#but this also works when she's getting to be like 3000+

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

Hi! Do you write crack? (Lol this sounds so funny) If you do...can you write about how Arlecchino tries to surprise reader with a nice dinner...only for her to accidentally burn half the kitchen. Thanks!! :3

When all the stars stood in the wrong place

Trope : Crack

Summary : Arlecchino wants to make a delicious dinner that you can enjoy once you return, little does she know that it won't be that easy.

Notes : The Kids⁽ᵀᴹ⁾ are also there, so, Family bonding ig. Chaos, cooking, my phone is bugging out bc of all the words wtf phone those are only 3000, Arlecchino doesn't know that she's in a Crack Fic, POV Arlecchino, No Beta, Fluff, Arle - I fucking love my wife - cchino, Arlecchino is still bad with feelings, Bad Cooking

Thanks for the Request! <3

Wordcount : 3,396

Masterlist

Link to ao3

The Harbingers fingers tapped against the wood of her chair. Her eyes were on the paperwork in front of her. The finished paperwork. Her eyes catched the orange ligth, avoiding her, favoring the table. She pushed the chair back as she stood up. It was odd to be done this early with her work, usually they had more casualties to cover up. Her bones were cracking as she started moving them, pushing her back with her hands, stretching her head left and rigth. She shock her head, moving past the table, the sofa and towards the door, leading her out of the office. Her first thougth was you. Where were you again?

She had woken up next to you, like always, smothered you in kisses untill you woke up before taking a walk in the court of Fontaine, then you had breakfast with the children, after that you prepared some tea and macaroons for her, bringing them to her study. She remembered you telling her about going out with your friends, for shopping, a bit later in the day. Arlecchino also remembered that you said it could get late. That meant nine to ten in your language. She smiled. You had always been good. Perfect even. She walked through the halls of your shared mansion, her feet carying her to the bedroom, her side was well made while yours was…not. She sighed, going to do it herself. Such a mess. While doing your side she thougth about what else there was to do, she could look after her children, but she'd most likely have to go back home once she arrived there, no… she got back up, looking at the time. Maybe…you could be hungry once you got back. She crossed her legs. Usually she only made something at the barbecues, all the other times someone else would be responsible for food, often enough she'd go along, doing what the chef would tell her too, but it could not be too hard to Cook by herself.

Or would it be?

She unconsciously made her so to the kitchen, what could she make for you? You didn't have much of a sweet tooth, yet you liked some here and there, she should probably just make something that easily goes down, considering the time of day. She looked around the lavish kitchen, it was in the typical Fontainian style, with its terquis and whites, as for the elaborate symbols. She moved rigth to the fridge, she should look what was available before making any plans.

The fridge was, unsurprisingly, well filled. As always, Alis must have just went shopping yesterday. Arlecchino picked out some of the basics, eggs, milk, as for flour that she had grabbed from the storage. A few bowls migth be practical too, she grabbed then from…huh? She crocked a brow, staring perplexed at the dishes. What were they doing under the sink? And where in the world are the bowls? She sat back up, opening the place where the dishes were supposed to be, only to be met with spoons. A crease appeared between her brows as she tried to make sense of the forces that were trying to prevent her from making a nice meal for you. Was Celestia playing a cruel joke on her? She was shaking her head, opening all of the cabinets, finding odder and odder things, some that did not even belong in the kitchen.

"Where is a wretched pot?!", she asked as she picked up a plant that was standing in what had been the cabinet for the mugs once. For a split second she thougth about taking the plant out and using the flower pot for the food, only to dismiss the idea for…several reasons. She could rip her hair out, you'd most likely be home in an hour and she hasn't even started cooking. Her last option, before going through every cabinet in the mansion, would be the pantry. She sighed, facing the door. "You better have what I need.", she told it as she pulled down the door handle. Her hand looked foe the ligth switch, fumbling a bit, before activating it. The room was illuminated by the brigth warm ligth, reflected in some surface, she looked away from it, facing the ground. She stayed like this for a few seconds only to see her personal holy grail once she looked up.

A fucking pot.

"Finally.", she mumbled, picking it and the big glass bowl next to it up. This must've taken her like fifteen minutes already, oh, the things one does for love.

She pulled her hair up into a bun and put her jacket on the clothes holder, switching it for an apron, ignoring the open cabinets, she had everything that she needed rigth in front of her and a bit behind her, she'd still need the hearth.

She grabed one of the eggs, cracking it on the border of the glass bowl.

Chirp

She looked at a little being, made out of a feathery yellow coat, she barely saw the beak peeking out. "Hello?", she asked. It only chirped back at her. She blinked, perplexed, trying the next egg…and the next one….and the one after that. At the end, she had six little fluff balls chirping up at her. Was this a punishment? Had she not gone through enough?

"Ok, come here, come here.", she picked them up, carefully and individually, transferring them into the sink. "You, stay.", she commanded as if they could hear her. She'd talk to Alis later, apparently the eggs had been to fresh, it can happen. What she was focused on however, were properly working eggs. And she'd gladly ignore the real problem for now, even if it was chirping at her.

"You better have some proper eggs inside of you.", she threatened the box, trying not to throw it down on the counter, her long nails carefully grabed the edges, ready to open it, untill the doorbell rang.

She grumbled, turning to leave the kitchen, but not withouth a word to the chicks. "You stay here.", they stared at her with their empty button eyes. "And that is an order.", they chirped once, as if they had understood. She nodded. They had an understanding.

Little chick's could be obedient, it depended on personality of course, but they mostly were die to the attachment to their Mother Hen. And this position had gone to Arlecchino it seems, considering the little fluffballs that were carefully following her.

"Who rings that late in the evening?", she asked no one but herself, hoping it wasn't you as she opened the door. But it was someone far worse.

She crocked her brow and straightened her back. "Lyney?", she opened the door a bit further "Lynette and Freminete?", she crossed her arms "What is this about, Children?"

They stared behind her. The little fluffballs were gathering at her feet, but the children didn't dare aw. "Come in, quickly, before anyone can see."

They followed, only awing once the door was closed, falling to their knees, picking the little chicks up. Their 'Father' blushed in embarrassment. "Let's just hope one can't distract you that easily when you're on one of your missions.", she said, walking back to the kitchen with nine children trailing behind her now.

"We were sent by mother." Lyney started, walking up to her side. "She told us to tell you that she'll come home at nine twenty and that she'd like to still eat with you."

"We met her while we were going shopping ourselves." Lynette said, holding up a bag filled with a few ribbons, Freminete held his bag up, Iron clattered against eachother. It probably was for one of his inventions.

She hummed, sligthly smiled. "Well, I was already preparing something.", she said, stopping rigth before the kitchen. "I just, ran into some trouble."

The children looked down at her feet. "The eggs were too fresh, I assume?", asked Lyney. Arlecchino kept her facade up.

"Save it for the stage…but yes. As for some other things.", the door opened, revealing the open cabinets and misplaced objects. "Someone or something seems to be messing with me.", she revealed.

The children looked around. "Well, do you want us to help you 'Father'?", Lynette asked.

Arlecchino considered, putting her hand on her chin. Having more people meant that she could cover more space if she needed to look for something, it meant more hands and…she looked at the three, standing there, anticipatory a bit happy. If you were here, you would've agreed rigth away…she sighed. "Freminete, you take care of the chicks, build them a cage of whatever you can find. Lynette, you put everything in its place and Lyney, you help me cook."

"Yes 'Father'.", they said in union, going rigth to their places.

She met Lyney back at the counter.

"What were you doing 'Father'?"

She shrugged. "I was just…" she thougth a bit about what to say. "…going with the flow, as your 'Mother' would say it."

He looked at her for a few seconds. "Alrigth then, we go with the flow.", he put his hat down, grabing the flour as she went back to cracking the eggs. Now, everything should go just-

Something popped, she hid behind the counter as white blurred her vision. She should stop thinking that everything should go alright.

"What was that?", she asked, looking up from her hiding place.

"I'm sorry 'Father'." Lyney said, standing over an open flour bag as everyone recovered.

"I didn't know a flour bag could make such a loud noise…" Freminete mumbled, picking up a few of the shocked chicks.

"Usually they don't." Arlecchino said, taking of the apron, throwing it on the counter behind her. "Now where is your-" she spotted Lynette behind the counter, hands over her ears. Of course, she was more easily startled by loud noise.

"Lynette, is everything ok?", she asked, the girl looked at her, a smile cracking her face. Rigth, Arlecchino must be covered in flour from head to toe. She tried to scold her expression, but Arlecchino shock her head. "No, it's quite fine, I must look ridiculous."

Lynette smiled.

"I tell you what, you stay here untill you're combat capable again and I'll take care of that drawer filled with spider, ok?"

She nodded.

"Perfect." Arlecchino said, standing back up.

This was something she may have taken from you. Her hands drew out the spider drawer. "Lyney, you're the chef now, do you think you can take that responsibility?"

"Yes 'Father'! I won't disappoint you."

Her gaze softened. "I know."

This too. Arlecchino was growing soft and her mask was slipping. Or maybe you were taking it off. Anger makes you impulsive, sorrow causes you to waver…and love made you weak. She sighed. She opened the back door, the sun was still beating down on earth, the last few hot days wer e a test on her and on her love for suits."There, there, you're free now.", she told them as they scattered withouth looking back. Oh, they were lovable creatures, weren't they?

As she was slowly approaching the kitchen, she was able to hear Lyney barking orders at his siblings. Arlecchino smiled. He was as good as she expected. Upon arriving, she had her hand go over her jacket, cleaning it on atleast surface level, but gods knew that she'd never get the flour out of all those little crevices.

"'Father'! You're back!" Lyney was stirring the pot as Freminete was working on a little cage and Lynette was pushing a pizza in the oven. "The Pizza is only a last resort, if all else fails! Also, Freminete is nearly done with the cage, then…well, he's nearly done and I think we'll just make kaiserschmarrn."

"Sounds good.", she came up to him and he automatically gave her the pot.

"I'll get some of the other stuff for it.", Lyney said.

Lynette finished setting the oven up, turning back to her 'Father' now.

"Set up the kettle and your 'mother's' favorite tea." She said withouth looking up, concentrating on sprinkling chocolate chips in and half of the flaked almonds.

"Children?"

"On it, 'Father'!" She heard how Lyney grabbed the butter and Lynette slapped it in. Arlecchino stirred a bit more, looking at the recept one or two times inbetween. She sat the bowl down, adding the rest of the flakes, now it only would have to densen for a bit, after the recipe atleast.

When she turned, the butter was already melting, Lynette was pouring the tea and Lyney checked the pizza. Freminete has finished now with the cage and- Arlecchino had to hild back her smile as the chicks tried to climb the walls up, only to fall back down.

"ˋFatherˋ, where do the plants have to go?"

She looked at each of them. "Small ones go on the windowsill of the bedroom, that big one was next to the fireplace and the rest, just put it in the living room and atleastnone in my office." he nodded as he took some of the smaller ones, taking them out.

Arlecchino looked at the clock over the doorframe. Nine, on the dot. Her charcoal hand fanned some air towards the flowy dough. If it wasn't done in five minutes, she'd just throw one half in and distract you somehow as the children finished the other one.

Five minutes passed and Arlecchino parted it to throw it into the pan, disconnecting the dough frome eachother as Lyney was slowly panicking. "She'll be here I'm five minutes!", he said, grabing his head.

Lynette shrugged. "And we're nearly done. There's no need to panic.", she shrugged, staring as her 'Father' calmly set the stove on fire, helping a bit out by putting her hand under the pan. "That's actually quite practical.", she said.

"That could be a practical skill on outdoor missions, did you ever use it?"

"Only in cases where a fire wasn't possible.", she said, putting it down once she was satisfied.

"Do you think 'Mother' will be satisfied with that handprint on the pan?"

She picked it back up. Indeed, there was a big charcoal handprint. "Damn it. You're mother is barely in the kitchen, she won't notice unless she's looking for it. And Alis won't ask any questions."

"Who's Alis?" Freminete, who has just arrived, asked.

"The Maid."

All of the three children looked confused now. "You have a maid names Alis?"

She turned around, confused. "Yes. She's worked for us since…well, I can't exactly recall, but I'll have to have a proper talk with her because she's responsible for the kitchen."

"But…you only have two maids." He said. "Pauline and Robert…mother said so."

She looked at him confused as the raw food stirred in front of her. "But-"

The Doorbell rudely interrupted her.

The doorbell?

The doorbell!

"Ok, I'll go distract her for the next ten minutes and children, I trust you, Lyney, the kitchen is in your hands once again. You just need to look over the pan and do what's in the recipe. Not to hard. I trained you for this, my children."

"Yes 'Father'." Lyney said, watching as his 'Father' went into battle.

"Arlecchino!", you jumped rigth at her and she catched you, twirling you around.

"Well, someones excited to see me.", she said, holding you up still, on one arm only.

"Of course! It has been, what? Ten or something hours since I saw you the last time?"

"Now you're being hyperbolic, my dear.", she said, still not putting you down, switching her gaze to the clock. Just a bit more.

"Am I being hyperbolic when I'm telling you that I'm starving?", you were leaning forward and slowly, her arm was starting to strain, so she let you down, resorting to pulling you as close as humanly possible.

"Quite so.", she kissed your lips. "But you must wait a bit, the food must still cool a bit."

"Didn't you put it at the open window?"

"I didn't want any Squirrels to steal it.", you rolled your eyes.

"That happend ONE time.", you argued.

"Still did happen."

You hid within the crock of her neck. "You smell nice. Like kitchen."

Arlecchino chuckled. "You smell like…" she couldn't really decipher it, but it was an array of smells, not necessarily a good one. "…not yourself."

"We tried a LOT of perfumes.", you said, pointing to a small bag. "I hope you don't mind me buying one or two things for them?"

She put some hair behind your ear. "Aslong as it wasn't to expensive. Now, how about you show me some of the stuff you got?"

There was a sparkle inside of your eyes. "Yes, oh you'll love it!"

"I'm sure I will."

In the end, she had been able to buy the children fifteen minutes of time. You had made quite the big purchase and didn't realize, due to your excitement, that your Husband was acting dumb when she asked how to apply lipstick. You had chuckled a bit, then kissed her, saying. "Like this.", rigth after.

"Hm, quite efficient.", she had said.

Now the two of you were sitting at the dinner table, in front of some of the Kaiserschmarrn. "It's from Mondstadt, isn't it?"

She nodded, watching as your fork hovered rigth over it. "I did put a lot of effort into it.", she looked at the children, their eyes peeking out from the door, ready to retreat behind it any second. You stared at it for a few more seconds, you're gaze concentrated, the fork in your hand quivering sligthly. Lynettes tail was stare, Lyney was breathing harsh, Freminete had hid eyes covered.

"You know, I'd you're not hungry-"

She went to grab the plate, but you pulled up your legs and hid it behind them. "No, it's mine.", you announced proudly, finally taking your first bite, humming.

"Amerelle.", she said and the children calmed, taking their hiding place, though the door was still sligthly ajar. You didn't hear the code word….or maybe you acted as if you didn't.

"I should get out of my clothes.", you sighed after taking a few bites. "And take of my make up."

"I'll be waiting for you rigth here.", she said, leaning back, crossing her legs, watching you leave through the door in front of her. She sighed once you were out of earshot and so did the children, who were slowly making their way into the living room, slumping into the chair Arlecchino allowed it, this time.

"Do you think she knows?" Lyney asked.

"Maybe…probably…yes, definitely."

"I think she's even walking to the kitchen." Lynette mentioned. "I saw her going that way."

Freminete stayed silent.

Even at the loud "ARLECCHINO?!", that was shouted through the whole house.

Arlecchino went through her hair, before getting up. She could imagine you standing in the middle of the mess, shocked at first, then laughing. "I'll handle this.", she told the children, following the path you took.

It was like she imaged. Just minus the smoke and the Black iced over kitchen counter. She realized with horror that they forgot to put the kettle out, same with the pizza. You were sitting between the chicks, laughing so hard it brougth you to tears.

"Is everything fine?", she asked, bending down to your level, taking your shaking hand. You put your forehead on her shoulder, still laughing, trying to catch your breath, but chocking on the smoke and your laugh.

"Children! Open all the doors and windows.", she called and they came, quickly going to work.

You calmed down after a few more minutes. The children were resting in the pantry, partially laying on the floor.

"How did this even happen?", you still chuckle, pointing to…the chaos.

"I think that was Alises fault.", she said and you looked confused, just as the children. "Doesn't matter. You liked the food though?"

You nodded. "You all did that quite well, atleast."

Arlecchino smiled, the chicks were gathering around her heels once again. "I'm glad to hear I did one thing rigth today."

You held your breath, untill you looked back at everything. Loud laugther erupted again and this time, it affected her and the children too.

How beautifully absurd.

