he immediately opens the door and then a sheepish look comes over his face. “I saw you get out of your car.” He nervously rubs his hand on the back of his neck and it makes you smile. Then you take in his attire. He looks similar to when you met him in the bar, although he’s wearing white converse to match a white shirt underneath his brown suit. He’s also sporting a watch, and - most importantly - glasses. Damn those fucking glasses.

You realise you haven’t responded and are now intensely looking at his eyes, and he looks a little uncomfortable.

“Shit- sorry. I was just looking at you- I mean you look good- Great! You look great. You look… pretty. I like your glasses, do you wear them often?” Although you can feel yourself rambling into oblivion, you somehow can’t stop the flood of words that come out of your mouth.

His mouth opens for a moment as though he might speak, and then it shuts again. He stands aside to let you come in. “I never let you in.” He comments, sounding apologetic.

You shake your head in reassurance. “That’s alright, I wasn’t sure if you would even be ready since I’m so early. I never meant to be, I just kind of over thought it and now I’m here.” You wring your fingers together. Spencer noticed that you do it as a nervous habit when you met in the bar.

“I was ready an hour ago, I’ve just been reading while I waited for you. You can sit.” He motions to his sofa, and you sit next to the armrest so that you can turn and lean your back against it to face him sitting a little away from you. “You look beautiful. You remind me of a painting called ‘Madame X’, you probably know it. You could almost be a modernised retelling. Did you know that the painting caused an extreme public discourse as people thought the artist, John Singer Sargent, made the woman look deathly pale and scandalously unclothed.” He says all this with a little grin, and you can’t help but grin along with him.

The decision to tease him comes before you can truly think about it. “You think I look deathly pale and scandalously unclothed, Doc?” As the words come out of your mouth, he pales slightly.

“No, of course not! You remind me more of the principle. The woman was so beautiful she was renowned for her looks. Painters had all but begged her to do a portrait before, but she declined until she found Sargent. But even then, the people of Paris thought the painting didn’t do her beauty justice. Despite this, the painting became famous and beloved for hundreds of years around the world, and to this day is still considered a work of true historical art. A timeless beauty. That’s how I think you look.” His passion for little things shines through again, and your mouth is left slightly agape from his words.

“That was…” You can’t even think.

“A lot, I know. I tend to ramble a lot. I don’t really notice that I’m bothering people until it’s too late.” He rubs the back of his neck again, and the thought of people being bothered by him sends multiple emotions running down your spine.

You reach over and grab his hand with one of yours, the other going to touch his face. “I was going to say, that was awfully considerate of you. Never assume that you’re bothering me. Talk quite literally as much as you please, I want to know what you want to say… If we weren’t on our first date I’d readily teach you exactly how much I enjoy when you talk, but that can be saved for another time, maybe.” Your voice drops nearer the end, and he picks up on it as he sucks in a breath and nods vigorously.

“Definitely- I mean yes, sure. I will keep that in mind.” He’s still nodding as you smile at him, a proper smile.

“You’re pretty when you get flustered. You get all red, from the tops of your cheeks all the way down your neck.” You silently wonder if it goes further. You wish you could check. The hand on his face trails down his neck as you speak, emphasising what you mean.

He gets redder. How can he get redder? “Pretty. You’ve used that word on me twice now.” The comment seems to be more of an observation than a question, but you answer it as though it is one.

“I think you’re pretty. Handsome is a word I dislike. It reminds me of Ken, like Barbie and Ken. You’re not a doll, you’re a man, who just so happens to be pretty. I could call you beautiful instead, I’d say that adjective very accurately describes you too. Gorgeous, if that’s something you prefer.” You relent as the redness gets impossibly worse, and it makes you feel a little guilty. “Sorry, Doc, I just like seeing you flustered. I’ll call you handsome or something more masculine if you’re more comfortable with that.” You give him a little smile and pull your hand from his face.

He wouldn’t say it out loud but he wishes you would keep it there. He grasps your other hand tightly in his, and he shakes his head. “I don’t mind. You can call me whatever you feel like… You’re wearing purple. Purple is my favourite colour.” He looks away for a moment, and it warms your heart.

“Purple suits you, as a favourite colour I mean. Mine is green.” Your voice holds a gentleness in it that comes with caring for someone. It’s baffling. You’ve known him days. A week at most. You shouldn’t feel so… warm around him.

“Green makes sense. I think purple looks best on you though, which is definitely coming from a place of bias.” This makes you laugh, small and breathy, but he smiles at the sound.

You don’t realise how much time has passed until you hear a buzzing noise, and you both realise it’s a phone ringing. It’s coming from the other room so you assume it’s Spencer’s and he quickly gets up to answer. You can’t hear much from the wall between you, but when he comes back through looking thoroughly disappointed, you can tell it’s a work call. “Serial killers don’t stop for first dates sadly.” You remark, and he looks a little surprised.

“How did you know?” He questions, coming closer to you and you stand up to face him.

“I may not be a behavioural analyst, but I can tell what that face means. It means ‘I’m so sorry but I have to go stop murders’.” You smile to try and reassure him, but you can see the cogs whirring in his brain.

He seems to be thinking too many thoughts to process, but suddenly he dips down and kisses you. It’s short, but it’s soft, and you have a look of surprise on your face as he pulls away. “I wish we had gotten to go on our date, but I really wish that this doesn’t stop us from going on another one.” He looks at you in anticipation, and you melt.

“I wouldn’t pass it up for the world, Doc. Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll drive you there. We can plan the next one in the car.” You kiss his cheek and go to sit back down, and he shuffles away to his bedroom with a stupid smile tugging at his lips.

A/N: So… thoughts on part 3 with newly established relationship reid x reader ? Equally, thoughts on me adding smut somewhere along the line?

