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anisespice · 11 months ago

Text

“ baby steps ” || tokyo rev.

continuation of this post.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, ANGST w/ comfort (mostly in mikey's), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be A LOT of errors :// mikey's is LONG, ran + sanzu's are silly goofy, mikey + sanzu's are a lil unhinged lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: can i just say thank y'all so much for showing "accidents happen" the love that i didn't think it would get, it was made on a whim so i'm so so so happy y'all enjoyed! i tagged as many as i could (or that tumblr would allow) sorry if i missed some of you :( thank you for your patience and let me know how you feel about this continuation format :) !! notes ii: also also, pt. 2 for "accidents happen" coming soon! notes iii: MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I THOUGHT I LOST EVERYTHING BUT IT'S OKAY IT'S OKAY :'))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @cherryblossiren , @niragiswhore , @awkwardaardvarkforever , @valentsoup , @lovely212 , @miffysoo , @yandere-kouhai , @i-am-just-a-girl-ur-honor , @wisteriarose214 , @kindadolly , @yuwaimo , @sweetbella1221 , @simpingfor-wakasa , @sirachano0dles , @yutahg , @slowlikehonee , @blurpleuni-squid , @haruchiyoreen , @istanstraykidss , @loyard176 , @msluccapotato , @luv444lay , @backgroundcharactera , @jegelskeranime

Ever since you picked up your daughter, there’s been a hovering presence that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went. From the park, to the grocery store, all the way home it clung to you like a bad itch. Despite looking over your shoulder and being met without any sort of threat, that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling. And it only intensified when you received a knock on your front door.

You made a confused hum, checking the time on the microwave to confirm that it was indeed past the reasonable hour for potential visitors. Not to mention, you weren’t expecting anyone.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, instincts telling you that something wasn’t right, that your best option was to pretend you weren’t home. However, the person on the other side knew otherwise as they knocked on the door again, this time with more fervor. You inhaled sharply, taking hesitant steps towards the door until you were mere feet away from it. Eventually, you worked up the courage to look through the peephole, your brows furrowing in distress when all you could see was black—They were covering it. All the more reason not to open the door…

What if it’s a robber? Ridiculous, they don’t knock.

What if it’s just the neighbor? Why cover the peephole?

More and more did your mind swirl with endless possibilities, each one becoming less and less believable. Taking a long, deep breath, you doubled-checked the door-chain was on before slowly cracking it open. And as you attempted to peek through the sliver, nothing could’ve prepared you for the arm that forced its way through, startling you as you yelped, stumbling back as it made a grab at you.

Before you had the thought of shoving the door closed on the offender’s arm they grabbed the little chain, then yanked it clean out of the wall. To your terror, a dark hooded figure entered your home, head hung low, concealing their identity.

You began to hyperventilate, backing up to keep distance as they staggered further into your home before kicking the door closed behind them, effectively blocking you from the exit. Surely, someone heard your scream and would check in, or call the police. But, how long did you have before the intruder decided to make a move? Not to mention, your sleeping child just down the hall…

With that last thought in mind, you immediately steeled your nerves.

Even if you had to use your bare hands, you were going to do whatever it took to keep your baby out of harms way.

You reached for the closest weapon without taking your eyes off the figure, hands clasping onto a discarded umbrella that was leaned up against a closet door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Taking a defensive stance, you prepared for what you assumed to be the inevitable.

“I-I don’t know who you are, or what you want…b-but if you don’t leave…my..my boyfriend will be home any minute! H-He knows how to fight, and he’ll fuck you up if you try anything!”

Your means of intimation fall on deaf ears. It were as if you hadn’t spoken at all. They just…stood there. Watching you from the darkness. That feeling, that hovering presence you’d been weary about all evening…there was no doubt in your mind it was because of this individual. Suddenly, they gave a watery chuckle, hand coming up to rub the lower half of their face as the chilling noise dissipated into soft snickers.

You sweatdropped. “I mean it! He’ll be here real soon, so you better get out of here before-”

“[_____]…” the figure finally rasped, voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the moment. You froze, eyes widening.

“…How the hell do you know my name?”

Without much urgency, they stepped forward into the light. Beneath the warm glow, it took you mere seconds to recognize the person standing before you. You gasped, trembling hands dropping the umbrella, it landing with a harsh clatter. Soft, mortified hitches in your breath echoed through the small space, memories flashing before your eyes as you covered your gaping mouth.

“M.. Ma..” you whimpered, throat tightening. A shell of a man, who gazed upon you with stormy eyes flooded with tears at the mere sight of you.

He gave another strained laugh, muttering to himself as he soaked you all in. “Needed to know.. Needed to know it was really you…”

Mikey eyed you up, intensely, eerily silent as he did so. Then, he took in the surroundings, the warmth, the interior, the smell of dinner—It truly felt like a home. A bitter pill to swallow once he reminded himself that you built it without him.

His sharp gaze returned to your stunned expression. He sneered.

“Must’ve been easy for you. To forget me and move on, just like that. Like I was nothing.”

You blinked, taken aback. All you could do was remain speechless, cemented to the ground with thoughts and questions racing in your head. Now matter how many times you opened your mouth, no sound would come out aside from choked whimpers.

“Do you know…how long I’d been searching for you? Been mourning for you?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “When you left, I thought… I thought someone had taken you. That I lost you all because I was too stubborn to say I’m sorry…”

As he spoke, Mikey slowly closed the space between you. The more he came into the light, the more you could see how the years had treated him. His cheekbones were more pronounced, the dark circles under his eyes as well. His lips were dry, cracked, his fair skin now ghoulishly pale. If not for the black hoodie you would’ve mistaken him as such; ghost of your past.

Your shoulders shook, hands hovering over your face as you gaped in disbelief. He’d been looking for you?

That night, that stupid fight you could barely remember…he made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. He pushed you away. Pushed so hard that you almost believed he really wouldn’t have cared if you dropped dead. You knew he didn’t mean it, knew it was just another dark impulse…but none of that mattered when all your pregnancy tests came back positive just hours prior.

That night, you made the decision for the sake of your daughter. And also, for his sake. At the time, you were certain he wasn’t ready to be a father. He was quick to rage, merciless, losing himself to the darkness you tried to protect him from. If you had stayed, you were certain Mikey would’ve never forgiven himself if he lost control in front of his own flesh and blood, if the child grew to resent him for something he struggled to control.

You thought you were doing him a favor…but it appears to have done the opposite.

“And this whole time…you’ve been here, alive. Playing fucking house with someone else.”

You stiffened. Someone else? Your visible confusion only irritated him further.

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You said it yourself. Too bad he won’t be coming home anytime soon. I’ve already got Sanzu and the Haitanis looking around for the bastard. And when they find him, I’ll make him regret sticking his filthy dick inside you.”

Confusion morphed into realization. You did threaten him with said hypothetical boyfriend…But, that was before you knew it was him!

“Oh, Manjiro…” you whispered. He glared, scorned.

“Don’t you dare pity me. I mean, you got the family you always wanted, right? So who cares who it was with, right? Congratu-fucking-lations.”

You shook your head, exhaling deeply as you held your face in your hands. For years, he thought you dead. Then, when he received word of your appearance, he finds you with child. And not once did he consider that child to be his? It’s like…he couldn’t fathom the thought.