[oflorien]

trying to find her "matured" alt faceclaim

[seilon]

I just realized I didn’t really announce this despite it being a Big Deal but. finally got a top surgery date and secured it with a big ol deposit. august 5th. kinda hard to process in a way

[aajjks]

The Boy (I)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à míscárrïàgè, yn ïs brókè & hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès.

wc: almost 3000.

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

note. OH MY GOD, HE’S HERE.. this is everything and I have worked really hard on this so don’t let this flop and I’m really nervous… BUT if you want to be tagged, please reply under this post only. PLEASE ENJOY AND SHARE YOUR FEEDBACK. OH MY GOD OK??? 

•••

You’re scrolling through job listings on your phone, your eyes glazing over the endless options. 

Babysitting, waitressing, house cleaning..

none of it seems even remotely appealing, and none of it pays nearly enough to escape your mess of a life.

Why the fuck does your life have to suck so much?

As you keep looking, you almost roll your eyes at the ridiculous job offers, but then, your eyes flicker when you see this one.

This is the most weirdest thing you’ve ever seen on the Internet so far.

But you find yourself intrigued so you click on it. 

Live-in nanny position. High pay. In Busan.

You blink, not quite believing it. Busan? That’s hours away from Seoul. 

You could use the distance. You could definitely use the money.

But a nanny job? You squint at the screen, a laugh escaping your lips. A nanny? To take care of some kid in a big house somewhere far from your current mess? 

It sounds too good to be true. 

And it sounds hilarious.

You tap on the message from Alina. 

Allie:

I found something for you. Live-in nanny job. High pay. Busan.

This is weird because you’re looking at the same mall for it’s like the universe wants you to have this one.

You laugh out loud. 

you:

Are they serious? Who needs a nanny for a kid that badly?

Alina texts back almost immediately. 

Allie:

Trust me, Yn. It pays enough to start fresh. You need this. And yeah, they’re serious.

You shake your head. A nanny job. You don’t even like kids. But the thought of getting away from everything..

the mess of your relationship, the toxic memories of Min Jae, the grief from losing your child—

it’s tempting. Hell, you need it.

you text back before you can second-guess yourself.

You:

Fine, I’m in.

The money is too good to turn down. You don’t have a real family to keep you tied down. Alina’s your best friend, but she’s too busy with her own life.

And the salary? You look it over again.

5 million Korean won per month. 

Five million. For what? Looking after a kid? The job sounds too good to be true. And you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it all is.

You really hope this isn’t some scam. But the thought of the money, of freedom… it makes you push past the doubt.

You need to take this.

•••

You honestly don’t know what you’re doing but the next day you find yourself driving.

You might regret this, but what’s the point in looking back now you’ve been through a lot of shit anyways?

You drive down to Busan, with your luggage and it feels like an eternity. But you’re not complaining. 

The farther you get, the more you feel like you’re shedding the weight of your past life. like you’re heading toward something that doesn’t have Min Jae’s name written all over it.

When the massive house finally comes into view, you stop dead. 

You’ve heard of the Jeon family, everyone in Seoul has, but you didn’t expect a mansion that large. 

The house looks like something straight out of a gothic horror movie. 

Cold, imposing, almost too perfect.

You ring the doorbell, echoing through the hallway like it belongs to another century. It takes a few seconds for someone to answer, and when the door finally opens, you’re greeted by a woman in her early fifties.

“You must be Yn,” she says in a voice that’s a little too calm for your liking. “I’m Jeon Ji-seon.”

“Umm yeah, HI! I’m… yn. Kang Yn..”

You smile, trying to keep your composure.

“I’ll show you inside,” she continues, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

You walk through the door, and as soon as you step into the house, the silence hits you. 

The place is huge, far too big for just a couple of people. And it’s cold, like the air here has been frozen for years.

Ji-seon leads you down a hall that feels way too quiet. You don’t even know why, but your skin prickles as you walk behind her.

“Come, this is the boy,” she says, opening a door to a sitting room.

You glance around, expecting to see some child, maybe a little too spoiled, maybe a bit over the top. 

but what you find is… not that.

It’s a doll. A life-sized doll sitting on the couch, its eyes too wide and too real. It’s sitting there like a person, and you can’t help the chuckle that slips from your mouth.

“This is JK,” Ji-seon says, her voice soft, almost motherly. 

“The boy you’ll be looking after.”

You blink, unsure whether you’ve heard her right.

“Wait, this is… this is the kid?” You can’t help yourself. The laughter bubbles up again, louder this time. “A fucking doll? You want me to look after this?”

This is not even a kid, but this is a doll..

Ji-seon’s smile doesn’t falter, but you can see a flicker of something in her eyes.

“Yes, JK needs care. He’s like a child, in many ways.”

You laugh again. 

The idea of it is absurd. Who would hire a nanny for a doll? And who would pay five million won a month to do it?

You can’t resist a glance back at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Ji-seon says, her voice unflappable. “He requires attention. He’s very… sensitive.”

A sharp chill runs through you, but it only lasts a second before you shake it off.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay, I’ll take care of the… kid. Whatever.”

Ji-seon doesn’t seem bothered by your sarcasm. She just nods, smiling softly.

“You’ll be well compensated, yn” she adds. “And Eunwoo will be overseeing everything. He’ll make sure you’re doing it right.”

You don’t like the way she says your name like she’s already familiar with you.

“Eunwoo?”

“His name is Eunwoo. He checks on JK. He’ll be checking on you as well,” she explains, her gaze a little too intense.

You try to stifle a yawn. This whole thing is weird. And for the amount of money they’re offering, 

it’s almost too weird.

And then, as if on cue, a man enters the room. He’s tall, dressed in a sleek black suit, his eyes cold and assessing.

“I’m Eunwoo,” he says in a deep voice that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blink. For a second, you think you’ve seen him somewhere before, but you push the thought away.

“I’ll be overseeing things here,” he continues, not bothering with pleasantries. “Make sure you’re following the rules.”

You squint at him. “Rules for taking care of a doll?”

Eunwoo’s smile is sharp, almost predatory. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

You’re about to ask more questions when Ji-seon interrupts.

“Remember the doll can actually speak a few words so don’t be freaked out about that, JK is capable of crying and sometimes even complimenting.”

What the fuck?

“Eunwoo will show you around. He’ll tell you what’s expected of you.”

You glance at Eunwoo, who watches you closely, as if evaluating every inch of you.

“I’ll be back later,” he says, before turning and walking toward JK, adjusting the doll in a way that makes you shiver.

You feel like you’ve stepped into some strange, twisted world. But you try not to let it show. 

You need this job.

After all, you’ve got five million won to make.

The house feels too quiet as you stand there, trying to process everything. 

You walk around, pretending to look busy while your eyes are fixated on the doll, JK, sitting perfectly still on the couch. 

You can’t help but feel like you’re under some kind of microscope.

How could anyone need a nanny for a doll? 

you think, your thoughts dripping with sarcasm. But then you remind yourself that you’re here for the money.

Five million won. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself to push down the absurdity of the situation.

Eunwoo’s movements seem calculated as he adjusts JK’s position on the couch. 

You don’t know why, but his actions feel almost… gentle, like he’s handling something fragile. 

It’s unsettling. 

You swallow, trying to mask the unease creeping into your stomach.

“Right,” you say, trying to force a grin as you break the silence. “So, what exactly am I supposed to do with… him? Do I play with him, or is he more of a… I don’t know, a silent companion?” Your tone is light, as if you’re joking, but it feels strangely hollow.

But he doesn’t seem to find your joke funny.

What a weirdo but at least he’s got a pretty face.

Although he looks very familiar… you just can’t put your finger on why you have probably seen him somewhere but you’re not sure at this point.

Eunwoo doesn’t respond at first, his gaze locked on the doll, then finally, he mutters, “You’ll interact with him when it’s required. He has specific needs. You’ll figure it out.” 

His voice is colder than you expected, but it’s a different kind of cold— more like a warning than a suggestion.

You shift uncomfortably, looking over at JK.

. The doll’s porcelain eyes are wide open, locked onto you in an unnerving way, and you fight the urge to laugh at how absurd the whole situation is. 

How could anyone possibly think this thing is alive?

“Got it,” you say, forcing a smile, trying to make light of the situation. “I’ll treat him like a… like a kid, right?”

Eunwoo’s eyes snap to yours, a brief flicker of something unspoken passing between you two. 

“You’ll take care of him,” 

he says, and you can feel the weight of his words sink in, much heavier than you expected. 

His gaze lingers on you for a beat too long before he nods, as if ensuring you understand.

Ji-seon reappears, smiling pleasantly, and her presence brings a sense of eerie calm to the air.

 “You’ll be fine here, yn. Eunwoo will help you get settled. We just need you to follow the routine.”

You nod, trying to sound agreeable. “Of course. No problem.”

She leads you down a hallway, her heels clicking on the polished floor as she motions toward a door. 

“This will be your room while you’re here. Make yourself at home.”

You step inside, and your breath catches. It’s bigger than any space you’ve ever lived in before. bigger than your tiny apartment in Seoul, bigger than anything you’ve ever imagined. 

The room is sleek, minimalist, and pristine, with soft, neutral colors that almost feel too perfect. 

Rich people are ridiculous but at least you get to live in a really nice room and a literal man just to take care of a fucking doll.  life is being nice to you at least.

At the far end of the room, there’s a large window with a view of the sprawling estate grounds, but it’s not the view that catches your eye.

It’s the family photos.

They’re everywhere— on the walls, on tables, in frames. 

At first, it seems normal, just a rich, respectful family showing off their prized memories. 

But then you start noticing things. In one picture, there’s a child, a little boy who could be no more than five or six. His features are strikingly similar to JK’s. 

sharp Bambi eyes, a mole under his lower lip, and a smile that mirrors JKS. 

It’s unsettling, the way the child looks so much like the doll, so much like… him.

In one photo, the child is sitting on a chair beside a younger version of the doll, his tiny hand placed possessively on the doll’s shoulder. 

The similarities between them are too eerie to ignore.

You feel a slight shiver creep up your spine. What the hell is going on here?

you want to ask about this but you decide to let it go.

“How strange,” you murmur under your breath, though you’re not sure if you’re speaking to the doll or to yourself. 

You force yourself to look away from the photos, but it feels like they’re following you.

You walk over to the desk, where another photo sits—this one of the couple holding hands with the child, all three of them beaming at the camera. 

And again, the resemblance between the child and JK is too uncanny. It’s like they’re trying to prove something, some perfect image of family that feels staged, artificial.

A sudden knock on the door interrupts your thoughts, and before you can answer, 

Eunwoo enters. 

He doesn’t wait for permission, just steps inside, his eyes immediately scanning the room before they rest on you. 

“Get settled. We’ll talk later,” he says, his tone clipped and direct.

You give him a forced smile, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Of course. Thanks, Eunwoo.”

“But where are Mr. and Mrs. Jeon?”

He nods, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than comfortable. 

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, but then he turns and walks out without another word.

“Didn’t you read in the advertisement? They have to go on a business trip to the states and they need you to take care of…. JK.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

The air in the room feels dense, thick with unspoken things. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched, monitored, like a subject in some twisted experiment.

You move to the bed, setting your bag down, and glance back at the photos. 

The resemblance between the doll and the child is enough to make your stomach turn. 

You try to push the thought out of your mind, but it sticks with you. What kind of family is this?

You pull out the piece of paper Eunwoo gave you earlier.

The list of instructions. It’s simple, even ridiculous at times. But the last line sticks out to you, making your heart skip a beat:

1. Do not leave him alone for extended periods.

• JK requires constant companionship. Never leave him for more than an hour at a time. If he is left alone for too long, you may hear him calling out for attention, sometimes saying things like “stay” or “hello.”

2. Talk to him regularly.

• Speak to JK as if he were a real child. He understands more than you think and benefits from daily conversation. You may hear him respond in his own way, even if it’s just a faint whisper of words like “pretty” or “hello” that seem to come from nowhere.

3. Do not ignore him.

• If JK’s eyes are on you, he is expecting attention. Never leave him in a room alone without acknowledging him. If you do, you might hear him softly say “stay” or something equally unsettling when you’re out of sight.

4. Maintain his appearance.

• Clean JK daily, especially his clothes. Ensure his hair is brushed and neat, and that he is positioned properly. If you don’t care for him properly, you may hear him complain.

5. Do not place him out of sight.

• Always keep JK within your line of sight. If you leave the room, take him with you, or he will become distressed. If left alone for too long, you may hear him calling out, perhaps asking for you in a low, soft voice.

6. Respect his space.

• Do not move JK without carefully considering his position. He prefers to be seated in his chair or on the couch—never leave him lying down for long. You may notice him suddenly changing positions on his own if you don’t follow these guidelines.

7. Follow the daily routine.

• A structured schedule is important for JK’s well-being. The routine is as follows:

• Morning: Greet JK. Talk to him about your day.

• Afternoon: Engage in activities with him (reading, conversation, or watching TV together). He might ask you things like “pretty” or “play” when he wants to interact.

• Evening: Ensure he is settled before you sleep. You may hear him say “stay” if you don’t give him a kiss goodnight.

8. Do not let him become distressed.

• If JK begins to look upset or agitated, stop what you’re doing immediately and comfort him. You’ll know he’s upset if his eyes seem unfocused or if he “stares off” for too long. At these times, you may hear him say things like “hello,” reaching out for attention.

9. No visitors unless approved by us.

• Do not invite anyone into the house unless we have specifically authorized them. This includes friends, family, or strangers. JK may also react to unapproved visitors by whispering, “go away,” or “stay,” in a chilling voice that’s hard to ignore.

10. Follow all of JK’s instructions as they are given.

• While he cannot speak in the traditional sense, his needs will make themselves known. You must be attuned to his behavior and respond accordingly. This includes listening for his soft, eerie phrases like “stay” or “pretty” when you least expect it.

11. Always keep his room organized.

• JK’s environment must remain tidy. His room should be cleaned and arranged according to how you find it each day. If you don’t, expect to hear him muttering things like “stay,” as if reminding you of your duties.

12. Never speak ill of him or treat him disrespectfully.

• JK is a special member of the family. Disrespect or neglect will not be tolerated. You may hear him call out to you in a hurt tone, saying “why” or “pretty,” if he feels abandoned.

13. If you feel discomfort or fear, contact Eunwoo immediately.

• Eunwoo is to be your point of contact should you feel overwhelmed or need assistance. He is also here to make sure everything is running smoothly. He may even contact you if he notices JK has been more vocal than usual, or if things seem off.

14. In case of an emergency, stay calm and follow the procedure.

• If anything unusual happens, contact us immediately. Keep calm and ensure JK is safe. During these moments, JK might cry out, or ask you “why” or “stay” in a soft voice, leaving you with an eerie feeling of being watched.

15. Do not attempt to move or alter JK’s appearance without prior approval.

• His positioning, attire, and overall state must remain as it is unless told otherwise. This is crucial for his well-being. If you disobey, JK might say things like “don’t” or “stop” under his breath, which you’ll hear clearly when the house is quiet.

16. If you need to leave the house, make sure JK is placed safely in a position to rest.

• Ensure he is seated comfortably before leaving. If you are gone for more than an hour, contact Eunwoo to check on him. You might also hear him call out faintly, “stay,” as if trying to hold you back.

17. Keep your emotions in check around him.

• JK can sense emotional changes. If you are feeling upset or disturbed, try to manage it before interacting with him. He may respond with a quiet “pretty” or “hello,” as if trying to comfort you, or, more chillingly, he might ask you, “stay.”

18. Remember: JK is not a doll.

• Treat him as you would any living child. He may not look alive, but his needs are very real. If you treat him like an inanimate object, you may hear him cry softly, pleading for attention, and saying “stay.”

19. Always give him a goodnight kiss.

• Before you sleep, you must give JK a kiss on the forehead. It’s a requirement for his comfort and peace of mind. If you forget, he will become unsettled, and you might hear him whisper, “stay” or “please” in a voice that feels too real for comf

You look over at JK. The doll’s unblinking eyes stare back at you, and for a moment, you almost think it’s smiling.

The money is still the only thing keeping you here. Five million won. But the unease crawling under your skin refuses to let go.

“Umm well these instructions are quite… haha… ummm… thorough…”

Eunwoo looks at you and he almost looks annoyed by you. 

“Obviously. People like you need thorough instructions. You have to make sure that you follow each and every one of them or we will deduct your salary.”

What a little bitch he is.

“Yn you can go to your room now I can take care of him right now and keep the set of instructions with you and read them over again and again until you can remember them. Good night. The dinner will be on the dining table so eat whenever you want.”

•••

The next morning when you wake up, you realize that you didn’t really get much sleep last night because your head is pulsing, but you barely have time to breathe when you hear the older woman call out your name and there is a knock on your door.

When you finally compose yourself and dress up, you rush downstairs and you see the couple with the brooding, butler guy.

“Ummm good morning.”