[yourecitten]

Hi, can u pls give me advice on how to stop feeling so defeated with manifesting? I really want my desires, but I just don’t believe I will ever have them. I struggle with persisting and going back to my desired state, and just end up giving up and feeling defeated. I also feel “blocked” in a way. I don’t know what to do

The thing is, manifestation is all about self-concept in my opinion because you need to learn that you are the creator and you are the one who can decide what you want in this life and what you don't want. You can read a ton of blogs about how you manifest but it just won't "work" because you don't believe in yourself. Don't worry, self concept and confidence can be built so here is what should you do: To build your self concept you need to let go of your past self, the identity you believed yourself to be before you got into LOA. You may have identified yourself with a lot of stories from the past that no longer apply to the real you. You need to work on that first. It does not mean deleting those beliefs or memories, but letting them go in terms of identity, attachment and identification. You are now choosing a new and truer state to identify with, this new identity is your self concept. The easiest way to get rid of old negative beliefs is to just assume the opposite of them for a while. For example: 'I am unattractive' can be changed by just assuming that you are now an attractive person, for example in affirmation form: 'i am always attractive'. As you keep on affirming it over and over again, your mind will start believing the new story over the old one. The key to changing a belief, is acceptance and repetition in the new belief. It may sound too simple and you may doubt it at first, but it does work quickly.

[thatnewweeb]

Protective Boys | Blue Lock

Characters | Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Bachira Meguru, Kunigami Rensuke

Content | Fluff, kinda jealousy, just so sweet

A/N | I just love them so much

Itoshi Rin

Whenever you're talking, he'll always pay close attention to you. If he isn't doing something else while talking with you, he'll lean towards you slightly and keep eye contact to show that he's interested in what you're saying, and he'll hum, nod and make little comments throughout to prove he's listening.

If you're with a group, he'll listen to you over anyone else. Even if no one else is listening to you, he always will. If other people are talking too loudly while you're trying to speak, he'll tell them to shut up so that you can say what you wanted to.

It's important to him that you feel heard, and like he will always listen to you. He cares about you, after all, he wants to always hear what you have to say.

Itoshi Sae

Whenever you go anywhere together that he knows people will pay attention to him, particularly people like reporters or paparazzi, he will make sure to shield you from them to protect your privacy.

When he notices people looking at you guys when you're out on dates, he'll move so that he's blocking you from their view. When you go to his games, he'll give you one of his oversized hoodies so you can hide your face better until you're inside and away from as many prying eyes.

It's important to him that you're able to live a normal life, however you want to, and the attention he gets should not impact that. He just want you to be comfortable and happy.

Bachira Meguru

If anyone is ever rude to you, or flirts with you, this man is immediately ready to throw hands. He's willing to fight anyone that he feels is being threatening to you in anyway. He just wants to protect you.

If you are out together, he will be sticking as close to you as he can, not wanting to leave you alone for a second. He'll notice every single person that even glances at you, making sure to keep notes of the people that looked at you in a way he didn't like.

Your sweet and goofy boyfriend can switch up in a second when he returns from the bathroom or from getting you a drink and finds someone talking to you, their face way too close to yours. His glare sends chills down your spine, even though you know he would never direct a look like that at you. You can only imagine how it feels to be looked at that way, especially when he says that they can discuss it outside if there's a problem.

Kunigami Rensuke

He'll do a lot of very tiny things that he doesn't even notice he does, like pulling you away from the stove if there's hot oil spitting in your direction, and placing his hand on corners when he notices if looks like you may bump into it.

It's very important to him that you're safe and nothing happens to you, no matter how small it may be. He would hate to have you get even a little bit hurt while you're with him.

It is possibly the sweetest thing ever when you bump into his hand and realise that it was covering a corner so you wouldn't bruise yourself. It really shows how much he loves and cares for you.

[everlastingdream]

part 1 - part 2

"It's not your fault, Enid, and there is nothing that can be done about it. It's just the way thing are. Goody did tell me I'm destined to be alone".

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Wednesday" Enid couldn't help but whisper, not daring to look into dark eyes. "If only I..."

"If only you nothing, mi corazón", Wednesday interrupted firmly. "It wasn't your choice to begin with, and it's not something you did. Besides, even if you had a say in it, why would you choose an Addams? Even more, me?"

Enid's head snapped up. She felt her fur appearing at the back of her neck and standing up, while quiet growling started deep in her chest.

"What do you-? How are you even-? Gods, Wednesday, I never wanted to strangle you more than now!" Enid decided to ignore how Wednesday gulped, because she didn't look scared at all and Enid was too mad right now to unpack it. Her claws went deep into the wood of the bench.

"Why wouldn't I?! You are the most intelligent, cool, scary, capable, caring and beautiful person I know! I would be so lucky to- wait, I am so lucky and honored to have you as my soulmate so don't ever say something so, so... so stupid to me again!"

She ended her speech (which with every passing second became more embarrassing but no less true) right into Wednesday's shocked face. With widely open eyes she looked very cute right now.

Enid felt metal taste, only now noticing that her fangs came out too and torn a side of her bottom lip.

Wednesday slowly brought her hand to the place where a drop of blood was about to fall. But instead of wiping it, she smudged it more, shivering just a bit when Enid's breath grazed her finger.

"Eres muy hermosa en este momento", Wednesday breathed out with almost dazed look in her eyes, before catching herself.

Enid caught her retrieving hand, pressing it to her cheek, nuzzling a bit, absentmindedly searching her wrist for the scent gland she knew Wednesday as a human couldn't have.

"Enid, I would prefer to finish my book, before dying. Can you let me go?"

"I was just objectively speaking- mhn", Enid bit harder into small wrist, following with sharp eyes, how Wednesday blocked her mouth with her other hand.

"No can do", now almost halfway to wolfing out, Enid didn't bother trying to understand where her sudden obsession came from. "You see, my soulmate was thinking badly about herself, I should reassure her".

She found a spot where scent was stronger and bit there.

You see, if not for the full moon aproaching and pouring hormones into her blood, perhaps Enid wouldn't have almost transformed from sheer irritation. Maybe she would silently listen to the story only to confide herself in the room to think and overthink things, hurting Wednesday and herself.

"Say, Wens, how can someone check if they're an Addams' soulmate?" Wednesday glared at her, even if she still didn't take her hand back. Something primal in Enid preened at it. Wednesday was clearly starting to be mad, but she seemed almost helpless to resist her soulmates attention, even though she sure could.

"As I said, they can't be truly happy with another romantic partner", Wednsday tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear in frustration, even her cheeks were not their usual deadly white. Her hair was longer now than when they were at their first meeting three years ago. And now she started to wear it loose at home more often, despite not liking being the split image of her mother.