If only he had looked just a little bit closer, he would’ve seen that she had his eyes. How they resembled those pools of ink that used to shine with so much hope back in his youth, so playful and full of love…those same eyes that now gazed upon you with contempt.

It stung.

He thought so low, not only of himself, but of you as well.

Taking a deep breath to reel in your emotions, tears began to well up in your eyes. He assumed they were tears for your doomed lover, further breaking his heart as Mikey clenched his fists to the point of nearly drawing blood. Luckily, even though you struggled to find the right words, someone else happily found them for you.

“Papa..?”

Both of you instantly drew your attention on the toddler standing near the kitchen, one fist clutching her blanket while the other rubbed the sleep from her eye. You glanced at Mikey, and he was stiller than stone. His once dead-stare had morphed into what could only be described as incredulous. Surely, he heard her incorrectly…

With a sniffle, you crouched down to address her, offering a soft grin as you nodded earnestly. “That’s right, sweetheart. Papa’s finally come home.”

The little girl blinked sleepily, taking a second to reboot. But, as soon as the words registered, a bright smile stretched across her face as she excitedly rushed towards Mikey, throwing herself onto his legs and hugging them like a koala as she chirped, “Papa, home!”

Said man hobbled a bit at the force, arms windmilling as he caught himself to keep from falling backwards. He didn’t know what to do with himself, especially when those big, round pools of ink opened and stared right up into his soul. Mikey’s heart nearly stopped. With a hitch in his breath, the gangster did everything he could to hold his composure, looking between you and the child as you both gazed at him with so much warmth…it was suffocating.

Sensing he was overwhelmed, you reached down to scoop up the bubbly bundle, holding her close as you eyed Mikey, apprehensively.

He resembled a cornered animal—Muscles stiff, jaw tight, eyes wild. After a moment, Mikey began to slowly back away into the shadows of your home, conflicted, devastated. It wasn’t until his back hit the door did he eventually fall to his ass, of which caused your child to giggle at how silly he was being. However, all you could do was hold back tears, watching as the reality started to weigh down on a man who just discovered he was a father.

Nervous, you gently explained. “I didn’t leave you because of our spat, Jiro…and I never moved on. I just…thought that I’d be doing more harm than good sticking around when I found out I was pregnant…I didn’t want to add any more stress on your plate, so I…”

Mikey didn’t respond. He sat there, stare vast and unfocused. But, you knew he hung on to every word. So you continued. “I wanted to tell you. But…I wasn’t sure how. At the time, I believed you had stopped caring about me altogether. And to hear you’d been looking for me, I-I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you harbored all that guilt. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Your daughter wiggled around in your hold, making small grunts in complaint. Her eyes were trained on his figure huddled in the dark, wanting to be acknowledged, wanting his attention. “Papa!”

Mikey flinched. He focused his gaze on the two you, haloed by the light emitting from the living room. You both were like salvation, reaching down to a broken sinner…How could she want anything to do with him? When he had missed so much already…

To keep from accidentally dropping her, you placed your daughter back on the ground, watching wearily as she wobbled all the way to Mikey, blanket in tow. You weren’t worried about him hurting her, far from it…if anything, he appeared to be the fragile one.

Eventually, she made it to her destination, standing before him with a curious, but eager expression as she rested a hand on his knee. Mikey watched her, took in all of her features, every last detail as he engraved it to memory. She was beautiful, just like her mother. One would think his genes didn’t stand a chance. But the eyes. That was all him. From his mother to his older brother to himself, there was no doubt in his mind that those were Sano eyes.

His lower lip quivered, reaching out hesitantly to caress her cheek. She didn’t cower away, merely babbled as she began patting his knee, allowing his thumb to rub over her chubby cheek. You clasped your hands over your mouth, growing even more emotional at the delicate moment. Mikey looked enamored already, eyes subtly sparkling from what you could see as they interacted.

“I-I told her stories, about you. And I made sure to show her photos, too. Old ones, but still you nonetheless. I wanted her to know who her father truly was. Despite everything else…”

Your daughter cooed, then placed her blanket in Mikey’s lap before climbing into it. Mikey didn’t dare move, rigid as she made herself comfortable. He looked up at you, looking for guidance, for reassurance. Your encouraging smile was enough for him to hesitantly place his hands on her small back for support, carefully adjusting so that she was stable. She laid her head on his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sighing contentedly.

And, for the first time in years, he smiled.

When you hadn’t seen her familiar pigtails bobbing around, or heard any of her excited chatter with the receptionist up front, worry couldn’t even begin to describe what you felt the moment you realize…your daughter wasn’t here.

As soon as the meeting looked like it was wrapping up, you politely excused yourself from the room. Masking your worry wasn't too difficult, but there's no doubt a couple people might've noticed the spring in your step as you exited. One of them being Rindou Haitani. He watched you speed down the hall with mild interest, corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly as he thumbed around on his phone beneath the table. Having been updating his older brother during the meeting while he was on his smoke break, he was more than eager to inform him of the storm that was no doubt heading his way.

Little did the younger Haitani know, he was already dealing with one.

"And then, Haruka-kun tries to take Momo-kun's bento box because she had cuter animal shapes, but Momo-kun already said no, and so Haruka-kun pushes Momo-kun, and then tries to take it! But I pushed him and hit him with my fist, like this," she clenched up her tiny fist and held it up to Ran before striking down on his forearm with all her might. It didn't even pitch. "Like that."

The lavender-eyed man merely gazed upon her with mirth. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm! And teacher got so mad, and said that she would tell Ma about me fighting, but she's stupid because Ma didn't pick me up today, and I told Haruka-kun if he snitches, I'll beat 'em up!"

Ran lowly whistled. "Quite the little menace, ain'tcha?"

She pumped her fists. "Yeah!" Then, she paused, holding a finger to her chin in thought. "Wait...what's a menace?"

"Ah, something you inherited from your old man." He ruffled her hair, much to her displeasure. Though her innocent jab earlier regarding his age still hit a sore spot, he was starting to like the sound of it. She, on the other hand, wasn't convinced.

"I already told you; Ma was on her happy juice when she said that. She said not to believe anything she says when she's on happy juice. It makes her do silly things."

Ran chuckled. He knew that all too well. The little girl wouldn't be in this world if not for your inability to hold your liquor. But judging based on how you've raised her so far, clearly you made the right decision keeping him in the dark.

He'll admit, he wasn't the best in terms of commitment. Throughout his day to day, Ran just didn't have the energy. With being in Bonten, keeping an eye out for his younger brother, handling business, dealing with numbskulls and disposing of their bodies, there was never a time to even consider settling down. One-night stands and on and off flings were the easiest choice. At least, until he stumbled upon you.

You were the whole package and more. Classy, independent, witty, and a looker to top it all off. When Bonten started collaborating with the organization you worked in, he couldn't help but to be drawn to you—Like a moth to a flame. It started out as the occasional bantering, trying to one-up the other, catch them off guard. Ran was smooth with his words but could never quite beat your sharp tongue. Thus, things escalated to something more flirtatious. Harmless, but it didn't take long before the months of tension between the both of you began boiling over...and throwing alcohol into the mix, it was the first time Ran finally felt like he had the upper hand. Seeing how poorly you handled just a few glasses of wine, it endeared him. Seeing a piece of you that no one else had the privilege to witness. Your sloppy side, the clumsy, whiny, touchy side. After that long, passionate night beneath the sheets, the one time you and Ran allowed yourselves the space to be vulnerable with one another...you found yourself pregnant. And Ran found himself being nonethewiser.