Ji-seon and Jeong-hwan sit you down in the grand living room, the air thick with a seriousness that immediately puts you on edge. 

You’re seated across from them, the doll, JK, still in his usual spot on the couch, eerily quiet as always. 

The room feels colder now, as if the warmth has been sucked out of the house overnight.

“We have to leave for an extended period,” Ji-seon says, her voice smooth but with an undertone of finality. 

She’s holding her hands in front of her, fingers laced together, her perfectly manicured nails catching the light. 

She’s dressed as if she’s about to attend a gala, the elegance radiating off her like a fine perfume.

Jeong-hwan nods beside her, his expression unreadable, his posture stiff. 

“We’ll be in Europe for business,” he says, his voice calm but firm, 

“and we won’t be back for a few months. Maybe longer, depending on how things go. But we need you here, yn. You’re crucial to this arrangement.”

You blink, not sure what to make of the sudden reveal. You were told they were going away for a short time, but this? This feels different. 

You glance at Eunwoo, who’s standing by the door, arms crossed, looking like he’s barely keeping his composure. 

He’s so serious you almost want to fuck him.

His eyes are intense, unwavering, but there’s something else there too. something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Ji-seon leans forward, her eyes locking onto yours. 

“The job isn’t just to care for the house, or to clean up after us. It’s to take care of JK while we’re gone,” 

she says, her voice unwavering, almost as if she’s testing you. “

“We’re trusting you with a very special task. We have rejected 25 Nannie’s before you but something about you stood out.”

You feel a strange knot tighten in your stomach. “Right. I understand,” you say, 

Though you can’t help but question how anyone could need someone to look after a doll like that.

Eunwoo’s gaze flicks to you briefly, a warning lingering in the way his lips press together. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

Jeong-hwan speaks up again, his tone cold, almost stern. 

“You’re to follow the rules exactly as they’re written, and there will be no exceptions. JK needs consistency. He’s… special,” he adds, his words leaving a strange, unsettling weight in the air.

Why the fuck does everyone keep on saying that it’s almost starting to piss you off and you’ve been here for a day?

You frown, your mind reeling from the bizarre nature of their instructions. 

“Special?” you ask, glancing nervously at JK, who’s still as ever on the couch, eyes wide and staring. 

“What do you mean by that?”

Ji-seon’s expression softens slightly, but there’s a sharpness behind her gaze that makes you hesitate. 

“What we mean,” she begins, her voice careful but insistent.

“is that JK, has particular needs. He requires attention, affection… care. You’ll need to spend time with him, talk to him. Don’t leave him alone for too long. You understand?”

You nod, unsure of what to say. You can feel the tension rising in the room, the weight of their expectations pressing on your chest.

Eunwoo shifts, stepping further into the room as if to emphasize his role.

“And I’ll be visiting, here to make sure everything goes smoothly,” he adds, his voice is smooth, almost too calm. 

“If you ever have any issues or doubts, I’ll be here to help. Just… keep him company. That’s all we ask.”

You bite your lip, your thoughts racing. You never imagined this job would be anything like this. 

The money was appealing, but now, the reality of it is setting in— and it’s starting to feel far too strange, 

too unnerving.

“You’ll be fine,” Ji-seon says, offering you a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“We’ll be back when we’re done with business, but until then, please make sure JK is well taken care of. He’s very important to us.”

Jeong-hwan stands, his suit sharply pressed, and gives you a small bow of his head. 

“Take care of everything. Follow the rules, and everything will go smoothly.”

You nod, trying to remain composed, even though everything inside of you is screaming for a way out.

 The money. 

That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’ll stick it out.

But as you glance over at Eunwoo, his unblinking stare fixated on you, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being drawn into something far deeper and more dangerous than you ever imagined.

The door closes softly behind Ji-seon and Jeong-hwan as they leave, and you’re left standing in the silent house with JK and Eunwoo.

And as soon as the door closes, there is a mechanical sound leaving the doll.

“pretty, pretty, stay… stay.”

And for the first time ever, you got serious shivers down your spine.

“Nice.. JK seems to like you a lot.”

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

•••

I watch you, every move you make, every breath you take. 

Your body, so unaware, so oblivious to the presence of the one who truly owns you.

 You laugh, that soft sound echoing through the room, and I can’t help but let my eyes linger on the curve of your neck, the way your lips part when you exhale.

You’re beautiful. 

But it’s not just your beauty that calls to me. It’s the way you touch the doll. Your fingers graze his face, your movements slow, almost hesitant. 

You don’t even realize it, do you?

You’re already giving him a piece of yourself, even if it’s just a touch. But it’s not for him, is it? 

No, it’s for me.

You think you’re in control, that you’re simply playing a role, but I can see the way your body betrays you. 

The way your hands shake just a little when you adjust him, how your breath hitches when you think no one’s watching. You want him, want me, more than you’re willing to admit.

I can feel the heat radiating from you, the tension in the air thickening with every second you linger in that room. 

You don’t know it yet, but every time you speak to him, every time your skin brushes against his, you’re inviting me in. You want to be touched, you crave it. 

Your body, so starved for affection, desperate for someone to care, to see you.

I see you. And soon, you’ll feel me.

You’re not just taking care of a doll. You’re taking care of me. 

The doll is just a way to keep you close, to watch you, to savor every second of your vulnerability. 

You don’t realize how deep you’re sinking into this. 

Every time you move, every time you shift, it’s like you’re drawing me in closer, pulling me into your world.

Your eyes flicker toward the doll again, and I can almost hear your thoughts, wondering why you’re drawn to him so much. 

You want to feel him. You want to touch him.

But what you don’t know is that the only thing you’ll feel is me. The only thing you’ll touch is me.

I let out a quiet breath, my fingers curling into a fist as I watch you through the shadows. You’re perfect for this. You’re perfect for me

And the longer you stay here, the closer you’ll get to me, to the things I want from you.

You’ll beg for it soon enough.

[mononijikayu]

20 cm — ryomen sukuna.

“Are you sure you’re not tired?” you teased, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm as you passed him. His eyes followed your movement, slow and heated. “Not when you’re around, baby.”  “You’re too much.” You say, a hint of blush appearing on your cheeks. “But you like it that way, no?” He murmured, voice low, a little rough from practice or maybe something else.

Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Teasing, Volleyball, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 7k words.

Note: i thought about sukuna always taking the train because reader takes the train and he doesn't want her to go alone. but i realized that he also works, so he has to have something to use for transport. so i thought of motorcycle, since he could get a license easily. i hope you enjoy it!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

lovesick masterlist

kayu's playlist — side 3000;

if you want to, tip! <3

THIS WAS HOW IT ALWAYS WAS WHEN NATIONALS COME AROUND. Volleyball practice was always going to drag on and on far longer than usual. Primarily because everyone in the damn team can be too eager to be passionate beyond what their legs could take. And you were certain your boyfriend was the same. 

Yet this was what it was every year, with the looming pressure of Nationals making everyone restless and wired with adrenaline. You sighed as the echo of squeaking sneakers and thudding balls had finally died down as the team began to disperse, sweaty and exhausted, but still buzzing with nervous energy.

You leaned against the wall, catching your breath, when you noticed your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, still on the court. His shirt clung to his back, his fuschia pink hair damp with sweat, but he looked like he could go another hour. Of course he did. That sharp, competitive fire in his scarlet eyes hadn't dimmed in the slightest.

“You’re not done?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer. “My love, you gotta finish sometime soon, you know that.”

He glanced at you, smirking as he twirled a volleyball between his fingers. “Not even close. You know that better, baby. Wanna stay?”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your boyfriend, then turned to the senpais who were finishing up with packing their things. “We’ll lock up, senpai.” you told them. “Go on ahead.”

They didn’t question it at all. But if anything, they never did when it came to you and Sukuna. That’s just what it was when it comes to the two of you. You were just tied to the hilt. If he decides something, you do it with him. And vice versa. No questions asked.

“Thanks!” one of them called, already halfway out the gym doors. “See you on Monday!”

The gym grew quiet, save for the low hum of the lights and the soft bounce of the ball in Sukuna’s hand. You reached for your phone and texted your parents, even though you knew they probably won’t reply until they finish with work: Practice ran late. Staying back to help clean up. I’ll be home late tonight. See you, if you’re at home.

When you looked up, Sukuna was watching you, expression unreadable. You tossed your phone back into your bag and stepped onto the court. You stood there as he finally went back in form and started to take another go at spikes. 

“Are you sure you’re not tired?” you teased, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm as you passed him.

His eyes followed your movement, slow and heated. “Not when you’re around, baby.” 

“You’re too much.” You say, a hint of blush appearing on your cheeks.

“But you like it that way, no?” He murmured, voice low, a little rough from practice or maybe something else. He twirled the ball in his hands, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “You watching me gives me more energy to do this, though.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, crossing your arms. “Yeah, but I’ll miss the train.”

“I got my motorcycle parked at the convenience store today.” Sukuna snickered, barely glancing at you as he tossed the ball up and spiked it with an effortless force that sent it slamming against the floor. “You’ll be fine if you miss the train.”

You raised a brow. “You brought it today?”

“Had a feeling this would happen.”

“But what did the teacher—”

“They didn’t see me, don’t worry.” He reassured you, shaking out his wrists before retrieving the ball again. “I put the helmets in the convenience store locker. It’s fine.”

You let out a small tch sound, shifting your weight onto one leg. “You’re doing too much.”

Sukuna scoffed, tossing the ball up lazily and catching it again. “You say that as if you didn’t put concealer on my face earlier to cover my face tattoos.”

You froze for half a second before glaring at him, cheeks heating. “That was different.”

“Was it?” He grinned, dropping the ball and sauntering toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “’Cause if you ask me, you’re just as bad as me.”

“I was helping you,” you shot back, pointing a finger at his chest as he loomed over you.

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Mm. And I’m helping you now, aren’t I? Making sure you don’t get stranded.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “My love, that’s not the same—”

“It kinda is, baby.” he murmured, cutting you off as he leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint mix of sweat and his cologne. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a near whisper. “You take care of me. I take care of you.”

Your breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming to you, it always had been. But in moments like this, when he decided to turn that sharp focus onto you completely, it made your head spin to no end.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “You’re so annoying.”

Sukuna only chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His scarlet eyes, dark and filled with something unreadable, flickered over your face. “You love it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, he flicked your forehead lightly with his fingers, his smirk widening at your startled expression. “C’mon. Let me finish this last round, then we’ll go.”

You scowled, swatting his arm. “You’re lucky I didn't report you for that damn bike.”

He laughed, already walking back to his side of the court, tossing the ball up once more. “And you’re lucky I’m giving you a ride home, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Because the truth was, as reckless as he was, Sukuna always made sure you were safe. And if you were being honest, you didn’t really mind riding behind him on that stupid motorcycle, arms wrapped around his waist, the wind rushing past as he took you home.

Not that you’d tell him that. 

His ego was big enough already.

You’d like him to be as humble as possible.

The gym felt suddenly too quiet, too dim, too intimate now that you were cleaning up some stuff. You weren’t sure if you were here to help him practice or to give him a reason to stop. You weren’t sure if you were here to help him practice or to give him a reason to stop.

As you moved closer, reaching down to pick up a stray ball, you realized something that made you pause. Standing next to him all the sudden, your boyfriend seemed… taller. Not just because of his usual confident posture. No, it was real. He had actually grown.

You straightened up, craning your neck a little more than you remembered needing to before. “Wait a second, my love…..” you said, stepping back for a better look. You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to be stern. “Did you grow?”

Sukuna smirked, tossing the ball casually from one hand to the other. “Not my fault you’re short, my pretty baby.”

Your heart thudded stupidly at the pet name. You couldn’t help but glare as you stare at the soft and casual on his lips. But laced with something deeper, something only you ever got to hear. You stayed like that for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, time suspended in the dim, echoing stillness of the gym.

You were supposed to be heading home. He was supposed to be practicing. Yet you could not help but stare. The silence between you stretched. It was warm, electric. Never awkward. Not even close. It felt like a lull in a song you didn’t want to end.

Sukuna’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and absentminded, like he was memorizing it. You looked up, and for once, there was no teasing in his scarlet eyes. Just that quiet, rare stillness he only ever showed when it was just the two of you.

“I should lock up, my love.” you murmured, not moving. “So should you…..And change shirts. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

The air between you was thick, heavy with all the words left unsaid. The pull of something bigger, something inevitable, thrumming like a second heartbeat. Sukuna’s fingers twitched against yours, as if fighting the urge to reel you back in, to close the distance he had so carefully given you.

But then he took a step back. Just enough to let you breathe again. Just enough to be good, for now. Maybe if he stayed closer, if he kept looking at you like that. With that rare, molten tenderness that melted all the rough edges off of him. He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. And you both knew if you stayed tangled up like that, you’d never leave the gym tonight.

He raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair, exhaling through his nose, before muttering, “I’m gonna change real quick.”

You nodded wordlessly, still half-dazed, watching him retreat toward the locker room. While he was gone, you bent down, gathering stray volleyballs and water bottles, tossing towels into the hamper by the wall. 

The gym felt different now, emptier somehow, even though you were still in it. You could still hear echoes of the night lingering in the air from before as you cleared up. The sharp slap of the ball against the court, Sukuna’s low laugh when you got in a lucky serve, the soft, murmured jokes you’d traded when no one else was listening.

When he came back out, with his shirt changed, hair damp and curling a little at the ends, he didn’t say anything. Just slipped easily into helping you clean up. He moved like he always did. With such efficiency, continued focus, but with a casualness that told you he wasn’t just rushing to get it over with. He wanted to do this with you.

Sukuna reached down, snagging the last volleyball by your feet and tossing it back into the basket with a soft thud. His eyes caught yours briefly, a silent, familiar look that said Ready?

You gave a small nod, swinging your bag onto your shoulder. Side by side, you walked toward the gym doors. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to.

Outside, the night air hits your skin. It was already too cool and a little damp for you, smelling faintly of pavement and something sweet from the convenience store nearby. You find yourself wrapping your arms around yourself, yawning.

Sukuna glanced at you as he unlocked the school gate. “Are you cold, baby?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… tired.”

“Here.” He took off his jacket and put it on you. “I can’t have you getting sick.”

You blush, looking up at him. “Thank you, my love.”

He nodded once, then gestured for you to follow him. “This way. I parked behind the store.”

You trailed after him, the street lamps casting your shadows long and close together. The hum of the city at night was strangely soothing. The distant cars, cicadas somewhere in the trees, the quiet pulse of life still moving even after the world had slowed down.

When you reached the convenience store, there it was: his bike, all sleek black and red metal and impulsive choices. He knelt beside the small locked locker beside the building and opened it. Before long, your boyfriend pulled out two helmets. He stood up and handed the smaller one to you.

“You really planned this, didn’t you?” you muttered, both impressed and exasperated.

Sukuna grinned as he handed you yours. “Told you. I knew you’d stay.”

He didn’t mean just tonight, you could feel it in his voice. He meant you would always be there. And somehow, you couldn’t imagine a version of yourself that wouldn’t be. You knew you just would be there with him no matter what.

You adjusted the strap of your helmet, and he did the same. You put your backpack on and went ahead and waited for him to go and settle in the bike. A little while later, he mounted the bike, reaching a hand back for you.

“Hop on, baby.”

You stared at his outstretched hand for half a second before sliding your fingers into his warm, steady, familiar. You climbed onto the seat behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, fitting perfectly like it was always meant to be this way.

As the engine rumbled to life beneath you, Sukuna turned his head slightly, just enough for you to hear: “Hold tight, baby.”

And then you were flying through the night, the city lights blurring around you, the wind in your hair, your cheek pressed to his back and for once, there was no race, no pressure, no noise. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of your heartbeat and his and the road stretched out ahead.

YOUR BOYFRIEND TOOK A DIRECTION YOU WEREN’T FAMILIAR WITH. So, you knew that the ride wouldn't go straight home just yet. After a few turns and a sudden stop at a red light, Sukuna glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin toward a row of late-night food stalls lit by hanging lanterns.

"Are you hungry, baby?" Your boyfriend’s muffled words asked.

You blinked, surprised. “A little, yeah.”

He didn’t wait for more. Just made a turn and parked near a noodle shop tucked between a shuttered bookstore and a flower stand long closed for the night. The kind of place that only came alive after dark, where the steam curled lazily into the air and the air smelled like grilled meat, garlic, and miso broth.

He helped you off the bike without a word, hand brushing yours longer than it needed to. Then he guided you over to one of the small tables, pulling out a stool before sitting across from you like it was routine. Like this was your spot, your time.

You warmed your hands around the miso ramen bowl when it arrived, the heat seeping into your fingers, the aroma making your stomach growl. You caught Sukuna watching you with a faint grin as he picked up his chopsticks.

“What?” you muttered, mouth half-full of noodles.