"Go on".

"They are immediately attrected to their respective Addams and wants to be closer to them despite everything".

"Interesting", even if Enid was listening attentively, but the image of Wednesday squirming because she soothed her bite with the tongue, was starting to make her head feel hazy.

"They are- mhn, feel the urge to protect their soulmate at all cost. And the most important, after they meet their Addams they become unable to have any romantic contact with other people".

Enid froze right before biting a second time a little higher. Her fangs and claws rectracted.

"Have you finally came to your senses? Honestly, have you just wanted to tease me? I'm a bit disappointed, to be honest. Even if the full moon not far. You knew, I wouldn't joke about that and it will be painful when we retu-"

Enid just sat there dumbfounded. Did Wednsday not know? Has she had no idea?

So when she kept accidentally extend her claws when kissing Ajax, it wasn't just nerves. And when she felt the urge to get Wednesday near and safe and looking at her, it wasn't just friendship. And when she went into the woods not wolved out to protect her, it wasn't just loyalty.

Enid started to giggle. It explained so much! And if Wednesday wasn't so pessimistic all this time and explained, everything would've been different.

"Enid? Are you alright?" See, even if Wednesday seemed cold, she was caring. "Have your hormones gone to your head?"

"You are silly", Enid managed between laughter.

"Mi amor, are you okay?" Wednesday started to sound worried, bending over to Enid, who was maniacally giggling on the ground.

"I'm not. I found my soulmate, realized I've been in love with her for four years, and learned that my soulmate wanted a gruesome death so much she forgot to ask me if I love her. Isn't it a bit silly?"

Wednesday almost toppled over, and Enid tugged her stupid, stubborn, the most perfect soulmate into her arms.

"Hi, I'm Enid", she said, smiling in bewildered dark eyes, that slowly started to soften with tears and soul-crashing relief. "I think you are gorgeous inside and out and many other things I'll tell you throughout our whole lives. I've loved you since I saw you, and I'm really glad you love me too".

Someday Wednesday will make her swear she won't tell a soul that her soulmate cried.

Someday Enid will scold her for keeping all to herself, while kissing all over her tear-soaked face.

Someday they'll tell everyone to the chorus of "well dah".

But now there is just one thing that is more important than anything.

It is to sniffle a little because Enid is not made from stone and there is her love in her arms.

"I'm your soulmate!"

[apricotmayonaise]

i wasn't sexually harassed by @/musashi, ya'll are just playing the telephone game.

hi, im slushy, i'm 15 and a half years old, i keep hearing these bullshit rumours about my friend wendy, or musashi, as is their tumblr url. i'm here to go on the record to say, that did not fucking happen. unfortunately, since i got banned in the server this went down in. (ha ha. how ironic.) might be tricky but i do have, like, 10 people who can back me up on this.

so, a rundown of events. me, wendy, and a few other people are in a vc. i post a poll about what i should go as for halloween. the options are pretty skimpy but hey, i'm fifteen, going on sixteen years old. i'm nearly an adult and by the time halloween rolls around i'll be old enough to work, drive, and fuck. i'm a teenager, not a toddler.

a couple server members, i think it was around five, voted on this poll. the mods, specifically the owner, got mad at wendy specifically. they said wendy was sexualising me. wendy was obviously like "no, when i look at a teenager in a halloween costume i see a teenager in a halloween costume. slushy's 13 years my junior, im not a weirdo."

the owner proceeded to get mad at wendy and then told me i should dress up as jesus? which is an odd thing to say. it was less of lingerie and more like a bikini. which gives me a feeling that the people getting mad are the type to sexualise teenagers at the beach.

anyway, wendy, with no warning, got banned for this. the mods said they gave plenty of warning but in those "warnings" they seemed to just be making friendly requests, not mod-ly orders.

the whole claim of wendy "offering to buy" me anything is also completely and utterly false. that didnt happen dawg

anyway, i was confused, angry, and upset about this. wendy was also very upset.

anyway, you know who i was groomed by?? someone else on the server who all the mods continue to reblog from and interact with. they know she's a groomer. i've told them. wendy's told them. at least five other people have expressed concern or disgust at this person's behaviour, and yet they continue to talk to the groomer.

i also want to add that i was completely and utterly spoken over. every time i said "wendy wasnt weird or creepy!" they didn't listen to me because i'm just a minorrrr. i'm just a little girl who obviously can't think for herselffffffff.

as for wendy being a "pedo apologist", i think this just refers to wendy...not being an antishipper? god forbid wendy, a grown ass 28 year old adult with adult responsibilities not get into internet discourse? also i find it pretty gross how we put "actual fucking child predators" and "people who don't care about online drama surrounding made up ships" on the same level of bad. one is something i can scroll past or block the tag of. the other caused me trauma, pain, and having grown up way too fast. fictional characters can't experience pain or tragedy in the same way real children and teenagers can.

this post is in regards to this anon message:

you are a bunch of sick people who don't care about real child abuse. you ignore groomers and let them fly under the radar to target people who you, personally, don't agree with. you're making a real victim into a false victim, and at the time of the incident it was sexual assault survivor's awareness month.

if you're going to call someone a victim, at least fucking listen to them. a real groomer is out there living her life while my friend lost a big amount of friends due to false allegations.

[guilty-pleasures21]

hellO IT IS I! First off I'd like to start by saying hi! I love your writings; you are my favorite long story writer, and I want to STEAL your creative abilities. Reading one of your series rn actually :D

Just wanted to say that before I tell you: if you aren't taking requests or something in this makes you uncomfortable to just discard. OKAY NOW I HAVE AN IDEA

It's another Miguel fic where reader is also spidey. She's actually one of the more techy ones! Imagine engineer from tf2 but not necessarily Texan and can make things so advanced they nearly trump Miguel's devices, plus she has her own office/shop in the society where she makes stuff for other spideys. Reader can make almost anything with enough time and materials. The funky part is: she's really clumsy. Not like "oh no I dropped this stack of papers" clumsy. I mean ENGINEER CLUMSY. She'll hit her head on things, fall, get hit real bad in battle, eat a not-fully-cooked chicken sandwich, and every time she gets back up like it was nothing because she has high constitution. I'm talking slung across a room in battle, Miguel is screaming her name in concern, and she just. Gets up. And brushes dust off her spidey suit. Or she'll be up somewhere, fall from really high, die for a sec, then get up like nothing happened and go on normally.