He wonders, if he hadn't left the next morning and completely ghosted you...would you have kept him in the picture?

Suddenly, his phone dings. Reaching back to pull it from his back pocket, Ran half expected it to just be another update on the meeting or Rindou cursing at him to hurry his ass back inside. But, it wasn't that at all. And at the sound of your kitten heels rushing out of the building and halting at the top of the steps, Ran didn't even need to look up to know who was glowering down from them.

"Hey, Ma! Guess what, the purple man isn't such a meanie after all!"

Ran snorted, finally looking up from his phone to greet the woman who not only still had his heart, but evidently his first child. You, on the other hand, weren't so thrilled to see him.

"Rika. Wait inside. Ma's got some words for the purple man."

He smirked. "Wanna say 'em over a glass of wine?"

"You son of a-!"

"Bad word!" Your daughter covered her ears. You flushed, your composure nearly slipping just by being in his prescence. Ran, immediately seeing the opportunity, teasingly pouts at you whilst covering her tiny hands with his larger ones, shielding her.

"Honey, please, not in front of the child. Can't have her repeating those dirty words at school, can we?"

You fumed, speaking through clenched teeth. "Haitani, as soon as I get her in this building, away from you, I swear to God, I'm gonna wring your neck."

He hummed, amused. "Well. Guess she didn't get her violent side from me after all. Speaking of which, did you know at school today-"

"Hey! No snitching!"

“...What did you say?”

You were hoping you heard the teacher wrong. Surely it was just your exhaustion taking the wheel. But, when her kind smile didn’t falter, nor did her gushes for the supposed “adorable display”, you immediately grew suspicious.

While heading home from work, you went to pick up your children from daycare. And when you arrived, the teacher merely informed you that it was already taken care of by your very handsome and very devoted husband.

“I-I think you’re mistaken. My boyfriend and I aren’t married…”

The teacher, finally coming back down to earth, tilted her head in confusion. “Eh? You aren’t?”

“Did he…say we were?”

“Well, no. I just assumed since it was easy to tell who he was here for. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.”

You choked on your spit. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.

You did everything in your power to keep from strangling the poor woman. Sure, she didn’t do anything wrong per say…but she sure did make a grave error. And your struggle to restrain your intrusive thoughts must’ve shown on your face from the way she placed a concerned hand on your arm. “Are you alright, miss? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“M-Mhm, yep, great, just peachy.” You squeaked through clenched teeth, sweatdrop on your forehead. “Could you um…confirm something for me?”

“Uh.? Er, sure. I’ll try my best.”

With tense shoulders and a tight smile, you asked, “Their…father…did his mouth have two scars in the corners?”

The teacher blinked, confused. Shouldn’t you already know that answer yourself?, she was probably thinking. And she would be right; you did know. But her simple, hesitant nod was the final nail in the coffin that was your delusion—Haruchiyo Sanzu had found you. And to make matters worse, he had the children.

Your smile faltered, twitching ever so slightly. Covering it with a forced chuckle, you cried, “Oh, that’s..wonderful! He’s always been self conscious about them, and I’m j-just.. beaming with joy that he’s embracing them more. Have a nice evening, Ms. Yuki.”

The teacher didn’t get a chance to respond as you quickly turned on your heel and began speed walking home. You’d apologize for your abrupt exit another day…right now there were more important matters to worry about. For instance—How on earth did Sanzu find you? How did he know about the twins and where they were? Oh, God…did he know about Satoru?

Dialing him up a few times only for the calls to go straight to voicemail weren’t reassuring in the slightest, having you rush across oncoming traffic just so you could avoid any further delays for your fraying nerves. You could see your apartment complex up ahead, heart thumping in your throat at the familiar, black SUV parked a couple blocks down. Had it not been for the heavily tinted windows and no license plates, you probably would’ve overlooked it. He knew where you lived. Stomach in knots, muscles stiff, nerves shot. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated. Your kids were safe at home, but at what cost? You stood in front of the building, rooted to the ground. Despite mentally preparing for this exact scenario for years, it all went down the drain the second you went to that daycare and discovered your children were missing.

It wasn’t until your phone vibrated did you snap out of your thoughts, shakily pulling the device out of your back pocket to check the notification.

from : unknown 1:06 pm “ hi, mama.~ ”

Your stomach twisted. Attached to the message were two photos.

The first photo was of your kids eating McDonald's in the kitchen, happily cheesing and waving at the camera. You couldn't hold your choked gasp, hand coming up to hold your quivering lower lip—They were safe.

The second photo...was of Satoru. Tied to a chair, gagged, and beaten senseless. And standing behind him, holding him by his hair so that he could pose for the camera, grinning like a cheshire cat...

Another message pops up. Your grip tightened around your phone.

from : unknown 1:09 pm " daddy's home.~ "

#🍁wasabi #*weakly holds up to the light*#it...is...FINISHED #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #mikey x reader #mikey sano #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #ran x reader #ran haitani #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo

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alaia777 · 5 months ago

Note

HII OMG CONGRATS ON 200 <333 can u please do

⊹ what’s with that face? are you about to cry? with nagi, hurt with comfort at the end PLS AND THANK U MWAH

hellooo, thank you so muchhhh !!! :’))) i didn’t expect it to get this long, but here we are. i hope you like it!

you were tired. so, so tired. you had to wake up early today to finalize a report that was due for review, double-checking data and formatting everything according to the company’s painfully specific guidelines. on top of that, you somehow got stuck handling part of your coworker’s workload—again—because they conveniently “forgot” about a deadline. and as if that wasn’t enough, your boss wasn’t satisfied with the presentation slides you had prepared, requesting multiple revisions that kept you in the office two hours past your usual time.

the only thing that kept you going was the thought of finally going home to a clean house, taking a warm bath, and maybe later relaxing with your boyfriend. but unfortunately, that was not the plan, because the moment you opened the door, what greeted you was far from your dream.

the pillows and cushions from the couch were scattered across the floor, some even kicked aside carelessly. the kitchen island was covered in empty takeout containers, half-eaten snacks, and crumbs trailing onto the floor. a couple of soda cans sat tipped over, their contents dried into sticky patches on the counter. and the cherry on top? the sports equipment that nagi had left right in the middle of the room—the very thing you almost tripped over the second you stepped inside.

“ah, you’re back,” your boyfriend said lazily as he stepped out of your shared bathroom, console in hand. he didn’t even glance up, too absorbed in his game to notice the way you were frozen in place. “should we order some food?”

you took a deep breath, trying—and failing—not to let your frustration boil over. “nagi,” you started, voice tight, “why does the apartment look like this?”