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. Just grinned, shameless and slow, before lifting another bite to his lips.  “Nothing at all.” he said around a slurp. “You just look cute when you’re hungry.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to appear unbothered, but the tug at the corners of your mouth betrayed you. He was right, after all. You were hungry. Starving, actually. And now that the heat of the broth hit your tongue, salty and umami-rich, it felt like something inside you was finally being soothed after the long, exhausting day.

The noodles glistened in the light, thick and golden, slick with broth and sesame oil. A sheet of seaweed curled at the edge of the bowl like a wave, and soft-boiled egg halves rested on top like treasure. You lifted another bite with your chopsticks, sighing under your breath. Perfect. Exactly what your body and soul needed.

But more than the food,  it was him.

The way Sukuna sat so easily across from you, hunched over his own bowl like this was just another Friday night, like he hadn’t pushed himself to the edge of exhaustion in practice, like you hadn’t nearly missed the last train because you stayed with him. 

There was something comforting about the sight of him like this: wind-tousled hair, flushed cheeks from the heat of the soup, long legs folded under the too-small table. Your foot nudged him under the table, half by accident. He nudged back, deliberately this time.

You laughed when he tried to pick up a slice of pork belly with his chopsticks, only for it to slip and fall with a wet plop back into the broth. He looked up like nothing happened, chewing a bite of noodles with faux innocence.

“Smooth.” you teased.

“Didn’t happen, baby.” he said, deadpan, already moving on to the next bite like the universe hadn’t just humbled him.

You reached into your bowl and gently placed your boiled egg into his, ignoring the soft flicker of surprise on his face. He stared at it for a second. It was a silent gesture, a silent act of affection — one that could only exist if there was genuinity to love.

He then wordlessly pushed the rest of his gyoza toward you. Not just any piece. The one with the crispy, golden brown bottom, perfectly pan-fried and still warm. A quiet trade. A small ritual. Your version of “I like you” without saying it out loud.

The city buzzed softly outside the ramen shop, the hum of scooters and neon signs flickering through the windows. But here, it was just the two of you. The clink of chopsticks, the gentle steam rising between you, the quiet kind of closeness that needed no fanfare. And somehow, the food tasted even better because of it. Because of him.

Half an hour later, the bowl was empty. You were satisfied, as much as your boyfriend was. You finish up your drink as you watch your boyfriend go to the toilet room. He had to go and wash his hands. 

You nodded at him and finished your drink. Once you were finished, you went ahead and called for the bill. Soon enough, your boyfriend returned, looking more comfortable. cleaning up. When the bill came, you pulled out your wallet before he could stop you. 

“Let’s split the bill, my love.”

Sukuna didn’t even look up. “No.”

You huffed. “Come on, let me do this once—”

“I said no.” His tone was casual, but firm, final. He dropped cash on the tray before you could argue again. “I always have to pay, baby. Simple as that.”

“You can’t always pay, my love.” you muttered, cheeks puffed slightly in defiance. “I have money too, you know.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you. You could see his expression softening as he leaned his elbows on the table, hands loosely clasped in front of him. He sighed, letting himself put the bills on the table.

“I took a job for a reason, you know.” he said quietly. “A new one. It pays more. I was gonna tell you, but I didn’t tell you because you’d make a face like that.”

You blinked. “What face?”

He smirked. “That face. The ‘I don’t want you working too hard’ one.”

You frowned, about to protest, but he beat you to it. “My love—”

“I didn’t take it because I had to. I took it because I wanted to. So I can do this.” He gestured between the two of you, to the food, to the ride. To everything. “So I can take care of you. Not in a weird ‘you’re helpless’ way. But because I want to.”

Your chest aches in the best way. Sukuna looked away, suddenly awkward. “I know it’s dumb or whatever, but I just… it feels good. To be able to give you something. Even if it’s just noodles after practice.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, warmth curling through you like tea on a cold night. “It’s not dumb, my love.” you said softly.

He glanced back at you. You reached across the table and brushed your fingers lightly over his. “It means a lot.”

He squeezed your hand, just once, before leaning back with a grin. “Good. ‘cause you’re not paying for anything when you’re with me. Like always, okay?”

You sighed dramatically, but your heart was still fluttering. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me.” he said, smiling back at you.

BEFORE YOU GOT ON YOUR BOYFRIEND’S MOTORCYCLE, YOU FOUND YOUR PHONE WAS RINGING. You missed the call, but soon enough, your phone buzzed once again. A message comes through almost immediately. You blinked. You pressed on the mail app and glanced at the screen.

[Mom]: Sorry, sweetheart. Dad and I both got called in for OT. We won’t be home tonight — don’t wait up. There’s food in the fridge if you go back. Love you.

You stared at the message for a moment, lips pressed together. You weren’t upset, not really. You were used to it. Your parents were always doing their best, and you were used to their odd schedules. Still, the idea of going home to a quiet, empty apartment after such a long day left a hollow echo in your chest.

Sukuna noticed your shift immediately. He leaned over, nudging your foot again under the table. “Something up?”

You held your phone out for him to see. “They’re going to be stuck at work in Kyoto for the weekend. I’m sure of it.”

He scanned the message once, then looked back at you, tone casual but purposeful. “Then stay at my place.”

You blinked. “What?”

He starts fixing the helmet on your head, being mindful to be careful with everything. “I mean, it’s late. You’re tired. The house is gonna be empty anyway, right?”

You hesitated, not because you were unsure but because of how easily he’d said it, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like you staying over was just a natural extension of the night. And maybe, with him, it was.

“You sure?” you asked softly.

Sukuna tilted his head, his grin crooked but honest. “Of course. I’m not gonna let you go back alone. Besides, this is normal, no?” he added, his voice dipping just enough to be teasing, “You’ve crashed at my place before, haven’t you?”

“That was during exams, my love.” you muttered. “And we slept in separate rooms.”

He gave a lazy shrug, but there was something fond in the way he looked at you. “Still counts.”

You smiled despite yourself, suddenly aware of how easy it felt, this whole night, really. How the idea of being around him, even in his space, didn’t make you nervous. Maybe because you knew he wouldn’t push. Sukuna talked big, sure. But he respected you in every way possible. Every boundary, every choice. That was the kind of person he was now.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward as he put his own helmet on himself. it was filled with something warm and unspoken, like both of you were thinking the same thing but neither of you had to say it. You zipped your jacket and climbed onto the back of his bike again, you rested your chin lightly against his shoulder.

“You’re sure your parents won’t be there?” you asked as the engine rumbled to life.

Sukuna snorted. “Haven’t been since last year, baby. You know how they are, they’re doctors. They aren’t always going to have time. Much more if they’re busy with medical missions abroad.”

“Oh.” You let it leave your lips. “So they’re not coming back anytime soon?”

“Yeah.” His voice was even. Unbothered, like he’d accepted it a long time ago. “It’s chill. I’ve been on my own long enough to handle myself.”

And it was true. Despite the old rumors that clung to him, the tattoos, the attitude, the reputation of a former delinquent —  Ryomen Sukuna was responsible in a way that often surprised people.

He cooked for himself. Took care of his space. Showed up to practice, even stayed late. He texted you to drink water after training and remembered your exam dates better than you did.

You leaned into him a little more as he pulled out onto the road. “I still can’t believe you used to get into fights, my love.” you said against the wind.

He laughed, low and rough, but not ashamed. “You and everyone else.”

“But look at you now!” you murmured, your voice getting lost in the hum of the city around you. “Taking me home, riding clean, all mature and stuff.”

“Don’t get used to it, baby.” he threw over his shoulder. “I still steal my neighbors’ mail sometimes.”

You laughed, the sound carrying behind you like smoke. “The racy magazines?”

“Why would I need that when I have you?” He snickers, causing you to turn red.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” You smacked his arm.

“Hey, hey, that’s not my name!” He tells you off.

“Well, don’t joke about that!”

The ride to Sukuna’s place wasn’t long at all. It was just a few neighborhoods over but it felt like your arms wrapped around his waist had been there forever. The wind tugged at your sleeves and hair, but his presence in front of you was solid, steady. A calm center in a world that never quite stopped moving.

He parked near his apartment complex and took off his helmet, shaking his hair out. You followed suit, a little dazed from the cold, blinking up at the familiar building. You’d been here before, during cram sessions or the occasional group hangout, but never like this. Not this late, not this quietly.

“C’mon, baby.” Sukuna said, flicking his keys into his palm. “Let’s get you warm.”

Inside, the massive apartment was still and warm, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only existed in the late hours of the night. The door clicked shut softly behind you, and the weight of the world outside seemed to melt away the second you stepped in.

It smelled faintly like sandalwood and laundry detergent. Clean, grounding. The kind of scent that lingered not because it was strong, but because it belonged here. But there was something else, too. A softer note. Vanilla.

It wasn’t overbearing at all. There is just the trace of it, floating gently in the air like an echo of something familiar. His favorite candle must’ve burned earlier that evening. You recognized it instantly, because it was the same scent that clung faintly to your own skin.

You wore that perfume because he liked it.

And he liked it because it smelled like you.

Something about that realization made your chest warm. It’s not just with affection, but with the quiet understanding that your lives were already beginning to tangle around each other in ways you hadn’t even noticed.

You slipped off your shoes at the genkan, the soft click of them against the floor the only sound in the stillness. Sukuna didn’t say much as he locked the door behind you. You knew he didn’t need to. He just looked over at you with that calm, unreadable expression of his, the one you knew by now meant more than most people’s full sentences.

His scarlet eyes followed the way your shoulders relaxed. The way your nose twitched just slightly when the scent hit you. “Smells like home, doesn’t it?” he murmured, voice low.

You turned to him, surprised by the softness in his tone. He was already pulling off his uniform, slinging it onto the back of the couch like he always did, like this space belonged to both of you. And maybe it did at least tonight.

The vanilla note lingered in the air. On your clothes. On your boyfriend’s jacket. In the space between your bodies. You could feel your cheeks turn flustered as you let it take over you.

When he passed you in the hallway, his fingers brushed your wrist. It was so casual, familiar. But his nose dipped to your shoulder for just a second, breathing you in like the scent itself calmed him.

“Smells like you, baby.” he added, barely audible. “That’s why I use it. That’s why I like it.”

He moved past you without waiting for your reply, but his words stayed suspended in the air, just like the scent. You could tell that it was warm, sweet, and quietly meaningful. Because here, in this apartment too big for one, he longs for the similar warmth he finds in you.

“Do you wanna go shower now?” he called from the kitchen, voice low and casual, the clinking of mugs and the soft sound of boiling water behind him.

You looked up from where you were nestled on the couch, blanket loosely around your shoulders. The apartment’s warmth, the scent of vanilla and clean laundry, and the sound of him moving around so comfortably — it all made your limbs feel heavier with sleep.

Still, you nodded, sitting up straighter. “U–uh, yeah! Thank you, baby.”

Sukuna came back into view holding a mug of hot tea, his hair a little messy from running his fingers through it. He set the cup down on the table in front of you, his usual crooked grin softening as his eyes met yours.

“I’ll get the bathtub ready for you, baby.” he said, crouching down slightly to press a slow, affectionate kiss against your cheek.

The press of his lips was warm. Familiar. Like punctuation on a sentence you’d been living in for a while now. He stood and gave your hand a small squeeze. “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up, like usual. You remember, right?”

You nodded again, heart fluttering. Not because it was new, but because it was him. Because of the way he said, like usual, like this wasn’t just some rare overnight visit, like you belonged here often enough to have a routine. It made you feel like you were slipping into the shape of something deeper.

As he walked off, already heading toward his room, he added without turning back, “I’ll get you some clothes, okay?”

You heard him rummaging in his drawers a moment later, opening the linen cabinet, adjusting the water in the bath. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative. It was love, plain and simple. It was the kind that unfolded in everyday things.

In hot tea made with muscle memory.

In drawing a bath because he knew your muscles were sore.

In giving you space to breathe, even as he held you close.

You stood slowly, picking up the tea, fingers curling around the warm ceramic. The smell was chamomile, your favorite. Because of course he remembered. And as you walked down the softly lit hall, the sound of water running in the tub, the scent of him lingering on the borrowed hoodie you wore, you realized this wasn’t just his apartment anymore.

It was a place you could rest. A place where you were thought of, cared for, to be loved.

And when you reached the bathroom door, the steam curling under it like an invitation, you found a small pile of neatly folded clothes waiting for you just outside. His hoodie. His sweatpants. And a pair of fuzzy socks he never admitted were his. A quiet laugh slipped from your lips.

“God, I love him.” you whispered. “So much.”

You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in steam and warmth, skin still dewy from the hot water. Your muscles felt loose, your mind lighter. The air smelled faintly of his body wash. Something clean, woodsy, and unmistakably him. Because of course it lingered on the towel he left for you, on the oversized hoodie you now wore.

His sweatpants were a little too long, pooling around your ankles, and his hoodie practically swallowed you whole. But it was perfect. It was like stepping into a version of him that could hold you. Keep you safe. Keep you close.

You padded quietly down the hall, the fuzzy socks soft against the wooden floor, following the warm light and low hum of sound coming from the living room. Sukuna was already on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, the TV casting a soft glow across his face. 

Some old movie was playing through already. Your boyfriend probably picked something with a slow plot, something gentle, something that wouldn’t make you think too hard. He didn’t look up right away. He was sipping his own cup of tea, long legs stretched out in front of him, relaxed in a way that was rare.

But when he felt your weight dip onto the couch next to him, he turned his head and just smiled. A slow, lazy grin that made your chest ache a little. He looked at you like you were the best part of his evening. Like this moment, you are in his clothes, fresh from a bath he ran for you, hair damp, cheeks pink. It was everything he never knew he needed.

“You look cute, baby.” he murmured, voice still warm from tea. He nudged your socked foot with his. “Comfy?”

You nodded, bringing the tea to your lips. It was the perfect temperature now, just like always. He had a knack for timing things without ever making a fuss about it. You sighed happily, finding yourself comforted by the warmth of it streaming through your throat.

“Come here.” he said, tugging you gently by the hand until you were curled beside him, your head resting against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your temple and didn’t move away. Just held you there, your tender fingers tangled in his hoodie sleeve, your heartbeat steadying against his. 

“Thanks for letting me stay, my love.” you said quietly, eyes flicking over to him.

He tilted his head toward you, mouth pulling into that half–smile you’d grown to love. “Of course.”

There was a beat, and then he added, voice softer now, more real. “I like having you here.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just leaned your head onto his shoulder, and his hand found yours under the blanket without needing to look. Fingers laced together. No pressure. No expectation. Just two tired people who didn’t have to be alone tonight.

After finishing your tea, you were knocked out fast. One moment, you were curled up beside him with the blanket tucked up to your chin, still mumbling something half-coherent about the weird game show on TV and the next, you were asleep, your breath steady and warm against his arm.

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t move. Not right away. He just sat there, elbow resting on the back of the couch, chin in hand, eyes on you. The light from the TV cast soft shadows across your face, flickering between color and grayscale as the screen changed. 

Your lips were parted slightly. The tiniest furrow had settled between your brows. You always did that when you were overtired. He wanted to smooth it away with his thumb but didn’t want to wake you.

“You’re ridiculous, aren’t you?” he murmured under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in something almost like disbelief.

He’d grown up very well. At least everyone said so. Twenty centimeters taller since his first year of high school. Shoulders broader. Voice deeper. There were times even he didn’t recognize it when it slipped out of his mouth. Like now, quiet and low, barely above a whisper.

“I feel like my height keeps getting bigger, baby.… But it’s nothing compared to how much I’m growing into this feeling.” he murmured, eyes still on you. “Into you.”

He exhaled a laugh, barely a sound. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing, at saying it all aloud, even when no one was awake to hear it. He wanted to scream to the world everything and anything for you. Yet there was something in him that wanted to keep it all between the two of you. But something about watching you sleep, peaceful and trusting, made it easier. Honest.

“I used to think feelings were just something people talked about to sound poetic, smarter people than me.” he muttered, adjusting the blanket around your shoulder, careful not to disturb you. “But I swear, baby…..Every time I look at you, it feels like my chest feels like it’s got more room to stretch. Like my heart’s got a growth spurt too.”

He leaned back against the couch and let his eyes close for a moment. You were breathing softly, your hand still resting over his. And Ryomen Sukuna, the boy who once thought he didn’t need anyone, didn’t trust anyone, who fought his way through life with fists and silence, found he didn’t want to move a muscle. 

Not when you were here. Not when it felt like all the versions of him, the one from before, the one now, and the one he was still becoming could rest in this one moment, with you.

epilogue

Olympic Gold Medalist Ryomen Sukuna’s “10 Things I Can’t Live Without” – Sports Illustrated Japan

The camera’s already rolling when Ryomen Sukuna walks in with a smile on his face. He was taller than most imagined, wearing a relaxed black hoodie, sweatpants, and the practiced calm of someone who’s used to the spotlight now. 