Thank you for hearing me, I bow my head to you. Apologies if this was too long. Respect to your efforts, and have a good day/night!

AHHHHH!!! I don't know if you'd believe it, but this is my first Miguel request 🤩!! I don't get a lot of requests, so I'm really happy to take them! It gives me a chance to practise my creative writing skills and also a boost whenever I have writer's block (which happens A LOT as you can probably tell by how up and down my posting is 😅).

Thank you for the compliments! I always get a little worried my writings are too long sometimes, but it's nice to know that people enjoy them!

Okay, so I'm not familiar with TF2, but I did a quick search and I hope I've gotten the general vibe of what you were imagining 🥺!

The engineer

ATSV Miguel × clumsy techie fem!reader

Warnings: None.

----------------------------------------------------------

     She leaned over Miguel’s arm to sneak a peek at whatever he’d been working on beside her. “You know, if you re-wired this connection here and took these ones out completely, you could increase the charge while using less power.”

     He turned to her, an incredulous look on his face.  But she just smiled. 

     “Just try it,” she suggested calmly. “You can always change it back if it doesn’t work.”

     “Hmm.” She did have a point; he didn’t have anything to lose by giving it a go. He did as she said, taking out a few of the wires completely, then pulled the trigger on the taser. The end lit up with a spark stronger than it had ever done before and his eyes widened, impressed. “Wow. Good job, arañita.”

     She rolled her eyes, but kept the amused expression on her face. 

     “I’m not your mentee, Miguel.” She turned to face him, then gestured between the both of them. “We’re on the same level. Just say ‘thanks’. Don’t talk down to me like that.”

     She shrugged before returning her attention to her own gadget and Miguel raised his eyebrows: he’d only had people respond to him with anger, meeting him head to head and chastising him for what they perceived as his condescending tone. But she just corrected him like he simply hadn’t known any better. He turned back to his desk, suddenly keenly aware of her warm presence beside him, and the two settled back into their usual comfortable silence. 

     He walked into the cafeteria, unable to ignore his rumbling stomach any longer. But the lunch rush should have been over, so the area shouldn’t have been too crowded by then. His gaze landed on X, seated at a table with Ben, Jess and Peter, and his heart fluttered unexpectedly at the smile on her face. He pushed it down, not wanting to look into it, and walked over to the group. “What are we talking about?”

     She shifted over on her bench, giving Miguel enough space to squeeze in beside her, and her stomach flipped when she caught his now-familiar woodsy scent.  

     “X somehow ate a raw chicken sandwich yesterday and now she says she’s fine!” Ben ousted her immediately. 

     “It was undercooked!” X insisted. But her correction did nothing to ease the thoughts of salmonella that flooded Miguel’s mind. 

     “¡Arañita! You can’t do that! Why didn’t you just come here?!”

     X paused, caught off guard by the rare concern on his chiselled features. 

     “Oh. I was at work! But then I got to go home early.” She gave him a playful nudge, flashing him a conspiratorial smile, and Miguel felt his heart speed up again.

     “¡Arañita!” he scolded her, trying to maintain his hard expression. But she just continued to fix him with that adorable smile and all he found himself able to do was hang his head and sigh. “What are you having for dinner?”

     She twisted in her seat, swinging her leg over the bench to straddle it and face him fully. Miguel ignored the curious glances he noticed the others shooting them out of the corner of his eye and instead focused his attention on X. “Oh, I have some leftover pizza from … two nights ago? I think? So-”

     “You are not eating leftover pizza, X,” he warned her, folding his arms across his chest and scrunching his brows together in a serious expression. X felt her stomach tighten at the way his muscles pressed against his suit, then she glanced away, embarrassed.

     “Um, but …” What were they talking about again? Oh, right! Pizza! She lifted her gaze back to his. “But they’re serving cheeseburgers tonight!” 

     “But you always have your chicken patty,” Miguel pointed out, confused by her response. A few of the Spider’s had different food preferences to the others, so the kitchen staff always made sure to keep a stock of different ingredients.

     “They ran out,” X told him, hanging her head in disappointment.

     “Oh.” Miguel let his arms fall back to his sides, trying to come up with a solution to her predicament. “Well, we can … we can always go out … somewhere … with properly cooked food.” He crossed his arms again as he fixed her with a knowing look and her features broke into a smile. She hopped out of her seat, delighted, but remained standing by his side. 

     “Thanks, Miguel! I’ll meet you back here at seven!” She bent over to press a quick kiss to the side of his head, then ran off before he could process what had just happened. 

     “Uh, what just happened?” Ben asked when Miguel remained frozen in his seat, stunned into silence. Hobie’s lips curled into an amused smirk. 

     “I think boss-man here just asked X out,” he replied. “On a date.” He leaned forward in his seat, wiggling his brows to punctuate his point, and Miguel frowned. 

     “No, I …” He hadn’t asked her on a date. Had he? He’d never explicitly used the word, but … he had invited her to dinner. With him. Outside of work. Ay, mierda, had he just asked her out on a date? 

     Hobie laughed at how flustered the large man had become by the tiny little spider, then he started getting up from the table as well. 

     “Well, you might want to get yourself cleaned up first,” he suggested, nodding at Miguel’s scuffed up suit, the bruise on his cheekbone and the faint trail of stubble dotting his jaw. “I’m not sure if X is into the whole ‘I’ve been awake for the past seventy-two hours wrestling different lowlifes and creeps’ look.” Miguel huffed in irritation. 

     “She’s never-” ‘complained about it before’, was what he’d been about to say. But that would only make it sound like he cared what she thought about him - like he paid attention to what she thought about him. And then they’d only tease him even more about it being a date. He turned away from them, sniffing in offence. “It’s not a date.”

     Jess snickered at his petulant attitude, her features twisted into a knowing expression. 

     “Okay, but you still have to look presentable, right?” she pointed out. “You’re not just going to drag her to any random restaurant in your Spiderman suit, right? Especially if she’s going to be all nicely dressed up.” 