“like what?”

you blinked at him, utterly baffled. “what do you mean like what? can’t you see this mess?” your voice rose with each word. “i already spend my whole day babysitting my coworker at work—do i really have to come home and do the same thing for you?”

the words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and exhausted, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back.

nagi barely spared you a glance, fingers still lazily tapping at his console. “jeez, dramatic much?” he muttered, shifting his weight onto the couch. “if you hate being here so much, you could’ve just stayed at work. seems like you like babysitting, anyway.”

he finally looked up then, an almost bored expression on his face. “not my fault you stress yourself out over everything,” he added, shrugging. “maybe if you stopped nagging for once, you wouldn’t be so tired.”

you couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of nagi’s mouth. you stood frozen in place, your mind struggling to keep up with the shock of it all. your mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. you were too stunned to form a proper response, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you expected.

it hurt. it really hurt. you hated how much it stung, how his indifference felt like a slap in the face. this was such a stupid thing to cry over. you knew that, but the exhaustion from the day, the weight of your work, and the frustration of it all came crashing down in a way you couldn’t control.

but what really tipped you over the edge was what he said next.

“what’s with that face? are you about to cry?”

the way he said it—casual, almost mocking—sent a jolt through you. the tears you’d been holding back finally slipped free, and you turned away, taking a deep breath, quickly checking your pockets for your keys before heading straight for the door. you couldn’t stay in the same place as him for another second without doing something you’d regret—like throwing something at his head.

“what—where are you going?” you heard him call after you, his voice laced with confusion.

you didn’t look back, not until you reached the door. just before you closed it behind you, you caught a glimpse of his face. he looked different—almost apologetic. his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, as if the realization of what he’d just said was finally hitting him. for a brief moment, you saw the vulnerability in his expression, the way his shoulders slumped a little, but you couldn’t let it stop you.

without another word, you closed the door softly, leaving the apartment behind.

and so, you spent the next hour and a half in a diner just 15 minutes from your place, eating some sad meal that, on any other day, you would have enjoyed. but tonight, it felt hollow. sitting there alone, with nothing but your thoughts swirling around in your head, it wasn’t helping. the memory of what had just happened earlier lingered, refusing to fade away. your phone kept buzzing, notifications from nagi lighting up the screen. 50 messages.

you didn’t bother reading them. instead, you turned your phone off. were you being dramatic? maybe. but honestly, you didn’t care. he should be able to clean up after himself. he was an adult, after all. but then, there were those days when you were struggling, and he was there for you—cleaning up after you, trying to cook despite the disasters in the kitchen, doing his best to make you smile. you would do the same for him.

the thought hit you with a pang of guilt, but you pushed it away, breathing in deeply for the 100th time today. you finished your meal, paid for it, and decided to just go home. you needed a break, a well-deserved bath, and a little time to clear your head. tomorrow, you’d think about what you should do, what steps to take next. for now, all you wanted was peace.

you got home, expecting the usual mess that awaited you, but to your surprise, the apartment was spotless. everything was in its place—no clothes strewn across the floor, no half-empty cups or dishes left around. the countertops were clean, the pillows neatly arranged on the couch, and there, on the table, were the pastries you loved. it was almost like he’d read your mind, or at least, knew exactly how to soften the tension that had been brewing.

before you could even process what you were seeing, the sound of the bathroom door opening caught your attention. your boyfriend appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed like he’d run a marathon, his usually demeanor suddenly nowhere to be found.

“where were you? why didn’t you answer your phone?” he asked, coming up to you with a concerned look. his voice was different—no teasing, no playfulness, just genuine worry. he reached out to take your hand, but you froze, your thoughts still racing.

“i didn’t think you’d actually leave,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost as if he regretted what had happened earlier. there was a hesitation in his eyes, a subtle shift in his usual nonchalance, and you could feel the weight of his uncertainty.

“listen—” you started, but he cut you off, his tone more serious than usual.

“no, please, let me speak first,” he said, sounding a bit more intense than his usual carefree self. he looked at you, his gaze uncharacteristically hesitant. “look, i’m sorry, alright? i didn’t mean to make you feel like i didn’t care. i shouldn’t have said that, and i know it was dumb. i get it now.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly not used to being the one who needed to apologize. “i don’t really—i mean, i don’t always think before i speak, but that doesn’t make it right. i know you’re not just tired from work, you were probably stressed out, and the last thing you needed was me being an idiot.”

nagi paused for a moment, his usual smugness replaced with a rare, honest vulnerability. “i’m not good with.. this kind of stuff, but i don’t want to make you feel like crap. i messed up.”

he stood there, still avoiding your gaze, but you could see the slight shift in his posture—almost like he was waiting for you to say something. it was clear now: he really was sorry.

you took a deep breath, letting the tension in your shoulders ease just a little. “nagi” you started, your voice softer now. “i know you’re sorry, and i get it. i’m not mad at you, i’m just really tired. all i want right now is a warm bath and to curl up with you. can we talk about this tomorrow when i’ve had some rest and a clearer head?”

you looked at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “i don’t want to hold onto this, i just need to recharge, okay?”

you could see the relief in his eyes, the guilt easing from his face. he nodded slowly, finally offering you a small, genuine smile. “yeah, of course,” he said, taking a step closer to you. “take your time.”

you let yourself fall into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you. for a moment, you just stood there, letting the warmth of his embrace melt away the tension. it wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe, and that was all you needed right now. you closed your eyes, taking in the quiet comfort, and for the first time today, you felt a little lighter. everything else could wait until tomorrow. for now, it was just the two of you, and that was enough.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #blue lock angst #bllk angst #bllk fluff #hurt/comfort #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader

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justchillgurl · 1 month ago

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Title: Debt and Dagger Smiles.

Summary: At Kanghak High, she’s the girl everyone turns to—for help, for answers, for secrets. Controlled, calculating, she runs the school from behind her polite smile. Unseen by her, Geum Seong-je starts paying attention—and he doesn’t like what he sees. He likes it too much.

Check this out!@

Author's Note: Welcome to Debt and Dagger Smiles. This story is a slow burn—full of power plays, tension, and the clash between control and chaos. If you're into smart characters, unspoken games, and dangerous chemistry, you're in the right place. Updates will come as inspiration strikes—feel free to leave your thoughts.

Content Warnings: None (for now).

_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠____

Chapter 1: The Balance Sheet.

At Kanghak High, no one held the web of whispers tighter than her.

She walked the halls with a quiet, calculating ease—her uniform always crisp, her eyes always focused, her phone never more than a breath away. Most students thought of her as approachable, reliable, the kind of girl you’d ask for help with a project or directions to the nearest printer. And sometimes, she said yes. But only after calculating the weight of the favor.

Because nothing came free.

She didn’t offer kindness out of softness. Her generosity was strategic. She said yes when it mattered—when the person asking held potential. A future teacher’s pet. A student council officer. Someone whose name would matter on a list. Those who received her help might think they got lucky.

They didn’t.

They were already in her pocket.

She didn’t waste time with the Union. Despite their presence in the school and the vague air of intimidation they carried, she saw them as distractions. She wasn’t trying to control through fists—she was building something smarter. Cleaner.

In her notebook, color-coded and organized to military precision, she kept track of every test date, every exam format, and every student in the top ten. Her grades were near perfect, and she made sure to keep it that way. While others stayed out late or fought behind buildings, she was home by eight sharp. Her family didn’t tolerate disobedience, and she didn’t test their limits.

Not publicly.

What no one knew was that she ran the school blog.

Anonymous. Undefinable. Ruthless.