His hair’s a bit messy, his wedding band gleams under the studio lights, and the producer whispers that he smells faintly like vanilla. He sits down and flashes that familiar half-smirk, the one that made him a favorite on and off the court.

“Alright, Sukuna–san!” the interviewer says brightly. “You’ve got a duffel bag full of your top ten can’t-live-without items. Let’s see what made the cut.”

He unzips the bag with a shrug. “They’re not exciting at all.” he warns, eyes glinting. “But they’re real. I carry them everywhere.”

“Okay, item one.” He holds up his left hand, fingers curling slightly to show the simple, beautiful band. “I take it off during games, but it’s always in my knee pad bag. So I’ll know where it is, always. It’s not just about marriage. It’s about her being with me, no matter where I am. Even at the Olympics.”

“Item two, it’s my hoodie!” He pulls out a worn black hoodie and brings it close to his nose, smiling softly. “My wife used to wear this all the time in high school. She used to steal it. Still does. But we traded when I finished wearing mine. Afterwards,  it always smelled like her, that soft vanilla scent. I kept it, washed it, but it still smells like her somehow. It’s stupid comforting.”

He hugs it for a second, unapologetically. “I wear it on game days when I’m nervous. She doesn’t know that.”

The camera zooms in briefly on a faint heart embroidered inside the collar. In the inside of the pockets too, there was the words, ‘my love’ etched into it. 

“Okay, so this is item three.” He says as he takes it out carefully in the bag. It’s a candid. You’re sitting on a park bench, laughing at something off-camera. There’s a coffee in your hand and his hoodie on your shoulders. “No makeup. No posing. Just her being her.”

The interviewer looked at him, blinking. “You always take it with you?”

“Of course, I do.” He smiles. “I keep this next to my bed. Especially on overseas trips. Gold medal’s somewhere in a drawer, but this? This is front and center.”

“Okay, this is item four.” He says to the camera.  A small bundle tied with a ribbon. “My wife is a big coffee drinker, but she also loves tea. I usually buy this for her. But I also bought an extra pack for me.”

“I didn’t know you liked chamomile tea too, Sukuna–san.”

“Well now you do!” He laughs at the comment, putting the tea bag pouch away. “It’s as much a ritual before going bed. I make her coffee as much as her tea. But when I’m not there to drink it with her, I take a picture and send it to her, telling her I’m going to bed. And to remind her to drink some when I’m not there too.”

“It seems like you do everything for her and with her.”

He nodded, happily.  “That’s what happens when you’re happy together.”

“Okay, this is just for like affirmations when I’m not using my phone.” It was a folded stack of old text messages printed on paper, worn at the edges. “Item five, my wife’s texts!”

“You have your wife’s texts printed out?” The interviewer seemed stunned. “I would have thought it would be letters!”

“I do have some of them, but her texts are so cute too, I couldn’t help it.” He says, a bit flustered as he rubbed the back of his head. “She doesn’t know I did this. But when we were long distance, I printed the texts she sent me before games. They helped me win. Keeps me sane.”

“.....That is something, Sukuna–san.”

“I know.” He laughs. “But she was funnier than any sports psychologist.”

“Okay, item seven.” He says, as he carefully takes out something from a small pouch. It’s a beat-up keychain. A tiny volleyball charm with his name engraved. “Ta-da!”

“That’s a really cute keychain.” The interviewer smiled.

“She gave me this before a regional tournament in middle school. Said, ‘Don’t lose it, or your winning streak ends.’ I didn’t. And I haven’t.”  He taps it thoughtfully. “I don’t believe in luck. But I believe in her.”

 “Okay, item seven.” He says as he lifts a dog-eared cookbook with sticky notes and handwriting in the margins. “As you can tell, my wife is definitely a doctor.”

“Your wife writes so interestingly, Sukuna–san.” The interviewer leaned in. “Does she speak English? Some of them are written in that!”

Sukuna nodded at the interviewer. “Yeah, yeah. She needed it for her studies and research papers. She taught me a bit of it, too.”

“Does she cook a lot at home, or do you?”  

“I cook more than her, but she does cook.” Sukuna says, as he looks at your writing fondly. “She doesn’t think she’s a good cook, but every time she figured out a dish I liked, she’d write a note next to it. ‘Too salty, don’t let him lie.’ Stuff like that.”

“That’s actually hilarious of her!” The interviewer laughs. 

He chuckles. “She still writes me new ones.”

“This is definitely item eight.” It was all too pink. Ridiculously and undoubtedly yours. “My wife has a collection of really weird socks. She loves to wear them at work, because they’re comfortable.”

“This was when we were kids, though.” He continues, laughing as he inspects it. “She forgot them at my place once. I wore them as a joke. Now I wear them when I’m injured or exhausted. Or when I want to feel comfortable. Somehow they work better than compression sleeves.”

“It could be lucky socks too!”

“That’s true.” He nodded, laughing once again. “But she just says it’s because I love her. And maybe she’s right.”

“Okay, item nine.” He says as he takes out a near-empty bottle. He turns it over in his hand carefully. “She loves vanilla scents. I started to notice it in middle school.”

The interviewer blinked. “Oh, isn’t this….this was an old release.”

“It is, it is.” He confirmed. “I bought it from someone who had it. She uses a similar scent to this now, since it's discontinued. But this was what she wore when we first started dating.”

 “It’s incredible it lasted this long, Sukuna–san.”

“I know!” He agrees with them. “But I will try to make it last. Every time I smell it now, it reminds me of those first nights. Taking her home after practice, ramen dates, sneaking into my apartment while our parents were working late.”

“What will you do when it finally runs out?”

He pauses to think. “Well, I think I’ll have to find more of it. Unless the company wants to bring this back, of course.”

“Bring it back, company–san!”

He laughs. “Yeah, bring it back. But until now, I need to ration. I keep it sealed now. Memory in a bottle.”

“Okay, this is my last item.” He says as he takes it out. He doesn’t open it. He just taps the envelope with a soft, reverent look. The words ‘my love’ reflected on the envelope. “This is her letter to me for the first Olympics.”

The interviewer inspected it. “It’s never been opened?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “It’s just stayed that way.”

“But why?” The interviewer looked curious.

“She gave it to me right before the first Olympics. But she told me not to read it unless I lost.” He smiles, eyes gleaming with warmth. “I never opened it. Not because I didn’t want to… but because I didn’t need to. Just knowing she wrote it was enough.”

The interviewer clears their throat. “That’s all ten. Are you surprised everything was about her?”

Sukuna grins, no hesitation. “Not really. She’s everything. Why would I need anything else?”

The camera lingers on him a moment longer. Olympic champion, national hero, absolute softie in love before the lights dim. And somewhere off-screen, you’re probably watching with a knowing smile on your face. Because of course he’d pack you in every part of his life. He always has.

[darkredsugarcookie]

Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. 

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you. 

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers? 

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been. 

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said. 

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.” 

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said. 

“Her assistant? Mel?” 

“Yes. She’s on the fence.” 

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile. 

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied. 

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.” 

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered. 

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood. 

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory. 

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them. 

“He’s married?” the brunette asked. 

“In the process,” I corrected. 

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered. 

“Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?” 

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.” 

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.” 

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you. 

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said. 

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

[notlongtolove]

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

​​“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for. 

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+. 

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.” 

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through. 

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.” 

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” 

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.” 

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside. 

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking. 

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide. 

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that…  that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side. 

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you. 

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences. 

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.” 

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable. 

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty. 

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that." 

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature. 

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again. 

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much. 

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’. 

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course. 

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him. 

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out. 

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else. 

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.” 

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh. 

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.” 

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.” 

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much. 

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers. 

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.” 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A. 

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. 

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you. 

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him. 

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[backinmyphase]

Not my honeymoon

Synopsis: A household of an arranged marriage with Gojo Satoru wasn't easy. And as the pressure from the higher ups was becoming more and more there was something to discuss. Your honeymoon.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 3000 words

Not really satisfied with this but I hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist!

"Are you okay, Gojo?"

No, he was definitely not. He wasn't since all of this started. Since he was destined to marry you. But now as he looked at you it was a different kind of not okay.

What did he do???

You looked sad, no, devastated. Ever since you two ate breakfast together every morning, he thought you would look more relaxed. Maybe even comfortable.

But you seemed to put up a barrier everytime he asked something. And then there was the name.

You still called him Gojo. Even though you were now named the same.

You so carefully kept your distance and you had this sad look in your eyes.

He was worried.

"Yeah, of course." he returned to eating his breakfast. After a bit of silence he opened his mouth again and was surprised he could speak.

"Are you? You look tense."

Your body tensed up again as you looked at him and he wanted to punch himself. He made you uncomfortable, didn't he?

"I am, no worries." you didn't raise your head.

Where did his confidence go? His charisma? His social skills?

Something about his wife made all these so important and natural things dissappear.

The silence spoke loud and the sounds of the eating didn't cover enough of it.

This silence wasn't unusual. In fact it was almost always there when you ate breakfast together. So all the time you saw each other.

And no, he didn't like it. For some reason, on which Satoru couldn't put his finger on, he desperately wanted to know you. He wanted to make peace with you, maybe even be friends with you.

But you seemed so untouchable, he couldn't describe it.

"Well…" Satoru cringed at the sound of his voice. "I have to go to work now."

He stood up and made his way to the door where he made himself ready. "See you later. Have a nice da-"

"Wait, Gojo." Your voice sounded so hesitant, it scared him. "Can we talk later?"

As he looked at you, his whole mind went blank. He felt like he was gonna die. Why did you look at him like that? What did you wanna talk about? Why not now?

"Sure, I can try to come home earlier." He tried to keep his voice steady, but his whole strongest being was shaking in fear.

"Great." you nodded with a neutral look that did NOT scream 'Great'. "Then have a good day at work."

"Thank you, you have a nice day too."

He was going to die, wasn't he?

~

"You look like a corpse." Suguru was always soo considerate.

Satoru sighed as he sat down next to his friend. "Just give me the missions."

His best friend raised an eyebrow. "You know, you should attend the meetings for a change. I'm not always gonna be able to get your missions for you."

"Yeah, you are right Suguru, what would I ever do without you? You are such a good friend." Satoru yawned as he waved his hand.

"Would you please be so kind and enlighten me where I have to be today?"

"I'm going to overlook that sarcasm for today." Suguru handed him a piece of paper. "Here's the list for today."

As Satoru looked at the very long list in horror, Suguru spoke again. "But for real, you look terrible. I thought things were going fine in your marriage?"

"Of course they want me working overtime today." Satoru groaned. "I swear one day I will make all of the higher ups-"

"Satoru, what's wrong?"

He stopped in his rant and sighed. "She wants to talk."

Suguru raised his eyebrow again. "And that's bad, why exactly?"

"Because she always looks like I killed her pet or something like that!" Satoru whined and looked at his paper.

"She doesn't like me."

Suguru shrugged with his shoulders. "I mean, you still didn't apologize."

As Satoru didn't say anything, Suguru continued. "And you also don't really talk to her. How can you expect her to like you yet?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Satoru whispered. Holding his list up, he begged Suguru. "Can you take some of my missions? Please?"

Shacking his head, suguru laughed. "That one time was an exception, I had to work three days in a row for that Satoru. I'm sorry but I have lots of missions too. It's the season."

Satoru just nodded. He had seen this coming.

30 missions in only 12 hours?

It would be a challenge. And it would cause him a little trouble.

But would he give up?

He smiled to himself.

~

You didn't have any time anymore.

The letters of your mother became overbearing, asking where you and Gojo will go for your honeymoon. Asking, that you have surely talked with him about it?

No, you didn't. In fact you were too nervous to even look at him.

You were relieved that he didn't seem to despise you, since he and you ate together now. But he also didn't talk to you and that made you question yourself.

Did he even want to talk?

You needed more time. So much more time. How could they all expect, that you could just sleep with him?

No that just was absurd.

"Mrs. Gojo? How are you feeling today?"

Hina really liked you over the time. Her smile somehow made all of this a bit lighter.

How could you survive a week without her? Just with your husband and the pressure to do something?

"Alright. How are you feeling?" you smiled back, trying to hide your nervousness.

"Perfect, like always." She answered right away, bowing a bit. "Would you like a snack?"

You chuckled a bit. "I can get myself a snack, Hina, you really don't have to."

She shook her head. "Nonsense, it is my job to make you food." She smiled at you knowingly. "And I also get paid for it."

You laughed a bit. "Well, I think my husband will keep paying you even when you make me a snack less."

"If you think so Mrs. Gojo." she made a little curtsy and laughed as she went into the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself as you looked after her. You would miss her on your honeymoon.

Oh god the honeymoon…

~

"Could you please just die?!" Gojo was annoyed as fuck as the curse before him just kept sneaking into barriers and hiding from him.

Normally he wouldn't be this mad.

But he had to be home in time today. And as the curse escaped a crazy laugh at him his anger only rose.

His finger twitched. He wanted to just open his domain and make puddle of this pathetic being. But there were still people near and it would be a bit overkill.

So he had to work with red and blue.

And he had to be fast.

"Gojo Satoruuuhuuuuuu." the distorted voice of the curse spoke underneath him. So smugly, that Satoru felt like laughing.

"Found you."

Hollow purple.

As the cursed energy of the curse slowly disappeared Satoru looked at his list. Still 4 curses in 4 locations. And only 30 minutes till 9 pm.

He had to be faster. Before you would think he didn't care.

If there was just one more stupid barrier, he swore he would-

Goddammit.

~

It was almost 8:51 as you thought you should just eat and go to sleep.

Maybe you would find the courage to talk to him tomorrow too and everything would be fine.

Maybe.

"Should we serve dinner, Mrs. Gojo?" Hina looked at you and waited patiently for your answer.

And as you looked at her something in you switched.

"Wait. My husband isn't home yet, we will wait for him."

Hina chuckled and nodded. She smiled knowingly as she went into the kitchen.

You looked at the clock. 8:56 pm.

You sighed as you sat there. Playing with your glass, you wondered.

Would Gojo even want a honeymoon?

If he didn't, that would be a problem. The higher ups were persistent of you two going somewhere in japan to have 'enough time'.

Your glass seemed to shake, nerarly breaking.

What would you do? What would you tell them? What, what, what-

Forcefully the door opened and Gojo stood there.

A Gojo stained with blood, his blindfold pulled down, looking at you with big eyes.

"What did you want to talk-"

"Why are you bloody-"

You talked at the same time, looking confused at each other. You waited for an answer, as he looked at you confused.

"What do you mean, bloody?" he looked down. Then his eyes widened and he chuckled. "Oh, you don't have to worry, it's not mine."

What did he mean 'don't worry'? He looked like he was out of a horror movie!

Perplexed you looked at him. "Is this all from the curses-?"

"Anyway you wanted to talk?" only now he closed the door behind him.

You blinked at him. Two times. Three times. Then you looked down. "Yeah. But if you are to tired, we can also talk tomorrow -" or the day after, or the day after that day, or…

"I'm not too tired, don't worry." He looked behind you at the empty table. "Did you already eat?"

Just as you wanted to answer, Hina stepped in and took the opportunity to speak. "Mrs. Gojo, now that Mr. Gojo is here, should we serve the food?"

You looked at her and just nodded.

"Well, then." Gojo clapped one time. "We can talk as we eat, right? Then let's sit down."

He took your chair and you wanted to ask what he wanted to do, as he pulled it and offered you the seat. You just sat down and muttered a small thanks.

He smiled, he smiled?, and went to his seat on the opposite side of the table looking at you full of expectation.

Your mind was blank. All the words you so carefully constructed to sentences were all gone. The only thing in your head was the question:

What if Gojo didn't want a honeymoon?

"You waited for me to eat?"

You looked up to Gojo and he smiled at you again. Since when was he so talkative??

"Yeah, I did."

Your voice was much more quiet as you wanted. But he didn't seem to mind as he looked at you with that sparkle in his eyes.

Or maybe his eyes always looked like that.

"Thank you. But you don't have to do that. Most of the time I work much too long for you to stay up and not eat."

"Well, maybe we could still eat dinner together sometimes."

Your mouth spoke without your permission and his widening smile made your head dizzy.

"Your food. We hope you enjoy your meal." Hina placed dinner onto the table bowed a bit and then went into the kitchen as fast as she could.

"Soooooo." Gojo looked down at his food. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"Well…" you stopped, weighing your options of what you could say. Oh, just say it. "I wanted to discuss your honeymoon."

As you looked up you saw two big blue eyes blinking at you. "Our honeymoon? Ohhhhhhhhhhhh"

His shoulders visibly starting to relax as he sighed of relief. A smile forming on his lips again. "Whew, I thought I did something wrong. You had me scared, you know."

"I had you scared?" you looked at him in disbelief. "You came in like a madman covered in blood!"

"Oh, trust me." Gojo leaned back. "That's not nearly as terrifying as my wife, when she is angry at me. She can get really mad, you know?"