     His body heated up at the thought of her being ‘all nicely dressed up’. What would she wear? He’d never seen her in anything other than her Spidersuit before. But she had some really nice curves - curves he’d find his gaze lingering on for a little too long at times. He shook the thought away, pushing his feelings of excitement aside. 

     “Uh, yeah. Fine. Whatever.” He waved them off, then stood up, shifting in position hesitantly before he walked away. “Message me if you need anything.” He marched away before they could tease him anymore on the subject, but his stomach flipped at the thought of seeing her again later that night. 

     He walked into the workshop, searching for the small form of his- of X. 

     “¿Arañita?” he called into the room when he couldn’t find her. 

     “Workshop!” she yelled from under the table, not knowing whether or not he’d already guessed where she was. “Ugh, where’s my- Ow!” She stood up and rubbed her head where she’d hit it on the underside of the table. And ay, Dios, she looked so cute in her little black dress, her hair neatly done, her features prettily made up. She gave him a sheepish smile as she walked over to him and Miguel felt his heart beat a little faster at the sight. 

     “Sorry, I was just- Whoa!” Her eyes widened in fear as she slipped on her wrench - lying on the floor in front of her - but Miguel shot a web at her, catching her before she fell to the ground. He tugged her towards him, pulling her into his arms, then he huffed in irritation. 

     “Be careful, arañita!” he chastised her. “You’re always … You need to be more aware of your surroundings, X.”

     “Oh! I …” She trailed off, her mind going blank when she realised how close they were now. She took in his long, dark eyelashes, the flecks of gold in his copper-coloured irises, the tiny scar on his cupid’s bow. She swallowed hard as her gaze fixed itself on his lips and Miguel raised an eyebrow, confused by her silence. 

     “¿Arañita?”

     “Huh?” She dragged her eyes back up to his, but her expression remained distracted as she looked up at him. “Oh! Sorry, I …”

     She curled up against his chest, suddenly shy, and his heart sped up as he realised how close they were now: her slender fingers brushing against his chest, her soft curves wrapped up in his arms, her silky hair tickling his neck. He released his hold on her, his body heating up at the feeling of her pressed up against him. Then he turned his gaze away from hers, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh … Are you ready to go?”

     “Oh!” X turned back towards her desk and reached for her handbag. “Let me get my- Hey! I’ve been looking for this!” She picked her drill up off the floor and gave it a little rev to check that it still worked. She smiled when it did, then proceeded to begin shoving the machine into her bag. 

     “What …?” Miguel reached over to take the drill from her and place it down on her desk. Then he fixed her with an exasperated look. “You don’t need a drill on a date, arañita.” He froze when he realised that he’d just referred to it as a ‘date’, but X just grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

     “On the contrary, I think drilling is the perfect activity for a date, Miguel.” He sucked in a breath at her naughty suggestion, his fingers gripping her waist tightly, and she bit her lip at the feeling. 

     “Uh,” he stammered out, his voice hoarse from all the dirty thoughts running through his mind at the feeling of her brushing up against him again. “Let’s … I …”

     X snickered at his nervousness and stretched onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go, amor!” 

     She giggled at the word as she began making her way over to the door and Miguel felt his heart skip a beat as he followed after her. 

     “¡Arañita!” Miguel called to her, narrowly avoiding Doc Ock’s outstretched tentacle as he swung between the buildings. “Use your bubble gun thing!”

     “I’m trying, amor!” X yelled back, hitting her gadget from where she stood on a nearby balcony. “Ugh! I need …” She searched her surroundings, trying to find a tool she could use to un-jam the damn thing. Then she spotted the glint of a coin lying on the floor. She cheered at the sight, then swung off the balcony to go get it. But Doc Ock caught her just as she leapt off the edge, swinging his tentacle at her and smashing her into a wall. 

     “¡Arañita!” Miguel screamed, flying after her as she began falling to the ground. He caught her just before she hit the hard floor, then set her back down on her legs, wrapping her up tightly in his arms. “¡Querida! I told you to be more careful!” 

     X shook her head, disoriented by the hit. “I’ll … I’ll be more careful, Miguel. I need that coin!” 

     She pointed at the shimmering object and Miguel shot a web at it to pull it over them. X flashed him a sheepish smile as he handed it to her, vividly imagining the exasperated expression he was probably wearing beneath his mask right that second. “Oh, right.”

     “Hmm.” Miguel squeezed her hand before swinging himself back up into the air and slicing one of the villain’s tentacles off with the blades attached to his suit. X gulped at the way his lean body twirled and flew through the air, then she fixed her gun and took aim. 

     “Take that, you- What?!” She groaned as she found herself trapped in the mound of sticky bubbles that had shot out of the gun and right at her - she’d accidentally aimed it at herself instead. “Shit!” 

     Miguel turned to his girlfriend when he heard her screech of frustration, then he sighed and pressed a button on his watch. The bubbles slipped off her suit immediately, freeing her and leaving her in a confused state. 

     “What? How …?” 

     “I made some adjustments to your suit, cariño,” Miguel informed her, swinging over Doc Ock to slice off another of his tentacles. “Just as a precaution.”

     X gasped, horrified by the thought of someone messing with her stuff. “You what?! You touched my suit?!!”

     “Well, yeah!” Miguel responded quickly, not knowing what the big deal was - he’d touched her suit many times before already. And she’d never complained then. “I knew you'd somehow get yourself into a situation like this!”

     X huffed and folded her arms across her chest. What if he messed up all her codes? Or altered the layout of her suit in some way? What if she pressed a button to activate one of her gadgets and it did something else instead? Ugh! Now she'd have to go back and remake her entire suit! How inconsiderate of her boyfriend! Were boyfriends supposed to be this inconsiderate? Or was hers just especially nosy? “Now I'm gonna have to go back and remake my entire suit!”

     Miguel landed in front of her, his confusion obvious even through his mask. “What? Why?”

     “Because!” she exclaimed, aiming her gun at Doc Ock as he took another swing at her. “How do I know you didn't fiddle with one of my settings?!” She pressed the trigger and this time, she reached her intended target. Doc Ock twisted his neck around, trying to free his appendages from the mass of gelatinous goo. Miguel crossed his arms, amused by the cute little glare his girlfriend shot at him. 