She didn’t write everything, of course. She barely wrote at all. But she knew what was happening—who was cheating, who was skipping, who was crying behind the lockers. Gossip reached her before it hit group chats. Secrets traveled faster when people trusted you, and she made sure everyone trusted her just enough to slip up.

Geum Seong-je watched her from the corner of the school convenience store.

She didn’t notice him. Not because she wasn’t observant, but because he wasn’t in her circle. Not worth tracking. Not yet.

He’d seen her around, of course. Everyone had. But this was the first time he paid attention.

She stood in front of the drink fridge, scanning the labels like she had a spreadsheet in her head comparing caffeine levels. Her movements were efficient, deliberate. No wasted steps. She picked a small can of black coffee and a rice ball, paid in coins, and dropped the receipt in her bag.

Not once did she smile.

When another student tried to stop her near the exit—some third-year begging for help printing a missing assignment—she tilted her head slightly, brows pinched as if already calculating.

“What do you do again?” she asked.

“I’m vice secretary of—”

“Of the eco club,” she finished. “Right. You owe me. Done. Send me the file. I’ll print it. But you’re collecting survey data for me next month. No complaints.”

The girl nodded quickly.

She walked off without confirming. The favor was made. The debt recorded.

Seong-je didn’t move. He leaned back into the shelf, hood pulled low, watching her disappear past the glass doors.

Interesting.

He’d heard rumors before—of how she always had the answers to tests before they dropped, how her notes circled among the elite students, how she knew when a relationship ended before either person confirmed it. He’d assumed most of it was exaggerated.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

She didn’t just survive in this school.

She ran it—quietly, efficiently, and with terrifying precision.

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

End of Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 has been updated to third-person POV.

Thank you for reading🫂.

#geum seong je #geum seongje x reader #wolf keum #weak hero class two #lee junyoung #weak hero x reader #kdrama

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kittygowrite · 3 months ago

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Midwest Girl

Pair: Ghost x Reader

Warnings: F!reader, hunting mention, (just in case) slight gore/blood description, extreme weather mention (tornado sirens), just self indulgent fluff

An: trying my hand at a drabble 😌 (a very long drabble… more like a poorly formatted fic) saw this post by @succubusvalentine and just needed to write Simon with a Midwest girl lol. Lil disclaimer, this is based on my own experience in the Midwest and where I live in it (omg it's huge there's so much variety in the culture)

(Read on AO3)

Word count: almost 800

Simon with a Midwest girl that absolutely fascinates him.

You were always so sweet and polite, a small smile would pull at his lips every time you said “ope.”

If you were surprised, bumping into something, or remembering something, every single one would be accompanied by a little “ope!”

Or when you would walk past him, a little “let me just squeeze right past ya...” he would be fighting off a grin.

The politeness wasn't a personal thing though.

The first time a stranger started talking to him at the grocery store, he thought they were insane. When his sweet girl started chatting with the older lady who had commented on the tomatoes Simon was holding, he thought you had fallen off the deep end as well. But that's just how you were. His sweet thing, sharing your sugar with the neighbors, helping with their gardens, bringing over dinner or other comforts whenever someone fell on hard times.

Your food reminded him of what home ought to feel like, all comforting and warm. Whether it be your mother's “famous” chili, a casserole brought to a potluck to celebrate some small town holiday, or a simple pasty warming his fingers in the heart of winter, Simon could never get enough.

While there were quite a few things he hesitated to eat, shoving a bite into his mouth usually shut him up and had him devouring the rest, despite the odd name or questionable ingredients.

The weather was its own situation.

The tornado sirens are blaring, he's grabbing things to hide in the basement and wait out the weather, following the safe and logical protocol. Searching high and low for his sweet girl, just to find you lounging on the porch, a bottle of Faygo in hand, watching the sky swirl and shift with a content smile. Brushing him off when he frantically tries to usher you inside, nodding to your neighbors who are all doing the same, outside despite the sirens screaming for you to hide inside where it’s safe. (Of course, if it actually got bad, you would go inside, but it would take a while to get to that point.)

The temperature changes were intense, 20’s and freezing his fingers off one day, 60’s and driving with the windows down the next, it was enough to give him whiplash.

Not to mention the god-awful winters. He would think you were insane for wearing just a T-shirt and jeans when it's nearly in the 30s. You would just smile and wave him off, laughing when the usually stoic man would be reduced to grumbles about the cold bite.

The chill in Manchester was enough for him to be tugging on a winter coat so the colder temperatures were less than comfortable. He would be bundled up in long johns, flannel, a down coat, mittens, and a scarf wrapped over a thick woolly balaclava you had gifted him for the holidays and he would still be shivering like a wet kitten.

It’s hitting the negatives and you’re unbothered.

“It’s not so bad without the wind.” You happily tell him, as if his nose wasn’t numb and his fingers stiff from the glacial weather. He had to buy a proper pair of winter shoes, his assumption that his combat boots would be fine stomping through the snow. After a too-close dance with frostbite, he caved and bought a real pair of snow boots.

The way you interacted with wildlife never failed to amaze him either. Shooing off a raccoon or coyote that was pawing through your trash. Feeding the birds and squirrels, not batting an eye as a deer walks past.

Growing up in Manchester, he had seen his share of wildlife, but it was so different in the States. The deer were bigger, coyotes would bark and scream like banshees in the night, and don't even get him started when he saw a moose for the first time.

But Simon whose girl goes hunting or fishing? He’s whipped.

You’ve got antlers on your walls, maybe a hide or two kicking around. His eyes would nearly pop out of his head when he walked into the garage to be met with the sight of his sweet girl elbow-deep in fish guts, scaling and gutting the fish with practiced efficiency. Blood splattered on your arms and a smudge on your cheek as you smiled at him and handed him a plate of fish to bring inside.

He would laugh at first, the need for a freezer in the garage seemingly useless. But come hunting season, when it was filled with rabbit, venison, and wild turkey, he changed his mind quite quickly.

You had your quirks, but you were his. And he wouldn’t trade his sweet Midwest girl for anything.

An: I had a lot of fun writing this! Like I said, it’s based on my own experience with where I live so I’m sorry if this isn’t how you’ve experienced it! Feedback is always appreciated <3

Taglist: @pythonmoth @hattiefunny @daydreamerwoah @bi-sk8er @sweetheart4you @shinebright2000

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daxisyzz · 2 months ago

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⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 3: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒐'𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff, platonic!coworker! Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson and Peter Parker.

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: News of your relationship spreads like wildfire, and suddenly, you’re the most talked-about person in the company. Between nosy coworkers, jealous stares, and Bucky mysteriously showing up wherever you go, you start to wonder—who exactly is pretending here?

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings and tags: Bucky’s mean for a split second, he's a cute menace, hyper bestie Nat, judgemental office people, Reader keeps spiralling, many scene switches.

Series masterlist

Previous episode Next episode

Inspired by the kdrama Business Proposal

Previously on Business Proposal...

You stare at him, fully aware you're about to sign away your entire life. And yet—your landlord just raised the rent, your boss (who's sitting in front of you) is on the verge of layoffs, and your bank account is actively crying.

You had no choice.

With utter resignation, you grab the pen, sign the contract, and glare at him.

“If I go to jail for this, I’m haunting you.”