You couldn't hide the disbelief in your face and just shook your head. But slowly a smile was forming on your lips. "You're stupid."

Satoru chuckled again and took a bite of the food. Then he looked at you again. "Yeah, yeah. But back to the topic."

Leaning a bit forward, he raised an eyebrow. "Where do you want to go for our honeymoon?"

His voice sounded so casually you felt dumb. "Oh, I don't know. I wanted to ask you."

He tilted his head. "Do you even want to have a honeymoon?"

"What-" panic flooded you as you thought about the higher ups. "Of course!"

"If you say so." he didn't seem convinced but nodded. "But there has to be a place you always wanted to go."

You shook your head. "No, not really. You can decide."

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "Is there no country you ever wanted to go to?"

"No!" you spoke so fast, you couldn't stop yourself from your panic taking over. "I mean- I would like to be in Japan."

He kept silent as he inspected you. And then he sighed. "I have nothing against it, if that's what you want. But you seem so on edge."

You looked down. "Sorry. This…" your throat tightens but you manage to say the words in your mind. "It's just very important."

He blinked at you again and then smiled so softly, you didn't know Satoru could even look at you like that. "It's okay, but if you are too focused on making it perfect, it sabotages itself, doesn't it?"

You couldn't bear his words. The voice of your mother played so loudly in your right ear.

Be a good wife. Be a good wife. Be a good wife be a good wife beagoodwife-

"Would you like to go to a quiet place?" Satoru chuckled to himself. "I wouldn't say no to it."

He looked so sincere. Never before had he talked to you like that. Of course you did have some small talk about his day and what you read the last day, but he seemed so relaxed and like himself right now.

Was this the charismatic Gojo Satoru so many people told you about?

"I would like that." you whispered.

"Hina?" His gaze focused on the girl who quickly emerged from the kitchen. "You and your grandma lived in Shirahama, didn't you?"

She nodded quickly and smiled. "Yes, it's nice there. A bit of the ocean to see and plenty of nature."

She looked at you expectantly. "It's really relaxing, Mrs. Gojo."

Somehow, her shy look made you smile too. "Well, we'll have to go and see it then."

Hina smiled at you with sparkling eyes and bowed a bit again. "You won't regret it!"

"Definitely not!" Satoru laughed a bit. "Then that's settled."

"What-" he looked at his food and continued eating without a care in the world. How could he just carelessly think that that was it?

"But we still have to discuss everything with the higher-ups!"

The atmosphere became much colder along with his gaze. He had stopped eating and his gaze pierced you.

His figure suddenly sitting up straight, his arms to the side, he raised his head.

"Why should I discuss our honeymoon with them?"

The words were caught up in your throat.

You looked down at your food and tried to justify your silence by eating.

"Did you just want to talk to me because of them?" his voice was so much colder than it had been seconds before.

You frantically swallowed your food. "No, I… It wasn't that, really!"

The lies were hard to get off your lips. But he couldn't know about the meetings, no, he simply couldn't!

He was silent. His gaze was lowered and you could no longer see his beautiful blue eyes.

"I wanted to… Get to know you better. We hardly know each other." You pointed to the food table.

"I think it's good that we're eating together now, but that hardly adds anything. I just wanted… For us to have more time together."

When he still didn't say anything, you lowered your head too. "It's just… I thought we still had to organize everything with them? Because of your work and clan duties?"

Gojo chuckled and you heard him looking up. "As if they could fight back. We can just leave."

His voice halled through the room. "And we will tomorrow."

"What?" Shocked, you looked at him. "You can't be serious, can you?"

A huge grin was forming on his face. "You still have to learn how serious I can be. We're leaving tomorrow."

He pulled out his cell phone and typed something. "One of my clan employees will arrange our trip."

"Gojo, we can't just leave!"

"Why not?" he looked deep into your eyes. "Why can't we just say 'fuck them'?"

You shook your head. "Maybe you could, Gojo, but not me! I would disgrace my clan!"

Gojo stood up abruptly. "This is our honeymoon! Your honeymoon! What they think doesn't matter! You're my wife now, those bastards have to respect you! Understand that!"

"It's not that simple." You could only whisper.

He shook his head. "Nevertheless let's go tomorrow. I'll write a letter to your mother and explain that I just took you with me."

He approached your seat. "You wouldn't be to blame."

As if she would think it wasn't your fault. They'd all curse you because then they wouldn't know where you two even were.

But wasn't that what you wanted?

"I'm going to sleep." Determined, you headed for your room. You needed to clear your thoughts.

"We can talk about it again in the morning. And maybe go straight away." He followed you to your door.

"There would be consequences." Something in your voice trembled. "Just running off like that."

And as you stood there, your door to your room already in your hand, he stepped right behind you. His body closer than ever.

Shouldn't Infinity be pushing you back? Why could you feel his warmth, almost feel his breath?

"I could handle that." His hand now held your door.

"I want to get to know you better too."

With that, he let go of your door and left you standing in the hallway, confused.

Taglist:

@zoeyflower @bubera974 @ssetsuka @lady-of-blossoms @peqch-pie

@karlaolea @slut-for-fictional-men @tnt-kokoo @gojoscumslut @sillyfreakfanparty

@tbzzluvr

@emi311 @the-number7 @o-ikawaii @doodle-cat16 @yozora7154

@levisfavoriteteashop @roscpctals99 @starlightglimmersworld @manyuyuu

@dahliawarner @aliisinwonderland @lov3vivian @inthedarkshadows000

@haikyuusimpsblog @sheismaryy @asahinasstuff @honeydew-cheesecake

@sanriosatoru @kimsrie @444na0m1 @humongousdreamlandbear

@elitesanjisimp @dummyf @elernity

@s4ikooo1 @roseyposeylemonsquozey @shitforbrainsmal

@mo0nforme @local-mr-frog @blkmystery

[kyluff]

— ↺ Jealously

✎ luffy x reader !

✦ summary ➠ you start feeling a little jealous after a certain incident

✦ warnings ➠ nsfw, flashing, swearing

— The fight with Crocodile and Baroque Works was finally over, it felt like the brawl lasted years. But now, the Straw Hat pirates could get all the rest they so desperately needed. In return for helping the kingdom, the pirates were allowed to eat as much as their heart desired. They were also invited to enjoy the palaces royal bath.

You now sat in that very bath with Nami and Vivi. It was a beautiful place, to say the least. Everything was dressed in shiny gold, glistening as the mist from the warm water filled the room. You were in the women’s side of course, but you thought if this side was this grand then the men’s area must be just as nice. This made you think of your boyfriend, Luffy. He was just on the other side of that wall, you guessed he was fooling around like he usually would.

As you admired the bath, Nami and Vivi chatted about what the world could hold for them; how the world has so many secrets that are just waiting to be found out.

“Y/n, could you get my back?” Vivi asked sweetly, her long blue hair was slightly darker due to the water. She chose to have a towel wrapped around her figure rather than being fully naked. You too chose to have a towel on.

“Of course, your highness.” You joked as you made your way towards her to take a seat on the stool behind her. You gathered the sponge that was soaked in soapy water, gently but firmly scrubbing the blue haired princess.

“Don’t call me that!” It was light hearted but it did hold some truth, she truly felt like you guys were friends now and she was grateful for all that you have done.

“Her highness is angry!” Nami added in, laughing along with you as you both ganged up on Vivi. She caved in too, she couldn’t hold in her giggles any longer. It was nice just to enjoy each others presence after all the fighting.

A comfortable silence overcame the room, all three of you smiling. Until suddenly, Nami’s smile dropped as she stood up. This made you and Vivi turn your heads in that direction, what you saw surprised you. All of the guys were now on your side of the bath, peering at you over the wall.

You clutched the towel tightly, ensuring none of your body would be exposed. “What are you doing, you freaks?!” You and Vivi screeched together, this is the girls side, you idiots, you thought.

“Peeking on us.” Nami walked closer to the group, she too had a towel on. “All right pervs, I expect each of you to pay $3000 for this!” Nami declared as she let the cloth fall to the ground, letting the men see all of her.

You were shocked, not only because she just showed them her naked body, but also because your boyfriend was part of that group that saw her. oh.

They all toppled backwards, many noses oozing out blood from the sight they just saw.

Something bubbled deep inside of you, jealousy. You don’t know why you felt this way, it’s not like Luffy asked to be flashed, it’s not like he wanted that to happen. You told yourself that, but you still felt the same as before, jealous.

Nami and Vivi left the bath and so did the men that were laid out on the floor. But you stayed, you decided to wash yourself with the sponge you were using earlier on Vivi, you need time to yourself to think and calm down from the previous event. He saw another girl naked, and it was one of your closest friends.

As you rubbed the sponge along your bare legs, you yelped when you felt a hand touch your shoulder. “Wha-”

“It’s me Y/n!” He smiled and used that tone he always did, a energetic one. He was acting the same as always, like he didn’t just see Nami in the nude. That makes you irritated slightly.

“Oh, hey Luffy.” You brushed his hand off your shoulder, resuming the wash on your legs.

“What’s wrong?” His furrowed with worry, he kneeled in front of you where you sat on the stool. He took note of the coolness in your tone, how you barely looked at him as you spoke. Usually you’d have a soft smile on your face, usually you’d be eager to talk to him. But now you were different.

“Nothing, just busy. I didn’t get a chance to properly wash myself fully. You can go.” You said nothing was wrong but that was a lie. You really just wanted to be alone in your thoughts right now. You would rather Luffy not be here because you were afraid you’d lash out at him for no real reason, you didn’t want to hurt him.

“No, I wanna spend time with you.” He was still kneeling down, now leaning closer to your body. “I’ve been sleeping for 3 days!”

“Ya well, that’s what happens when your bleeding out and have poison in your system.” You turned away from him, making more room between the both of you. Now you were just being mean.

“Y/nnn, tell me what’s wrong.” He whined, looking at you with those big eyes, they looked so desperate to know your answer. Those eyes make you weak, they make you cave every time he wants something.

“It’s just…” He still held intense eye contact, listening intently. “Earlier, you know when Nami.. did what she did. You saw her body, you saw her breasts and her hips and her.. you saw everything!”

“Oh.” Is all he says, he looks zoned out. Is he mad at you? Does he think your feelings are stupid. You look away, starting to feel embarrassed. But his hand on your chin brings you back to his eyes. “Is that what you’re mad about?”

You nodded while still in his grip. He pulled you in, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. You couldn’t help but reciprocate, even if you were still a little jealous.

“You don’t have to feel jealous, Y/n.” He whispered between kisses. “Because you’re my girlfriend, not Nami. You’re the only one I want to see naked. I want to see you naked right now, actually.”

You pulled away from the kiss, blinking a few times at his statement. You weren’t feeling much jealousy anymore, mostly just lust. You grabbed the top of your towel, where the piece of clothing wrapped around itself to keep your body concealed. You tugged on it, making it fall off your body and drop to the ground at your ankles.

“Pretty.” He reached out both hands to grope at your boobs, squishing them between his fists once or twice. “These are the only pair of boobs I think about, prettiest ones I’ve ever seen.”

He went down to lay kisses all over them, sucking when he got to your nipple. He’s always had a thing for you chest, he would spend all day kissing them, licking them, laying on them if he had a choice.

He smiled up at you, laying one last kiss to your nipple before lowering to align himself with your heat. He spread your legs apart further to allow room for his head, snuggling up close to your pussy.

“This is the best pussy out there.” He used his fingers to split your lips apart, face diving in. He started by licking on your clit, he knew you loved when he did that. And it was proved by how your hand slipped in his dark hair, pulling on the roots of it. You shoved his face in harder, wanting to feel more of him.

“Luffy!” You moaned out, curling your toes. He sucked on your clit next, making you lose your breath.

He starting sucking harder, licking more aggressively, wanting you to reach your orgasm quickly. You panted, feeling sparks starting to form in your lower half. Your legs shook and shut around Luffy’s head, trapping him in.

He slid out of your thighs, licking his lips clean from your juices.

“You have the only pair of boobs for me, you have the only pussy for me, you’re the only one for me, Y/n. K?” He kissed your cheek and grabbed your towel to drape around you again. He took your hand and pulled you along behind him, leading you away and out of the royal bath.

[jinx-xxed]

hey love, I found your acc really randomly and I’m in love with your writings oml. If you feel comfortable with it, I want to request a commandmentleader!meliodas x goddess!Reader from 3000 years ago ( female or not idk) so reader basically is Elisabeth but with for example her actively fighting or something like that. ( I’m sorry if it’s not really detailed, englisch is not my first language.) 🤍

Heart of Battle

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Hello hello, thank you so much for the request!! I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get around to it omg 😭😭 I’m very glad you like my work and I hope you enjoy this one!! Also sorry if any plot points are wonky, it’s been a while since I’ve had a refresher 🫠

Summary; Taking matters into your own hands sometimes isn’t the best idea.

Content; Goddess reader, Stigma era Meliodas, first Holy War, angst to soft fluff, battle, blood and injury, protective Meliodas, you disobeying orders, fighting demons, Meliodas saves you, he cleans you up afterwards

Wc; 1.9k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Where is she?”

The flaps of the commanders tent open to reveal Meliodas, his brows scrunched with confusion as he peers around the space, clearly looking for someone. His great sword is still strapped to his back, fresh from a recent battle he won to the surprise of nobody. The three generals inside the tent—two humans and a fairy—are gathered around a map scattered with different little pieces to represent their armies and the ones of their enemies. They’re spread out in such a way that it’s hard to tell if one or the other has the upper hand.

“Who, sir?” One of the human generals asks.

The other smacks his breastplate, a knowing smirk on his face. “The goddess, obviously.”

Meliodas nods. “I’ve looked all over camp but I don’t see her. Do you know where she is?”

The fairy hums. “I think last I heard she was heading to some place in the west. Around here?” He floats down towards the map and puts his finger on a little village. One that’s completely surrounded by dark purple figures.

Meliodas feels something in his chest sink as he looks at that map. The area the fairy pointed to had been blocked off by Stigma troops because it became so overrun with demons that nobody was able to get in—it was too dangerous. He remembers how upset you’d been when the order to not go near the west had been announced earlier that day.

“There are still people there! People who need our help. I can do it, I can save them.” You had protested.

You’d been shot down instantly. Everyone told you it wasn’t worth the risk and that you’d die if you tried, including him. He’d made you promise you wouldn’t attempt anything before he left on a recon mission. You looked him in the eyes and told him what he wanted to hear; he should’ve known better than to trust your word. You’ve always been too kind, too willing to put others before yourself, and now you’ve done it again. Perhaps for the last time.

Fear surges up inside of Meliodas so fast he feels dizzy. He curses loudly before turning on his heel and running out of the tent. As soon as he’s outside, his wings of darkness are unfolding behind him and he’s blasting into the sky. He feels the worried gazes of comrades down below, wondering what sent him into such a frenzy, but he’s gone so quickly that no one can linger on it.

He’s never doubted your abilities, he knows how strong you are. But he also knows when and where to pick battles and he knows that this is far too much for you. The closer he gets, the more he can feel you, his second half. He can feel how much you’re struggling, how quickly your strength is diminishing. It makes him use his power to boost him forward, the wind blasting against his body.

He just hopes he’s not too late.

» ☆ «

Blood is sticky on your skin.

You have no idea what’s yours and what’s the demons’ anymore.

Massive, hulking bodies lay strewn all around you and yet when one goes down, it seems there’s two more to replace it. You don’t know how long you’ve been fighting for, your mind instead focused solely on the survivors that huddle in the safety of a small ditch behind you. There’s only four of them—a man, a woman, and two children. None of them are related but they’re the only ones who managed to survive the massacre that happened throughout the area.

You wish you could’ve gotten here sooner, that you could’ve done more. You wish Stigma would’ve been more generous with their troops instead of giving up immediately, deeming this spot unworthy of their help. You also wish you were stronger so that the endless onslaught of demons wasn’t so daunting and you weren’t on the brink of collapse.

You can’t even escape anymore, your wings long since cut and torn, blood turning the white feathers red. Your only choice now is to stay and fight until whatever bitter end is going to meet you and hope the demons will be too focused on your corpse to notice the survivors.

You explode a demon in a flash of golden light, sweeping an arc of power through another. Their roars are deafening against your ears, their steps thundering against the ground beneath you and making your already shaky stance even shakier.

You know you should’ve listened, everybody told you the risks weren’t worth it. But leaving innocent people to die at the hands of the demons without even trying to save them didn’t sit right with you. You’d only told a few when you left, word no doubt spreading quickly across the camp. You were gone by the time anyone could stop you, heading out entirely on your own on what many would call a suicide mission. Even Meliodas had told you to stay put earlier, giving you that stern look of his as he did.

You have no doubt that he’s angry at you and you wonder if he’s back from his own mission yet. If he’s learned of your fate.