     “Oh, you mean like how you always do with my stuff?” he pointed out. X’s jaw dropped at the accusation. 

     “W-What?” she stammered out. “I'm not ‘fiddling’! I'm ‘improving’ …” 

     She sniffed and gave a little pout, offended by his dismissal of her enhancing his gadgets as ‘fiddling’ with them. But could he be right? Was this how he felt whenever she started playing around with one of his gadgets? But that was just a gadget, not his entire suit! But maybe she hadn't been so considerate either. She bit her lip as she peeked up at him, picturing the smug smirk on his face. She sighed. “Fine. I'll stop-”

     “No,” Miguel interrupted her, making his way over to the struggling Doc Ock. “Don't even pretend like you aren't just gonna keep on messing with my stuff, arañita.”

     X narrowed her eyes at him and frowned as she followed behind. “You're so mean, Miguel.”

     He walked into the workshop just as his girlfriend handed one of the Peter’s back his web shooters. 

     “There! It should be as good as new. Better, even! But don’t tell Miguel.” She grinned mischievously and Miguel felt his heart flutter at the sight. Peter shot a few webs at the ceiling, testing out the repaired gadget, and his eyes widened with admiration. 

     “Whoa! That’s great! Thanks, X!”

     “No problem!” She waved at him as he left the room, then her features lit up when she saw Miguel walking over to her. She ran over to him and he swiftly webbed away a stray screwdriver before she could trip over it. He should really look into putting motion detectors on her tools or something - programme an alarm to go off every time she got too close to one of them. “¡Querido! ¿Qué tal, mi amor?”

     He wrapped her up in a hug as she slid her arms around his neck, then she pulled back slightly and stretched onto her toes to peck his lips. Miguel bent over, resting his forehead on hers, and narrowed his eyes. “Mmm. Better than mine, hmm?”

     His girlfriend giggled and Miguel’s lips stretched wider at the sound. He slid his hands down her back, stopping when he reached her ass, and X sank into his chest, leaning into his touch. 

     “Oh!” She straightened, suddenly remembering something. Miguel kept his hands glued to her waist as she bounced over to her desk and grabbed her tablet. 

     “So, I've been trying to be more aware of my surroundings - like you told me to?” She twisted around in his arms and glanced up from her tablet, a proud expression on her face. “And my accident rate has dropped by seventy six percent in the last three months!”

     Miguel grinned, not pointing out that that was the same amount of time that they’d been officially dating and that he’d gotten familiar enough with her quirks to anticipate her clumsiness. Instead, he tightened his grip around her, pulling her back into his chest so she had to crane her neck back to look up at him. “What about the other twenty four percent?”

     She laughed at the way he murmured it against her lips, his voice smooth and suggestive. Then she pressed her lips back to his and smiled. “No one can be completely free of accidents, Miguel. I'm only human. I'm not perfect.”

     “You're perfect to me, querida,” he retorted. X let out another soft giggle and stretched onto her toes to shower her boyfriend with soft kisses. 

     “And you to me, cariño.”

[casteliacityramen]

|| Previously ||

|| Content Warning: Blood/Grievous Injury and Self Harm ||

"How much time ya got?" Ayumi's guttural voice exits from below the curtain.

The ramen stand has broken even after the last couple of customers. While additional sales after this point is a gain on profits, it's not like they're in a rush to get rid of ingredients.

"I'm calling the shots until Ray gets back. I say when," Rio absentmindedly yawns.

Ayumi takes a deep breath in response.

"I smelled the blood on him before he got to our door," Ayumi whispers, gritting her teeth and clenching her eyes tight.

"Turns out nobody thought to block the area off or anything. Just a bunch of half-made buildings that might as well have been made out of wet cardboard.

"She got it worse than I did." Ayumi slips her hand over the stump, grimacing.

"When she fell, Jack evolved on the spot in the stress of it all. She wouldn't be alive if he had to carry her as a stubby little oshawott."

"The docs saved what they could, but the rest was gone. Buried under rubble. When Alex was called to the center and saw her daughter, he flipped his shit. I get it."

Ayumi's face darkens, clenching her jaw so hard that her facial hair twitched.

"What I don't get is why he took it all out on my son. He cussed him out. He threatened him. He said it was his fault! All of it!"

Ayumi shot forward, her voice echoing like a cannon onto the street, startling anyone unfortunate enough to be within hearing distance.

"He didn't even get a chance to properly clean himself until he got home. I had to help him do it. He couldn't lift his arms or say anything, he just cried until he passed out," She growls, shaking her head as her breathing got deeper and faster at the memory.

"I wasn't having any of that."

"Our supervisors forced us on different shifts. Then, after a couple weeks, Alex and Aila moved to Nimbasa. I haven't talked to either of them since.

"So yeah, when I saw someone who looked like Aila for a split second, my brain got fried. I thought for a long time about what I'd say to Alex, but Aila? Shit. It's been four years and I just..."

Ayumi's tensed shoulders fell, confusion and sadness mixing into her anger.

"What the hell were you thinking? Why did your dad do that to my son? Do you blame my son, too?"

"Y'know how it goes? When some tauros shit goes down and your brain keeps comin' up with scenarios? All of that sat in my head for too long. It got mixed into noise. When I saw someone who reminded me of her, the noise got the loudest it's ever been."

Ayumi takes a deep breath of air, sighing as she continues.

"Jack hasn't talked about it to me. Even now. He's actin' tough, trying to make sure nothing bothers him. But I know it bothers him. I hear him cry some nights. He won't talk no matter how much my husband and I try."

"Just like when I lost my arm, Jack and Hal were freakin' out. Constantly asking me if I was okay and if I needed help. Worried out of their minds. But I kept telling them I was fine. I was okay. Nothin' bothers me. Even though a lot of what I'm going through bothers me."

"I keep doin' that 'nah I'm good' shit whenever I have a shit day and I know they see right through me. But I'm the only one getting any sort of stable income and if I let them know how much I'm strugglin', they'll feel guilty or..."

"They'll feel like a burden," Ayumi groans, placing her forehead in her hand.

"You saw how that Umbreon was when he left. I don't want to see my baby and my man like that, bendin' over backwards to do more than they should. Feeling awful because they know I left my clan for them."