Bucky smirks, completely unbothered. "Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning."

_____________________●

It has been two days since you held that contract and signed it to become your boss's girlfriend. Nothing much has happened except for you learning info about Bucky from a file he provided, about his likes and dislikes—to make it more realistic.

You walked into the office exhausted. No one knew about your relationship yet, and you didn’t know when he was going to reveal it to the public, but you weren’t exactly thrilled. For the past few days, Bucky had been his typical self: ice-cold with a petty streak the size of the Empire State Building.

You were beginning to think you had signed a contract with the devil himself. Ever since you agreed to be Bucky Barnes' girlfriend, he had done nothing but make your life miserable in the most cliché way possible.

Your inbox was flooded.

Your calendar was triple-booked.

And worst of all?

He was making you present at the 8 a.m. executive meeting without any warning.

You were dying.

He walked past your desk, perfectly polished in his charcoal suit with a smug aura, and tossed a file down—barely glancing at you.

"Need this by four."

You blinked at him, jaw slack.

"You said five—"

He cut you off smoothly: "I changed my mind." You stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. He smirked. Smirked.

"Oh, and don’t forget the new compliance reports. I want your summary on my desk first thing tomorrow."

"Are you serious?" you asked, already spiraling.

"Every time."

He turned and walked off like a villain in a spy movie while you genuinely contemplated sending your resignation via passive-aggressive memes.

Later that evening, you sat at your desk after work hours, rubbing your eyes among empty coffee cups and a document that refused to format itself.

Bucky emerged from his office with a silent air which, in your state, you might have missed if he hadn’t cleared his throat.

You didn’t look at him.

He came closer, leaning against your office doorframe and clearing his throat again to catch your attention.

"I might’ve overdone it," he said eventually.

You still didn’t look.

"I didn’t mean to actually... break you."

That finally got your attention. You turned to face him with a deadpan glare. "You gave me seven different tasks with three conflicting deadlines."

He winced. "In my defense, you lied to my face—twice."

"And in my defense, I’m one paper jam away from committing a felony."

He chuckled, then softened.

"Go home," he said quietly.

"I'll send the rest to someone else."

You stared. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." He hesitated, then added with a small smile, "I'll make it up to you. Fake boyfriend's honor."

You grabbed your bag and muttered, "Whatever weird revenge arc this is, I hope it ends soon."

He watched you gather your things in silence, too tired to argue.

Your eyes were rimmed red from hours of screen-staring, and your shoulders slumped under the weight of the day he’d dumped on you. Even now, you didn’t say anything snarky or bite back.

You simply walked past him with a quiet “Thanks.”

And that was somehow worse.

Bucky leaned against the glass wall of your office, jaw clenched. Damn it.

"She tricked you first," his brain reminded him, smug and cruel. "She pretended to be someone else, played me like a fool."

But…

"She looked like she was about to cry," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "I’m not a monster."

It wasn’t that he meant to overwork you—not really. He just got carried away. You made him feel off-kilter, and he didn’t like that. So he punished you with tasks, meetings, and impossible deadlines.

Petty.

Childish.

Effective.

But now? Now he felt like crap.

"Why do I feel guilty? She lied first."

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This isn't in the contract."

After a well-deserved sleep, you woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. You got ready, dreading the day ahead. Something was not right—you could feel it. Your gut never lies.

The word was out.

You were halfway through your iced coffee when Peter Parker, the new social media manager you befriended, ran into the office as if he had personally discovered the second coming of Christ.

"Are you dating the CEO?!"

You blinked, barely registering his words.

"What—no—what?!"

"Peter, inside voice," Wanda muttered behind him as she slid into her chair.

Sam raised an eyebrow from behind his computer. "So it's true."

You glanced around. The entire floor buzzed with whispers. You could feel their stares poking at you. Someone was even scrolling through a Reddit thread titled "The Employee Who Tamed the CEO."

You didn’t know how it leaked—maybe HR—but by lunch, the entire office knew.

You were dating Bucky Barnes.

You didn’t even have time to breathe before he appeared. There he was, in one of his many ridiculously tailored suits, slow strides and perfectly styled hair, his smirk as infuriating as ever. And—was that a second cup of coffee in his hand?

"Morning, babe," he said, placing your favorite order right next to your elbow.

"You looked tired yesterday. Thought I'd help." You stared at the drink like it might explode. Everyone’s jaw dropped.

You opened your mouth to respond but— "Oh, babe," Bucky interjected smoothly, crouching next to your desk like it was an everyday routine, "I've canceled all your meetings so you can rest. Just attend the brainstorming session, alright?"

Babe?

You made a strangled noise in your throat. "Alright," you said with a smile that suggested your soul wasn’t screaming.

Later, alone in the break room, you cornered him by the fridge, voice low and frantic. "What is happening?! Yesterday you tried to kill me via Google Calendar, and now you're acting like we’ve been married for five years."

Bucky leaned against the counter, calm as ever. "Things changed."

"Oh, really?"

"The office knows. Gotta sell it."

You stared. "So your solution is to completely change your personality?!"

He smiled—soft, this time. "No. I’m just being the boyfriend you tricked me into becoming." You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

"...I need stronger coffee," you muttered, turning on your heel.

Behind you, Bucky’s grin widened as if he were enjoying it way too much.

You sat at your usual table in the cafeteria with Wanda, Sam, and Peter, eating lunch and pretending not to notice the sideways glances from other tables.

"They’re staring again," Peter whispered, leaning over his tray of fries.

Wanda didn’t even look up from her salad. "Let them. I’d stare too if my friend suddenly started dating our CEO."

"It’s wild, though," Sam grinned. "One day you’re quietly working like the rest of us, and the next day—boom. CEO’s smiling like someone handed him the keys to his dream car."

You covered your face with your hands. "Can we not talk about this?"

Too late.

The cafeteria door swung open with an audible creak.

In walked Natasha Romanoff—hair perfect, sunglasses still on indoors, lips pressed as if she meant business.

She stopped in the middle of the room, scanned the crowd, and headed straight for you.

"Oh no," you whispered. "She found me." Wanda blinked. "You didn’t tell her?"

"I was going to. Eventually. Maybe. In a controlled environment."

Nat reached your table, hands on her hips. "You! We’re talking. Now."

You barely had time to set your drink down before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from the chair.

Sam let out a low whistle. "Uh-oh."

Peter muttered, "Good luck," as if sending you off to war.

Natasha didn’t say a word as she marched you through the halls, then stopped at an empty meeting room and shut the door behind you. Only once she let go of your arm did she speak. She simply stared before saying,

"I’m sorry."

You blinked. "What?"

"I’m serious," she said softly. "I should’ve never made you take that date for me. I was being selfish, and I didn’t think it’d spiral into... this." She gestured vaguely, as if “this” were too ridiculous to name.

You folded your arms. "Nat, it’s fine. Really."

She stared harder. "You almost got fired. That’s on me."

You shifted uneasily. "I didn’t. So don’t worry about it."

She shook her head. "No. You went to that restaurant dressed like a lunatic to scare a stranger off—and that stranger turned out to be your boss. The boss. This is peak corporate drama. I should’ve never put you in that situation."

You hesitated cause Nat seemed tohave no clue. "You didn’t force me. I said yes."