You’re torn from your thoughts when one misstep puts you in the hands of a gray demon. You let out a choked yell as the thing roughly grabs you by your wings, bunching them together and crushing them further. You wriggle and squirm as you’re lifted higher and higher, your chest heaving with the effort and pain. You try so desperately to ignite your powers but all you get is a few golden sparks at your fingertips. You’ve used everything you have.

Tears mix with the blood and soot on your face, blurring your vision so you can barely even see the thing about to deliver your death. It stares at you curiously, its teeth clicking together at the prospect of a tasty meal. Some of the demons around it grumble and whine, wanting some for themselves. It’s like being dangled above a pit of hungry lions, all ready to tear you apart.

Just as the gray demon’s mouth opens, its attention shifts to something in the sky. There’s a surge of dark power so strong you can feel it in your core, the hair along your arms rising. Then, in the blink of an eye, the demon that holds you is split in half. It lets out a guttural, pitiful moan as it begins to fall, its clawed hand releasing you at last. You barely even register the fact that you’re falling, your consciousness hardly holding on from the pain drumming throughout your body. You just manage to see all the other demons around you suffer the same fate—a clean slash through their middles that sizzle afterwards with black fire.

You prepare for the ground to meet you, to obliterate the rest of your bones, but you fall into familiar, strong arms instead. You manage to blink through your tears and look up to see Meliodas, his green eyes full of concern while he takes in your sorry state. “Just in time, huh?” He says gently, a sort of sad expression on his face. You know how much he hates seeing you hurt, and how much he hates the fact you did this without him. He sighs. “We need to get out of here before the demons regroup.”

“Wait- the survivors-“ you choke out, no longer having the strength to do anything else.

Meliodas turns to look at the four peeking their heads out of the ditch who found safety in the fact that the roars of the demons have finally gone quiet. They seem wary of him when he walks up to them and he finds he has little patience when you’re actively dying in his arms. He bluntly tells them of a safe path to the east, one that will lead them to a camp that’s full of soldiers and other survivors. Once he at least makes sure they’re heading the right way, he jumps into the sky and begins his flight back to the Stigma base.

Meliodas holds you tightly while being careful of your multitude of injuries. His warmth is a welcome comfort, one that allows you to relax just the slightest bit.

As soon as he lands back in the Fairy Kings Forest, he’s demanding a healer and buckets of water. When people see your sorry state, they’re quick to listen. You’re brought to a quiet, secluded area lush with soft flower beds and shade provided by the trees, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the camp. Meliodas lays you down gently, your head propped up on his legs while a fellow goddess kneels down beside you. A soft golden glow emanates from her hands, spreading warmth throughout your body as her powers slowly but surely heal you.

Your breathing becomes easier, the massive gashes along your limbs steadily close. Meliodas tries to wipe off as much of the blood and grime as he can in the meantime, using gentle movements with a warm rag as you lay there. It’s all very peaceful, a needed respite after the hell you’d gone through.

You’re not sure how much time passes before the goddess is finished. You only notice when the hum of her powers disappears. “There, she should be fully healed. She’ll just need plenty of rest and nutrients in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done. Thank you.” Meliodas replies with a nod. The goddess gives a small bow before taking her leave.

There’s an uneasy silence that stretches between the two of you, heavy with the words waiting to be said. You keep your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re more than content with lying there in the flowers and forgetting how much of a failure you were today. But that’s not an option, of course.

“I told you not to go there.” Meliodas begins, his voice uneasy with his emotions. “Everyone knew it was too dangerous. Including you.”

You huff a breath through your nose, finally opening your eyes to meet his. “Mel… you know I couldn’t just leave it. We need to try and help everyone we can during this war or else there won’t be anything left.”

“That territory is basically like a dead zone because of how overrun it is. You were insane to go there alone for only four people.” He insists.

“Yes but that’s four people who will get to live another day, who may make the decision to join the cause and help us.” You retort. You take his calloused hand into yours, his thumb instantly rubbing along the back of your hand soothingly. “I know it was reckless of me and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have worried everyone- worried you like that.”

He looks at you for a moment, tracing your features with his eyes. He sighs in defeat and you smile, knowing you’ve won. He leans down to kiss you, the messy blond strands of his hair tickling your face. The kiss is quick and sweet, simply a confirmation that you’re still here. He straightens himself and holds your cheeks lovingly in his hands. His head tilts. “Promise me next time you decide to do something so stupid you’ll bring me along?”

You laugh, taking one of his hands and bringing his knuckles to your lips. “I promise.”

[flawseer]

3000 AS character drawings

(Clearsight, Listener, Thoughtful)

I suppose this might be a new collage? Probably not a complete one, but I would like to draw some of the characters from this time period that I liked or found otherwise notable.

I wanted to include Clearsight's parents in this post, but the prospect of drawing five full-body pictures of dragons in one post filled me with some kind of emotion, so if I do that, it'll likely happen later.

Clearsight

The mother of pantaloons herself. She is described as slender, beautiful, and as having purple eyes. The graphic novels so far have one depiction of a Nightwing using future-sight and it shows her eyes glowing an eerie white while she does it. Clearsight's method of using her clairvoyance is very unorthodox, but I like to imagine she still gets this effect when she looks ahead at future events. Only in her case it looks less ominous and much more casual. I picture her sitting at the dinner table with her eyes lighting up every few minutes, until her mother finally goes "now dear, we've agreed; no future-vision during meal time." So she sighs and silently continues eating her beet salad.

Also, obligatory mention that the silver scale in the center of her forehead is, once again, a reference to my partner @flamebringer0 's theory about Nightwing powers and indicates the presence of prophetic powers, like eye scales would mark a mind reader.

Listener

Clearsight's bestie is described as large, long-necked, and curvy, and seems like a good extroverted foil to someone who spends most of her time cooped up inside her own head. She comes across as a bit of a romance-obsessed airhead, but some of the things she tells Clearsight are actually pretty reasonable, and I like to think Clearsight becomes more appreciative of Listener's ideas and influence once she departs the continent and they are separated.

Apparently she later writes a scroll about Clearsight being the most brilliant prophet who ever lived. I would like to know how that affected her life, considering the Nightwing tribe probably remembers Clearsight as "that lady who was fawning over the crazed warlock we all ran away from". Did Listener catch push-back for publishing a laudatory script about someone like that?

Thoughtful

Here is glass boy. The book describes him as handsome with circular glasses. I accidentally drew him a bit more chubby than I intended, but honestly, I think it suits him. He looks very pleasant and friendly, which seems to be in line with his general character. I am actually very happy with how this drawing turned out.

Also, he is not bipedal in this picture. He is resting his weight on his two hind legs and tail. I think of this as "tripod stance"; it's a body posture a dragon can assume to free up their front legs to do precision work. It is relatively stable, but grows uncomfortable if you stay that way for too long (tail cramp).

Also, you can't really walk like that. To walk on their hind legs with any kind of proficiency, a dragon has to place both of their wings on the ground to substitute their front limbs.

[lilyblackdrawside]

Catherine overview

Catherine's devices grant a Barrier equal to a certain percentage of her own Max HP to the operator you attach them to. This works for all operators, melee and ranged. Without module it's 22% and 30% with it. Here are some numbers:

E2L50: 2476 +module = 2674 -> barrier = 545/802 E2L80: 2680 +module = 2880 -> barrier = 590/864

With S2: E2L50: 4209 +module = 4546 -> barrier = 926/1364 E2L80: 4556 +module = 4896 -> barrier = 1002/1469

The Barrier passively replenishes at a fast rate of 6% of Catherine's Max HP per second once the targeted operator hasn't been attacked for 5 seconds. This unfortunately includes receiving ambient damage, such as from Haze berating you Poison Haze, so her Barrier will never replenish in such environments.

Her S1 gives Catherine a small, passive ATK and DEF buff which is also given to "other operators who have a Barrier granted by her Device(s)". But if you attach a device to an operator who generates a Barrier of their own or through other means, like RA2's Wasteland Cache: Remote Shield Controller or IS' Living Woodplate, this buff will still apply. As long as any Barrier is active.

^ Operators who I invited to try out Catherine's devices and who left with a good impression of them. Now you too can keep your favourite idol safe in the field! Wow!

Catherine's S2 increases her Max HP by 70%, which also raises the Barrier cap, and causes the Barrier to regenerate at all times. 6% of Catherine's Max HP comes out as 149/160/161/173 BPS or 253/273/273/294 with S2 active on up to two targets at a time. For comparison, a fully-powered Sussuro (<11 Cost <50% hp target) with S2 active has ~1200 HPS and she's like the best raw healing Medic out there. Catherine does half of that, if we count two targets, with unlimited duration, flexible positioning and even on Medic-immune operators like Soloblades and Juggernauts. Additionally, this isn't just healing but a Barrier, so it gives them an increased buffer for big hits, like the Londinium Secondary Defense Artillery's 3000 True damage. With her maximum Barrier of 1469, even a lot of ranged operators can survive a blast and her 864 off-skill is also quite formidable in this regard.

Attaching a device to an operator will instantly grant them the maximum Barrier possible, so holding one until a critical point is a worthwhile thought to have, though you may want to look towards Roberta for this specifical use-case, since she gives a Shield instead, which is specifically designed to block big, single instances of damage. But even then, Roberta has some restrictions that Catherine doesn't. Roberta's devices only work on melee operators and once they're used up or expire, that's that. Deploying an operator on a tile that one of her devices is pointed at will also immediately grant them the full Barrier so should you decide to redeploy someone benefitting from a device, you can have someone else take the now vacant spot and enjoy its protection right away.

You might find particularly good use for Catherine's devices with operators who rely on having a Barrier to activate certain effects, like Humus who gets 8% DEF and likes to be at high HP for his S2 or Penance, who has retaliation damage while a Barrier is active. Penance apparently may struggle with getting it up when you want to use her S3, since it leaves her notably vulnerable while she's loading it and the extra Barrier given to her by Catherine's assistance might just be the pickup she needs to keep her stamina up.

The Geeks' and Fiammetta's persistent health decay is not absorbed by her Barrier devices. Evidently not even Catherine can halt the gnawing tooth of time, but that too is one of her charming aspects. However, operators other than Fiammetta who enjoy Vigor effects (a buff of some kind that is active only when above a certain health threshold) will also benefit more from her devices than others might, as it gives them a bigger buffer zone to keep their Vigor intact. Opposite, yet similar, operators with Tenacity effects (a buff of some kind that is active only when below a certain health threshold), mainly seen on Soloblade Guards but also Morgan, will enjoy a Barrier that allows them to more safely live on the edge.

Overall I'd recommend not to overlook this old lady, as she is a versatile defensive support in the field and may charm you that way if she hasn't already with her good looks and pleasant voice.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Hello I am specify asking for the full nsfw alphabet with Firefly/Sam for Honkai Star Rail x Top Male Reader also I'm so happy you got 3000 followers lots of love ❤️

Author's Note: Thank you for the kind words!! 💖 — Firefly is referred to with she/they pronouns, while Sam is referred to with he/they pronouns. I don't view them as entirely separate entities, but I do think that Sam acts a tiny bit different than Firefly, so they have minor differences when it comes to sexual activities.

For our 3000 follower celebration! (CLOSED NOW)

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

Cuddly and eepy! She requires some gentle praise and reassurance, as well as many kisses. It's not much different when she's wearing her Sam armor either. You will need to cuddle and kiss him just as much <3

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

I feel like she would appreciate her thighs, especially once you get together and let it be known how much you adore them.

Of yours, Firefly just thinks you're gorgeous everywhere 😘

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Her cum is…oddly warm? Almost unusually so. In the Sam suit, it's almost too hot when it gets on your skin. 0_0

She's a squirter too. And yes, that means Sam is also a squirter, and it is hot hot hot!!

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

Firefly enjoys being tied up and bounced on your cock. Not in a degrading way though. She likes when you're gentle and sweet, soothing her with praise and your fingers combing through her hair, meanwhile, your cock is marking the inside of her body and making her feel impossibly full~

Bonus: Sam's dirty secret is that; he wishes that you would fold him in half and breed him out of nowhere. Rough or not, they want you to make them feel small and loved as you fuck load after load into their ass~

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

She has no field experience, so to speak, but she's not oblivious. Firefly has been around on the internet and isn't ashamed to admit it. That said, their first time is still a bit nerve-wracking…

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

Sam: mating press, doggy

Firefly: cowgirl, chest to chest in some form

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

A tiny bit goofy. Firefly mainly reciprocates the goofiness, if that's how you act.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I do think that she would trim her pubes, but she still leaves some hair there. The hair is slightly darker than the hair on her head, but it mostly looks the same.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Firefly and Sam are rather intimate, and they appreciate when you act extra romantic during sex (and in general).

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

A rather frequent masturbator actually. This is a really good activity for clearing her head, so Firefly does so whenever they need a breather or mental reset. Post-nut clarity works like a charm 🩷

(I also think she would enjoy making herself squirt…it's fun for her. :P) (Sam fingers himself too, and squirting while wearing the armor is equally as fun~~)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bondage and breeding (for Sam mostly). There are other kinks that they wouldn't mind trying, but nothing that they would consider a personal kink of theirs.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Firefly prefers somewhere comfortable, whether you're on your own bed or couch, or just somewhere soft/cushioned. She also likes having a nice view while you fuck — under the stars, near an ocean, in a garden, even. Just somewhere pretty!

Sam would prefer to fuck on surfaces that won't melt… so, often on concrete or something.

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

Something about you being attentive to her needs stirs up those feelings. You're being such a sweet boyfriend, swiping a crumb away from her lips, asking if they need to stop and rest, checking her body over for injuries after you're away from a dangerous situation; all of that will ignite a spark that eventually leads to her crawling onto your lap and grinding on you 😳

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bloodplay, but period sex is fine. I can't see them enjoying extremely public sex either, as in, fucking directly in front of a crowd.

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

Looooves receiving <3 Firefly can't get enough of your lips and tongue all over and inside of her body! Not to mention your moans as you eat her out… they drive her wild 🥴

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Hm, I think Firefly would prefer a slower pace, while Sam would be more into the rough and animalistic kind of sex.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not preferred, but if you two really need it that badly, they understand and won't complain too much about the mildly unsatisfying round. It's more enjoyable if you kiss her or at least say "I love you" or anything romantic during a quickie. Give the lady something to remember 😭

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

A little bit, yes. Firefly is willing to get adventurous, so long as it's not one of their hard no's. You can talk them into some things, but it's not guaranteed to work.

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

Sam has more stamina. He can go for days if he's in the right mood in heat. Firefly is usually eepy after one round, but occasionally she can do more!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

I think they might own a vibrator or two, possibly a large dildo for Sam to stuff himself with, but that's all. They would rather have a partner for penetrative sex.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

They don't normally do anything more than lighthearted teasing, very playful kind of stuff. Firefly isn't the kind of person to egg you on into getting rougher or punishing her. Neither is Sam, for that matter. They're not a brat at all.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Sam is quite noisy! He's more prone to moaning, dirty talk, and louder orgasms. Firefly has a softer voice, and she does a lot of gasping or heavier breathing. Firefly begs a lot too, but she's not much of a dirty talker.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

If there's one thing that both Firefly and Sam fucking love, and will outright ask for you to fulfill their wish, it's their holes being gaped once you're done fucking them~

If you need to use a monster cock dildo to stretch them, cool! If your cock is big enough to stretch them, even better!! Whether they're wearing the Sam armor or not, they just want both of their holes to feel that addicting stretch~

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

(again, I'm not great at describing vaginas… 😅) Uuuhhh Firefly has more pronounced lips than average, but that's really the only noteworthy aspect down there.

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

It's a little high, but not insatiable. It's not uncommon for her to turn a soft moment spicy though…she can be pretty devious when she wants to be 😳

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

She does doze off 50% of the time. Like I mentioned earlier, Firefly gets eepy and likes to snuggle with you. She likes laying on your chest and listening to your heartbeat 💖

Sam likes to curl up in your arms/lap, although he rarely falls asleep.

[darthstitch]

fic snippet: how thomas lawrence got adopted by an entire country (uy! pilipins!)

This really starts with the Vatican Pinoy Mafia.

Look, the Filipino Cardinals had His Holiness' back since Day 1, all right? They had taken a good long look at all of the potential "papabiles" and were basically like: "Ay, Dios ko po, this is like the Philippine Presidential Elections all over again, maawa po Kayo sa amin." (Oh my God / have mercy on us)

The Cardinals from Manila and Caloocan had a vast network of eyes and ears on the ground as it were. They had their suspicions about Tremblay, had long heard the rumors about Adeyemi and were united in their opinions about Tedesco ("That Italyanong Kapre - NEVER!" said the Cardinal affectionately nicknamed Wokeatron 3000 by the Internet).

Bellini was a maybe. Almost. Possibly. And of course, nobody had thought about Dean Cardinal Thomas Lawrence, until his surprising and thought-provoking homily.