Ayumi peers between her fingers at the tip jar sitting behind the stand.

"Or doin' something stupid like steal from someone else's honest work. I know Jack's still a kid, and kids do stupid shit, but I know he's still beatin' himself up over the whole damn thing."

"I mean, ya asked," Ayumi sheepishly rubs her fingers together, retreating into the shade in a tinge of embarrassment.

"I did," Rio mutters, carrying the likeness of someone who attempted to take a drink from the forceful end of a pressure washer. Regardless, she collects herself, sits straighter in her chair, and gives Ayumi a hardened look.

"I don't know anything about being a mom, but it sounds like you're putting everything into it. That's more than enough."

"What if it isn't?" Ayumi whispers, her voice trembling.

"It will be."

Ayumi softly laughs at Rio's absolution. She's repeated those words to herself countless times, but hearing them from someone else was rekindling her slipping resolve.

Feeling a small weight fall from her shoulders, she slowly forms an idea.

"... Can ya do me a favor?"

For the first time since Ayumi started, the two ease up in their seats, using whatever time they had to finally relax. The sounds of Castelia City filled the silence in between.

"Y'know what?" Ayumi shattered the silence in a sudden (and loud) realization, much to Rio's chagrin.

"I was too focused on noodles and making you listen to my sob story that I forgot to ask you for your name," Ayumi laughs. Rio pauses, coming to the same realization before she also laughs and reaches out with her paw.

Referenced Posts: Ayumi mistaking @asktoastythearcanine 's Allen for someone else Graymont Design BuildJack Stealing the Tip JarRio's question to Ayumi

|| Pinned Post | Story So Far ||

[for-a-longlongtime]

Top Me, I Deserve It Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Francisco Morales Word count: 231 Warnings: Swearing, lube mention, 🏳‍🌈 bi as fuck boys, idk A/N: @my-secret-shame posted this edit, to which I added the Frankie gif...

... and then @sin-djarin and I were chatting and she said "You know he did nothing to deserve it", mentioned them in a bank and, well, we drabbled because that's what these idiots make us do. Figured I'd post it so I can justify why this took me away from my actual WIP, lol.

Frankie is probably in the fucking bank or something and Santi’s just whining about having to be there. The two of them there for hours, waiting to speak about Frankie’s card getting blocked. Stressed.

“We could be fucking but instead we’re here. Should have just cancelled your card in the app and ordered a new one. We wouldn't have had to leave the bed.”

“Pope. You’re not helping right now. I have no money. I spent the last of my cash buying that fucking lube.” Frankie just stops after that realising how ridiculous this conversation is in a fucking BANK.

“And it was good stuff right? Could be using it right now, too. Get your money’s worth.” Santiago sighs exasperated. "What the fuck you want me to do to help? Here," he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, thumbs through the cards, and then pulls one out. "Use this for stuff until you get a new card. They probably can't even fix it right now."

“Are you fucking kidding? You’ve let us sit here for hours and you had this all al—Jesus fucking Christ. Let’s go. Now.”

"You hate it whenever I try to stop you from fixing things yourself. YOU were the one who insisted on coming here because 'it would be more convenient', remember?" Slapping Frankie's ass as they're headed out. "Now top me. I deserve it."

Santi gif 1 by @nightofthecreeps, gif 2 by @stardewsvalley, Frankie gif by @uuuhshiny | Dividers by @saradika

Tagging: idk this is just silliness, so ummm @qveerthe0ry @lotusbxtch @alltheglitterandtheroar @ohforficsake @marisferasiop

@romanarose @writefightandflightclub @wardenparker @nerdieforpedro

@rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @i-own-loki @avastrasposts @musings-of-a-rose

@pimosworld @theywhowriteandknowthings @my-secret-shame @beefrobeefcal @vivian-pascal

@legendary-pink-dot

[shootingstarpilot]

you know what you should do to celebrate hawai'i, mermay, and the return of dracula daily?

whump helix. \:D/

(no i don't know what that has to do with any of the aforementioned celebrations but you should do it anyway)

...

You know what, you're absolutely right.

And it just so happens that I was researching adrenaline poisoning for COMPLETELY UNRELATED REASONS yesterday, and, well- Helix does seem like the type, doesn't he?

Helix hasn't slept in five days.

For the first three, admittedly, it was because of the clean-up.

Dukov had been rough. The intel from the Senate had been so bad he'd overheard Crys theorizing that maybe they'd intercepted a Seppie briefing instead, right before a sniper had nearly taken his arm off at the shoulder. Three days of mainlining stims until the situation had gone from cataclysmic to merely chaotic. Three days until both Needle and Stitch could get a few hours' sleep, after Helix's own customized blend of reassurance and orders had sent them to bed with minimal resistance.

He was feeling far too twitchy to sleep, anyway.

The next day had been the flimsiwork. His least favorite bit, and it had been easy to reach for another stim from his own stash. Just to power through.

(Besides. The others would get pissy if he finished off the unit's stockpile.)

He sets the last datapad aside and rubs absently at his forehead.

The headache is multiplying, and frustration grows with it.

A twitchy agitation pushes him to his feet and out of his office to find Needle splinting a sprained wrist, poking gentle fun at the blushing shiny whose name he cannot for the life of him remember. The sudden burst of irritation at the sound of Needle's snorting laugh takes him by surprise, and for a moment all he can do is blink owlishly at the pair until Needle glances up.

"Helix!" he exclaims, unfairly delighted, and Helix scowls at him reflexively. "Emerged from your lair at last? Hope you had a good nap-"

"Get some sleep when you're done with that," Helix snaps. "I'll take first shift."

"Stitch is already sleeping, I sent him off an hour ago-"

"Then join him. Get some rest. You should know better than to not take advantage of the opportunity."

Hypocrite, a little voice whispers. Helix squashes it mercilessly, stalking out of the medbay without waiting to hear Needle's response.

Gym. Yeah. That sounds good. He's spent too long sitting in front of a datapad today; he needs to work this twitchiness out.

Then caf, if he's gonna be on shift. Needle and Stitch need the rest.

(He's pretty sure he'd stashed another stim in his gym bag, too.)

And the night... passes.

His datapad never beeps.