"You always say yes when I ask for stuff. That doesn’t mean I should’ve asked."

Your expression softened. "Well, joke’s on you, 'cause I bagged my CEO."

Nat stared. "You what now?"

You grinned exaggeratedly. "Yep. Dating him now. Whole-ass relationship."

Her mouth opened slightly. "Wait. Are you serious?"

You nodded, still beaming(gotta sell the act). "It’s... new. And weird. But yeah."

She squinted at you. "Since when are you into CEO types?"

"Since they started showing up at my desk with cappuccinos and weirdly good cologne."

Nat stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Okay, but—are you okay? Is he pushing you into anything? I swear, if he’s threatening you behind all that rich guy charm—"

"No," you interrupted quickly. "Nothing like that. He’s... surprisingly nice."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re being really vague. Suspiciously vague..."

"...I can tell when you're lying."

"I’m happy, Nat."

She paused, then said, "Fine. I’ll pretend I believe you. But just know I’ll gut him if he hurts you."

You laughed. "Duly noted."

Nat sighed, stepping back and brushing imaginary dust off your blazer. "Alright. If you’re gonna keep seeing him, we’re leveling up your date-night looks. I’m pulling up to your door with all my new collections."

You blinked. "For what?"

"For your next date. You think you’re gonna keep dating the city’s most eligible CEO and wear those sad office blouses? No offense, but—no."

You groaned. "Nat—"

"Nope. Already picking dresses in my head. You’ll thank me later when you look like a million bucks and he’s short-circuiting."

You squinted. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"I need this win," she said seriously. "You deserve to look like a goddess after what I dragged you into."

You softened. "You’re forgiven. Really."

She smiled, finally relaxing. "Good. I'll leave you to it. I need the details soon. Gotta go, love—bye." She sent a kiss as you gave a tiny wave back.

The door to the meeting room clicked shut behind Natasha as she continued her day, leaving you alone with that drink still in your hand. You were still processing the chaotic whirlwind of her advice—especially about the date. You had thought she’d be more subtle, but that was clearly too much to ask.

You stared at your phone, shaking your head in disbelief as you scrolled through Natasha's texts. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to focus on a reply, but the flood of messages kept coming in.

Natasha: “This red dress screams ‘CEO arm candy.’”

Natasha: “Do you own heels that don’t look like they’ve been to war?”

Natasha: “Lipstick shade: ‘I will ruin you.’ Thoughts?”

Natasha: “Wait, should I book a glam team? I know people.”

You could practically hear her voice in every text, each one more ridiculous than the last. Rolling your eyes, you typed back, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum:

You: “Nat, please—I work in marketing. This isn’t Bridgerton.”

Almost immediately, a new text arrived, and your eyes widened at the sight of the attached picture—a sparkly, backless dress that was way too much for a fake date. You sighed dramatically and shook your head. Just as you were about to craft a snarky reply, the sudden sensation of being watched made the hairs on your neck stand up.

You froze, your stomach twisting with a mix of nerves and something else. Before you could even turn, you felt a familiar presence in the doorway, and your heart skipped a beat.

There stood Bucky Barnes—silent, tall, his frame filling the entrance as he cast a shadow over your phone while he watched you.

You gasped, nearly dropping your phone. "God—!"

Bucky blinked, unfazed, as he stepped into the room, casually sipping from his travel mug. "Coffee machine’s slow today."

"No. You’re a creep," you hissed, clutching your chest. "Were you standing there the whole time?"

He sipped his mug, glancing at your phone as you tried to hide the screen in panic. "Planning something without me?"

You scrambled for words. "It’s just Nat. She’s... enthusiastic."

Bucky leaned on the conference table beside you, his eyes locked on your phone. His expression was unreadable, but the corners of his mouth twitched—as if he were holding back a smile. "Red dress or the sparkly one?"

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "You—!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You type loud."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Why are you like this?"

He brushed past you, heading toward the counter as if he hadn’t just startled you.

"Just making sure my girlfriend’s not cheating on me with Valentino," he murmured casually. Then, with a wink, he added, "I have to keep up the act, don’t I?"

Your heart raced, and your mind scrambled to catch up with his sudden shift in demeanor. The flirtatious, teasing tone sent your stomach flipping.

Before you could say another word, he was already out of the room—as if he had places to be, the ever-dedicated workaholic.

Still staring at the door, you took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Your fingers flew to your phone, sending a quick text to Natasha in search of clarity amidst the chaos.

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

A/n: sorry for uploading this a bit late but here's the next episode. Lemme know your thoughts. Love you guys. Have a great day!!

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #⁺‧˚⋆Business proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺#james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #ceo!bucky barnes #episode 3 #sebastian stan x reader #Ceo!bucky barnes × worker!reader #Contract relationship #fake dating trope #ceo au

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axolotsofluv · 2 months ago

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❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮❞

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing here in tumblr. I'm still unfamiliar with the mechanics so forgive me if the format looks a bit plain ;-; This is also my attempt at challenging myself to write romance and capture intimate, domestic moments without excessively using kisses/hugs. Please excuse the writing mistakes here. Hope anyone reading this enjoys! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

❥ pairing: veritas ratio x reader

❥ tags: humor, romance, fluff, domesticity, ratio x reader

❥ song inspo: to the bone by pamungkas

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

➷ Him spooning you and covering your ears during a thunderstorm knowing how sensitive you are to the startling noise

➷ Extending a hand towards you out of reflex whenever you're seen bounding towards him, as though ushering you closer and not allowing a single millimeter of space to fester between you

➷‌ Him immediately sliding over his meal of choice to you when he catches you openly staring at it. You point at it and sweetly ask him if you could have a bite, and when he complies, he doesn't take it back until you are satisfied

➷ His firm tone when he chastises you for picking the cheapest option on the menu, repeating the phrase he often uses in situations like these: "I'm paying. Now, perish those thoughts and choose what you truly want". As you place your order, he notices that your current option was the second cheapest meal on the menu. This stunt garners his disapproving stare, and you eventually cave in from the pressure and order what you really want

➷ He doesn't partake in PDA often, or much at all, but people aren't oblivious to the way he tends to shift most of his body weight towards you when you're around just so his skin can make contact with yours or the way he seeks out every opportunity to touch you, whether it's a simple shoulder tap or a poke at your forearm (bro must have you within at least a meter radius, further than that and he'll pull you closer to him)

➷ ‌In the early stages of your relationship, he noticed that you frequently hold his bag for him, which was a gesture more commonly practiced by men. Not wanting your considerate gestures to go unreciprocated, he now takes the initiative to carry your belongings for you whenever you're out together. His arms now serve as a multifunctional tool for you to either hang your belongings on or latch onto when you're afflicted with a sudden bout of neediness

➷ Never turning down an opportunity to touch your hair. He sees a leaf on your hair? His fingers are already working on removing it. Not only that, but he goes the extra mile by also brushing your hair. He sees a few stray hairs sticking out? His palm swiftly mats it down with gentle, methodical swipes. You wonder why his hand lingers for more than a minute, but you make no attempts to stop him ‌