But when Cardinal Vincent Benitez came along, in pectore, someone that they had known had been fearless in his ministry, genuinely unambitious and was practically a hero in their eyes? He had their vote, no questions asked. The Boss Upstairs was speaking loud and clear and they were paying attention.

The good Dean, after his heroic management of the Conclave, definitely rose in their estimation. So, when the Cardinal that the Internet nicknamed Yappatron 3000 took aside one of the Filipina sisters, one of his habilin was, "Don't forget to look after the Dean, as much as you do His Holiness. We owe him."

Sister Maria Theresa's response was, "Of course, Eminence. Not a suplado bone in his body. Napakabait."

Sister Maria Theresa may have been a primary source of Pope Innocent-and-friends related stories that trickled back to the Philippines.

(Well, she had a cousin working for the Kapamilya Network, okay?)

It was not patently obvious at first, but eventually, people started picking up on a certain non-Filipino Cardinal who was perpetually at Pope Innocent's side and clearly quite close to him.

The Cardinal from Manila had to explain the role of the Dean of the Sacred College of Cardinals and quite happily told funny anecdotes of how Cardinal Lawrence and the future Pope first met. Yappatron 3000 right?

One of the comments from Twitter / X was: "So okay, what I'm getting from this is that our dear Cardi Yappatron ships it, right?"

****

@frogguchi's Most Excellent Fic on AO3 inspired me.

Also, Sister Maritess is basically saying Lawrence is not a snob and that he's the kindest, sweetest guy, so he definitely has clout with the Pinoy nuns.

[raisedbythetv89]

Something I have seen NO ONE talk about is robin saying faith is super performative and not present in bed “it was just a lot of wiggling around but you didn’t rock my world”. People fall for her act she puts on all the time but y’all are not really seeing her!!! She is literally season 1 willow in a leather jacket and because she isn’t book smart she becomes a drop out/bad kid type rather than being a nerd but she is a huge lesbian loser who is so insecure and has not one single clue what she is actually doing when it comes to men obviously bc GAY but in relationships/love/intimacy any of it because she is behaving from a place of “this is how bad girls act about sex with men” because that’s all she sees herself as - like when she tries to pull the sugar daddy/sugar baby shit with the mayor - girl used porn as her number 1 professor for the school of life and it shows 😭

I always see comments about faith “rocking x person’s world” and it’s like y’all 😭 you CANNOT be good at sex if you’re not willing to be vulnerable and connected and present in your own body which she literally NEVER is but also the robin comment on the surface can be seen as “justice for buffy” faith was really the bad at sex slayer all along while buffy was the kink master 3000 slayer who has vampires gaining and losing souls over her game - but the deeper level is faith’s ENTIRE relationship with sex and men in performative it’s flashy and distracting but lacks heart and substance because she is a raging lesbian who has never been with a women or even admitted to herself that’s what she wants because she is so firmly stuck in comphet and desperate for male attention and approval

Faith was always willow’s true mirror to me especially because of the similarities between dark willow and faith especially with how much they had to alter buffy’s behavior and character design in order to try and sell her and faith as polar opposites. It still works in some aspects but willow and faith are both seen attempting to weaponize sex to get their way, they’re insanely bitter and jealous of buffy because she is everything they could never be, willow accepts her lesbianism easily while faith’s is buried so far down she may never find it, at their core they are insecure “losers” but just a few key factors in their lives have them expressing all those shared traits in completely opposite ways. Willow cares too much about rules and order to hide a desire for power and control she does not have while faith pretends not to care at all about any rules to hide her feelings of powerlessness by pretending nothing matters and nothing can touch her. One is anxious attachment the other is avoidant.

Anyways sorry everyone faith is genuinely a huge loser with an amazing wardrobe and amazing looks who is bad in bed with men bc she DOES NOT want to be there but is too terrified to be vulnerable with women so she acts the way she does instead and she’s soooooooo much more interesting that way

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part V

Word count: 3000+

Warnings: none

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part IV | Part VI

You woke up carefully tucked under warm covers in the bed even though you were certain you fell asleep on your usual spot. Soft light of the early morning filtered through the open curtains, changing every glass surface into kaleidoscope of colours. Maids drew curtains every evening, but you liked to watch the night sky and count stars, so after maids left for night, you always opened them again. Seeing those blinking lights, you didn't feel so lonely.

When your eyes got used to brightness, a clear blue sky without a single cloud greeted you, accompanied by colourful leaves dancing in a gentle breeze. For a while you just lay there and watched the show. It was comforting. Your thoughts were wandering until they stopped at a certain one.

Sighing heavily you rolled to the other side. You didn't want to get up. Maybe if you said that you didn't feel well, they would let you be. Just imagining that you would have to go to the garden today as well, made you feel sick. You were sure that you were supposed to take a walk and not to train for marathon. The other day you had to run for hours after the maids, so as not to get lost in this great labyrinth of corridors and winding paths. You didn't even have a chance to look around or stop to catch a breath. In the evening you were so tired that you fell asleep as soon as maids were gone.

With a groan you sat up, your entire body protested in pain. Whether you wanted or not, you had to get up. It was your husband's order. You couldn't ignore it, if you wanted him to notice you more in the future.

As soon as you limped to the vanity and with hiss took a seat, someone knocked. The doors opened and two maids walked in.

"Good morning, my Lady. How did you sleep?"

Astonished you looked up. Those were clearly not the maids who had been taking care of you until now. They were always very reserved and talked with you only when it was necessary.

"We are new here, madame. I'm Ellen."

"And I'm Irene. We are so happy to be able to serve you."

They bowed with wide smiles. You gaped at them, eyes wide. You weren't sure how to respond to such friendly greeting.

"I-.. It's nice to meet you," you blushed.

Their smiles only grow wider and they immediately got to work.

"You are so pale, madame. Are you sure you feel well? Should we send for healer?" Ellen asked as she carefully combed your tangled hair.

"That won't be necessary. I think I'm fine," you answered shyly.

Irene emerged from the closet with comfortably looking shoes that matched with the dress that they helped you to get in. "Hopefully the walk on fresh air will make you feel better, madame," she smiled kindly. "The weather is really nice today, it certainly will be a warm day."

It was hardly thirty minutes since they appeared, yet you already felt so good in their company that you dared to do a small talk with them. You were sure that the thing you were about to suggest, wasn't common and at home you would be severally punished for even thinking about it, but you felt uneasy every time these two lovely girls called you madame. There was also a chance that they would laughed you out. Nonetheless, you wanted to give it a try. You gathered courage, took a deep breath and let the words out before you could change your mind.

"You can call me Y/N," you whispered almost inaudibly.

Their eyes widened so much that they threatened to fall to the floor and roll away. "Are you sure we can, madame? Won't you mind it?"

You shook your head and they squealed happily in unison. They started chirping merrily about anything that came to their minds, trying to engage you in conversation even more than before. You, on the other hand, peeked at them curiously whenever you had an opportunity.

They both looked young, around your age, but they could be already century or two old. Ellen had dark brown hair that in waves fell to her shoulders and heart shaped face with soft green eyes. Irene was a bit taller than her friend, with light reddish brown hair combed into a ponytail, big brown eyes and a few freckles on her nose. They both were real beauties and seemed to be kind-hearted and cheerful.

Unlike the previous maids, they weren't in hurry once you left the chambers and made sure you get to know your surroundings and learn way back to your bedroom. Slowly walking down the hallways, they pointed out in different directions, naming and showing you the rooms and ballrooms that you passed by. It helped a great deal and you didn't feel so lost in this enormous castle anymore, even though you doubted you would remember it all on the first try.

As the huge glass double doors to the garden came to view, soldiers guarding there, friendly winked at girls, moved from their stances and opened them wide for you. The brisk air filled your lungs and cooled down your hot faces. Inside of the castle was nicely warm, but as you were walking around it became too hot and you almost started sweating. However now, you were grateful for the extra layer in form of cardigan that maids found for you.

"What a beautiful day," Ellen chirped with arms spread wide. "It's so nice to be outside and not have to worry that someone gets mad at me for that."

"And the smell," Irene sighed taking a deep breath. They seemed to be happy that they could get out of the castle. "I have aunt in Spring. Air there is sweet and full of scents of all kinds of flowers that bloom there, but nothing beats the smell of Autumn."

Imitating Irene you stopped and inhaled deeply. You didn't have time to notice it before, but the air was really fresh here, the earthy scent with pinch of sweetness calling you out. Maybe it wasn't a punishment after all.

"Hmm," Ellen pouted. "You are so lucky that you can travel to other courts. I'd love to see the world, too."

Stepping onto a narrow path between the flower beds, loose strands of your hair danced in the gentle breeze that brought a familiar scent of apples. With a hope you looked around finding nothing just flowers, trees and bushes, and your two maids discussing which Court they would like to visit and why. Shaking head at your naivity you looked up at the windows of the castle with a sad smile.

'Which one could be his,' you wondered. It'd been weeks since you saw him for the last time. If he didn't carry you to the bed every night, you would think that he even wasn't here.

You turned back to your companions who patiently waited for you with knowing smiles. You didn't even notice that they stopped talking. Caught in the act, you blushed fiercely, but they didn't tease you, only gave you a sympathetic look.

Irene and Ellen weren't in hurry like the other maids. They matched their steps with yours, letting you look around as long as you wanted, often stopping you to show you something they found.

"Y/N, look here," Ellen called you and pushed away the twigs of the bush. There was a bunch of delicate flowers blooming on long leafless stems in shades of pink and white. They were so lovely, sparkling as if dusted with glitter powder. Irene came closer, too.

"I didn't know that we have some nerines here, too. They are blooming mainly in southern garden."

"I discovered them by chance last week. I was looking for my favourite hair clip that I dropped somewhere around here. I haven't found it though," Ellen pouted sadly.

"Nerines?" you asked, studying the flowers and committing them to your memory.

"Yes. Do you have them in your Court, too?" Ellen was curious.

"I'm not sure," you flushed. "I wasn't allowed to go out."

"Oh," they both said in unison and looked at each other with raised brows. You tried to ignore their reaction. It was already quite embarrassing to admit your lack of knowledge about.. well, everything. They nodded as if they had just agreed on something even though they didn't say a single word. With kind smiles they turned back to you.

"They are also known as cliff lilies," Irene said and caressed one petal with a finger. "Every flower has some meaning. These, for example, symbolise connection, joy, freedom and security."

"And the affection," Ellen added with laugh. "The flowers are beautiful, but otherwise useless. It's pity."

"Useless? Why?"

"You know. Some plants or their parts can be used in medicine or cooking. However, this one is good only for decoration."

"I see," you bit your lower lip.

Useless.

Good only as a decoration.

You were called useless your entire life. And the worst was that it was true. You knew nothing about the world, you were lucky to at least be able to read. You were taught how to behave, how to serve to male, not how to live or actually do something useful. Your father raised you to be a decoration of a husband, a porcelain doll with nice face to be showed off and then destroyed behind the closed door. In a way you were alike. Only difference was that you could never be as beautiful and magical as this flower.

You smiled to yourself and stood up, leaving the beautiful nerines behind. Maybe your reasons weren't right, but it became your favourite flower. A tiny florets with layers of delicate, ruffled petals and radiant colours immediately caught your eye.

"What are these called?" you pointed at them.

"Those are marigolds," Irene answered in an enthusiastic voice. "My favourite."

"They are your favourite only because they remind you of a male you like. Even his hair colour is similar to these," Ellen teased her laughing and Irene stuck her tongue out at her, but she laughed, too. You watched them amused.

"Well, what if even so? I like them mainly because they represent power, strength and light inside of a person," Irene countered.

Ellen giggled. "Are you describing him or the flower? And don't forget about feeling of despaired love," she sang. "He is too important to notice you."

"Hush," Irene blushed. "I know he will never think of me in a romantic way, but girl can dream."

That day you learned a lot of new things and had so much fun. Your maids who you already liked dearly, taught you names, meanings and uses of flowers that bloomed in the garden and in the end you spent entire morning outside. When you returned for lunch, you were tired, but in a good way and not because you had to run.

The following morning you woke up with a bright smile and it grew even bigger when you found a pink nerine on a pillow next to you.

Joy and security.

That's what you had been experiencing since coming here. And you felt that all only thanks to your husband, Eris. You couldn't be more grateful. You'd never thought that marriage could give you this much of a freedom and allow you to experience new and especially nice things. You used to think that it would be just another horrible prison for you, one you would have to suffer in for the rest of your life. Just like your mother.

Your heart flipped as you remembered that this fairy-like flower symbolised also affection. You wondered whether Eris had left it here for you because of what it symbolised or just because he heard that you liked the flower. Whatever was the reason behind this surprising present, now you wanted to get to know him and spend time with him even more.

You carefully picked up the flower and nuzzled it to you chest right over the heart, tears stinging your eyes. This gesture however insignificant for others, meant a world to you. Now you missed only one thing - the person who gave it to you - and you would be completely happy.

Maids beamed when they found you playing with the flower later that morning and immediately knew exactly where it came from. Ellen gently picked on you with kind smile while Irene disappeared for a moment and returned with a small crystal vase for your treasure. You placed it on a coffee table between ottomans where you could keep an eye on it.

The delicate petals sparkled in the golden rays of sun as if they were enchanted by magic. It was such an spectacle that the three of you just sat there in complete silence watching it for a good hour.

After another interesting and very instructive walk, you were excited when servants appeared with the lunch on silver trays. You were so hungry that you ate more than ever before.

After the meal was over, Ellen had to leave to take care of something, so you were left alone with Irene. She was trying to teach you how to embroider some simple pattern when a knock sounded on the doors. Irene peeked out and blushing, backed back to the room. On the threshold stood Killian with wide grin and a package tucked under his arm.

Small flames danced in his amber eyes as he watched Irene to shyly smile at him, holding the doors opened.

"Hey, dove," he cooed as he walked past her and winked at her flirtatiously.

Irene flushed even more fiercely. It looked like she was about to pass out any moment now.

"Hey, sweet sister. How do you do these days? I hope you didn't miss me too much," he greeted you merrily and bent down to hug you and peck your cheek. You almost fell off your feet in surprise.

"I'm fine," you stuttered. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

"Your husband keeps me busy, you know, but it could be worse," he laughed and gestured to you to sit down. Then he took a seat next to you, his knee touching yours. You slightly jumped up, shocked. Unaccustomed to such closeness, you sat a little further, making a gap between you. He smiled at you apologetically, but didn't say anything.

"So," he dragged out the word, "what are your little strolls like? Do you enjoy it?"

"I have to admit I like it very much. The garden is full of interesting flowers," your gaze flew to Irene who couldn't take her eyes off of Killian with dreamy expression plastered to her face. You couldn't suppress it and had to chuckle. Now it was clear who she was in love with.

Killian's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Good to know you are enjoying it. I'm sure all the flowers are green with envy when they see such beauties like you two," he winked at Irene and she giggled like a little girl.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled to the surface and tried to stifle it with a hand. Your brother-in-law raised brows at you, but then he joined you. Hearing that rich, contagious sound, you started to laugh even more. His expression softened.

"I'm very pleased to see that your new company has a good influence on you and you are finally opening up," he leaned closer to whisper to you, his hand brushed over yours. "Your smile is the best reward for all my hard work."

"I guess that now, when you have seen at least a bit of your new home, you are fascinated with its beauty," he joked, but he couldn't be more accurate.

There was something about Killian and his easygoing, good nature that made you feel at ease and so you dared to tease him back a bit.

"You are right. I'm absolutely captivated."

He gaped at you, mouth slightly opened. It took him a few seconds to collect himself and then his trademark smile was back. "Well.. Was that a joke just now? Dove, did you hear it too? She joked with me! Mother's tits, I can't believe my ears! Eris won't believe me either when I tell him you joked with me." His eyes filled with pride.

You blushed but smiled nonetheless.

"Now that you are finally peeking out of that damn shell, I'd even more love to stay longer and chat with you, but unfortunately, I can't. Eris will kill me for real if I'm again late for meeting. I was supposed to only drop by to deliver you this and return. It's from him," he winked, handed you a parcel that he brought and he was already at doors.

Before he left, Killian quickly whispered something to Irene. She giggled and nodded. At threshold he turned for a second to wave you with a beaming smile and he was gone.

Even though the parcel was small it was quite heavy. Your fingers trembled as you untied the bow and carefully opened the paper. You'd never received a present.

Inside was a new looking book bound in leather. You took it out and read the title. Almanac of Plants of Autumn Court. You flipped through it frantically, noticing all the beautiful, detailed drawings on every page.

You gasped in surprise, your eyes lined with silver. With trembling hands you took the book and pressed it to your chest, allowing the tears to roll down your cheeks. How did he know that you would like to learn more about the flowers in the garden? How could he know you so well? Your heart squeezed painfully, its sound louder than any other one and even than your own thoughts. If you knew where to look for him, you would immediately run there to thank him.

At that moment you decided that you would stay up no matter what and wait for him to come to check on you that night. You wanted to see him more than anything else.