Helix hammers at a punching bag until nausea begins to rise, at which point he realizes that he can't quite remember the last time he ate something, and- because he's a responsible medic- heads for the mess.

More time had passed than he'd realized, apparently. The mess is still empty, but there are lights on in the kitchen, and he can hear Terror's muffled shouting as he snags a ration bar off the all-hours table and makes his way out. They'll probably be seeing someone else in the medbay soon enough, if Terror's that loud this early, and he gulps down the ration bar before jabbing another stim into his neck.

Damn it.

The nausea hasn't abated by the time he reaches the medbay doors. He scowls at the wall for a moment, remembers to inhale, and kicks the door open to make himself feel better.

"You look like shit."

When did Needle get here?

Helix can't quite find the answer, but Needle's sure as hell here now- right in front of him, brow furrowed, and blocking his way to the caf machine.

"Move."

"No," Needle says blithely, and before Helix can react to that stunning indignity, warm fingers are curling around his wrist. He stills instinctively, and Needle graces him with a quirked smile before returning his attention to his pulse.

"Tachycardic," he sighs, dropping Helix's hand. "Consider me unsurprised, Dukov was bad. How much have you slept?"

Helix elects for the time-honored tradition of saying nothing.

"...Have you slept?"

Time-honored traditions have to start somewhere.

"All right," Needle says, and Helix isn't sure what happens next- only that suddenly Needle's arm is wrapped around his waist, and they're moving further down the medbay, and then he's sitting on a mattress he doesn't remember seeing-

"You know the drill," Needle informs him, and oh, yes, right, Needle's here too, isn't he? "Start coughing. I'll give you thirty seconds before I start a line-"

Then something clatters at the entrance to the medbay.

"Hello?" asks a wavering voice, and Needle swears under his breath.

"You," he says, poking Helix's nose, "stay right here. I'm just gonna triage, I will be right back. Keep coughing."

Helix glares at his retreating back until Needle vanishes around the corner.

Then it's just him.

There was- something he was supposed to be doing, right?

Yes. Tachycardic, Needle had said- cold packs can help, he knows. The vagus nerve. Right.

But Needle's gone.

He levers himself up and heads for the supply closet, ignoring the way the nausea sloshes in the pit of his stomach.

He steps inside. Flicks the light on.

And promptly vomits all the way down the front of his scrubs.

Something twigs at last.

"Well," he says eloquently, "fuck me."

That is the last thing he remembers for some time.

"You," a voice announces, "are such a bastard."

"Mmph."

"No, no, you don't get to do that. You're awake, I need answers, and to be frank I'm not feeling particularly merciful, you absolute- no. Okay. Name."

"..."

"Helix."

"That."

"I- fine. Nauseous?"

Helix takes a moment to assess.

"No."

"Jittery?"

He curls his fingers into a fist, testing.

"No. Jus' tired."

He can hear a steady beeping at his left, and waves in its vague direction. "Turn that off."

"The fuck I will," Needle snaps. "Consequences of your actions, boss, you're gonna have to deal with it. Where's your stockpile? I checked our stash, you didn't take enough from there to trigger this."

Helix pries his eyes open. Needle is standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, scowling at him.

"Not telling."

A muscle in Needle's jaw jumps.

"Stitch?"

The expression on Stitch's face when he peers around the corner is one of naked relief.

"Yes, Needle?"

"You're on Helix duty. Make sure he doesn't get out of bed, otherwise I'll have to kill him. I'm gonna tear his office apart."

"Tear my-"

"If you'd cooperate," Needle says, with gritted-teeth cheer, "then I wouldn't have to. But since you don't seem to appreciate the fact that you overdosed on your own stims, it looks like I'll have to do it myself."

He's gone before Helix can muster a response.

Stitch, meanwhile, has apparently taken Needle's threat to heart. He climbs onto the bed and splays starfish-style across Helix, wriggling up until they're nose-to-nose, and Helix's burgeoning indignation evaporates in the face of Stitch's too-wet eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Stitch lets out a little sigh and tucks his face into the crook of Helix's neck.

Helix gives up considering standing.

"What happened?"

"Epinephrine overdose," comes the muffled reply. Inside his office, something bangs against the wall. "Needle found you in the closet. You were covered in vomit."

His scrubs are clean.

Stitch lifts his face and rests his forehead against Helix's. "Ventricular tachycardia," he says quietly, and Helix breathes out. "You went into v-fib. He had to shock you to get you back."

His face screws up before smoothing out with an all-too-familiar caution, and Helix, aching, rests a hand between his shoulder blades. "I was getting breakfast. Needle did it all by himself. You came back same time I did."

Another crashing sound. Something splinters.

"You should apologize," Stitch says sternly, and Helix chokes out a laugh.

"'m sorry, Stitch," he says, and tries his best to squeeze the hand Stitch is holding. "I didn't mean to."

"High epinephrine levels can compromise rational decision-making," Stitch informs him. "I know."

"If I promise not to get up, will you move?"

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, but-"

"Mm. Then no."

"Stitch-"

"Deep pressure therapy lowers heart rate."

"Is that what this is?"

"Yes."

"Not a hug?"

"That comes second."

"Okay, Stitch," Helix sighs. Deep pressure therapy or a hug, whatever it is- it's working.

He's asleep in less than a minute.

When he dips briefly back into the waking world, he can feel the dip in the mattress.

"Stims are taped to the bottom of my desk drawer," he says quietly.

"I know," Needle mutters.

Silence.

"How's my desk?"

"I'll get you a new one."

Another, longer silence.

Fabric shifts as Needle leans back, folding his arms across his chest. "I'll be keeping count."

"Okay."

Helix twists his head to the side, peering upwards.

Needle is staring at the wall.

"You don't have to get me a new desk," he offers.

"You're shit at apologies, you know."

Helix falls silent.

Then Needle sighs, too loud in the dull lights of the night shift, and Helix sees a wry smile twist across his face.

"Go back to sleep," he says, "and I won't ask for one."

Helix obligingly closes his eyes, and for once, doesn't say anything scathing when Needle's hand settles on his forehead.

Wait. One thing-

"Hey," he mutters sleepily. "At least now you know what it's like."

"What?"

But Helix is already asleep.