➷ Your arms are his stress ball. Whenever he catches you doing something cute, be prepared to have your upper arms seized and squished to oblivion. He's done it so often to the point that it developed into a habit. It wasn't until one of his acquaintances pointed it out did he realize it had long gone past the point of habit and into the territory of involuntary behavior. He'd do it even when he's ticked off by what you did/say that at this point, the line between cuteness aggression and sheer aggression is blurred‌

➷ Reflexively holds your hair back whenever you lean over something, especially food. He can tell when it's about to happen by the spark in your eyes and by the time your body tips over to gain a closer look at the object of interest, his lithe fingers shoot out from their previous position at breakneck speed to prevent the falling strands from getting dirty

➷ Those lips that are prolific in spouting soul-crushing, confidence-tearing remarks become pliable crescents whenever you speak. Even if the contents of your mindless ramblings are something he deems nonsensical, inane, and even outright idiotic, a smile will inevitably worm its way up his face. Additionally, as much as he enjoys teasing and berating you (lightheartedly), there is nothing that sates his senses more than your gleeful laughter every time he comes up with a clever quip or a bestows you with adulations. He's not one for sugar coating, but he'd be lying if he said your mirthful reactions aren't enough incentives for him to start doing so

➷‌ Always knows instinctively whenever you're confused by a term or saying, by that pursed lips of yours and the way you stare up at him with a distraught look as if fearing that admitting your incomprehension will garner his or his peers' disdain. When he spots these telltale characteristics of befuddlement, he will draw himself closer to your ear and explain to you in a voice as smooth as silk, yet as soothing as the nightfall breeze, with words meticulously formulated to aid you in obtaining a general scope of what's being discussed. Your apologies are met with a swift rebuttal as he assures you that it was best to be forthcoming about one's lack of knowledge than to feign understanding

➷‌ Him being extra careful with his words when you need his candid input. He goes the extra mile to mince his words when he would usually show no hesitation dishing out insults like flyers. You would ask him for his thoughts on an outfit, and he'd reply "do you want me to be completely honest?" At this point, you had resigned yourself to an inevitable fate of being on the receiving end of his critical and straightforward dissection as he picked on each and every visible flaw, supplying concrete alternatives to mitigate the mistake but not before bashing you for your poor taste. To your surprise, however, he actually... held back? Instead hearing something like "even the most mediocre of minds know not to go for this color scheme. Pray tell, is your goal to be presentable or a laughing stock?"; he goes: "The color of your top clashes with your shoes; perhaps, you can try this instead." or even something simple like "That won't do. You can achieve more with this instead."

➷‌ Watching a movie together and he sees your quivering lips, hears a whimper, and catches the indignant wipe of your eyes. With a sigh, he opens his arms for you to leap in to and make a mess of his freshly ironed shirt

➷‌ "Tell me why!" You angle an imaginary mic at his face, watching closely and expectantly. He breathes out an exasperated sigh, mutters something about your maturity, and then finally says the following line with a delivery somehow more monotone than gal gadot: "ain't nothing but a heartache..." It takes a year off his lifespan every time you initiate these spontaneous karaoke sessions, but he supposes that having the lifespan of a mosquito is worth it if it means seeing you burst into a fitful laughter

➷‌ As much as he finds solace in the moments shared between him and you, Ratio also relishes the times he is able to enjoy a good book and delve in his own ruminations. However, in the rare instances you show even the slightest bit of interest in what he's keeping himself preoccupied with, he'll scooch over to make room for you. No words are exchanged or needed. The moment you accept the silent invitation and the proximity amplifies, Ratio's arm rests around your shoulders like a seat belt securing you to his side before you both eventually embark on an academic journey together

➷‌ There's nothing that robs him of his composure more than when you say "thank you" and bat your lashes at him, playing coy. It sends his heart thumping wildly and engulfs his face in a disarming sense of warmth. It makes him weak—he knows it, you know it. He chases that high by making himself available whenever you're immersed in a task that he knows will require his assistance

➷‌ It's public knowledge that Ratio's productivity and looks can be ascribed to his habit of waking up early. He utilizes the time to read a page or two from his book, exercise, gather his bearings, and prepare himself a balanced meal for breakfast before he would eventually tackle his arduous day-to-day routine as both an educator and a scholar. But now, his morning routine undergoes a bit of change. The steaming cup of coffee becomes two cups. The table is occupied by two separate plates instead of one. And once all that is done and over with, he goes back to bed to wake up his other half

➷‌ You run to him, frantic, acting like the apocalypse is nigh, frazzled and distraught beyond words and he just points to the vanity without a single scathing comment, unfazed to the point of blase. You grab your missing phone with a hop in your step and thank him. The next time you do it, he just goes, "have you tried looking in the drawer?" Wallet found, breakdown averted

➷‌ When he laughs at your jokes (he actually doesn't; on a good day, the most you'll get is a faint, airy snort while the second best is just a blank stare) ‌

➷‌ When he puts his book down, tucks a bookmark between the pages, and ultimately relinquishing his source of entertainment to listen to whatever you have to say, trivial as he may claim it is

➷‌ When he calls you by a term of endearment and doesn't shy away from regarding you with light touches in front of people, despite being fully aware of how this would impact his professional life. This impact being employees gawking at him for actually having a love life, close peers teasing him for being a sap, and even a few brave students approaching him to offer him their best wishes (and surprise because, as a brazen student of his once said: "someone as prickly as him can get together with someone? damn")

➷‌ Even in the aftermath of a recent conflict, he keeps the door to his study room unlocked. He might not say a word to you due to his lingering annoyance, but at the end of the day, he wouldn't (correction: could never) turn you away if you come looking for him

➷‌ Gaining the doctor's interest is a monumental achievement as he is someone with a penchant for knowledge and discoveries that most people will take years to understand. Yet somehow, a simple text from you is all it takes to keep his attention riveted to his phone. If anyone ever sees his vision glued to his screen as though he has just seen someone solve simple addition incorrectly, they'll know who's responsible

➷‌ When he takes you out to your favorite restaurant and brings you to the beach at evening to watch the sunset, knowing how much this kind of scenery soothes your soul

➷‌ When he tosses an apple towards you while you were off collecting seashells, only for it to land on your lap, earning a dissatisfied grunt from him as he chides you for not catching. He retrieves the apple and tosses it again. You try to play it cool when you manage to catch it the second time, but it's hard not to get giddy when you see him with the biggest smile on his face

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copperbadge · 5 months ago

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One of the things I do for my job every January is update a spreadsheet that contains all of the research my org has funded, and what the researchers went on to do after -- basically "We gave them $50K to study this disease and since then they've earned $2M in grants from other sources to continue that study." Overall we've had a great ROI.

But I took over the sheet two years ago, I didn't build it from scratch, and I had to modify it -- stuff like "separating researcher name into first and last name columns", adding a column for source URLs, a column for brief biographies, etc.

It's always had some formatting issues -- cells wouldn't align properly, or wouldn't wrap, or the row height would be truncated, and I couldn't figure out why.

Until I just took a look at the cell styles and realized that the person who had it before me, who was in finance, had formatted every column regardless of content to be either Currency or Accounting.

I'm gonna have to rebuild this fucker from scratch. I'm gonna have to copy the entire thing to a new sheet, paste without formatting, and reformat everything.

*cracks knuckles* should be fun!

(This is an example of how I am just Like That.)

#sam has adhd #sam works #spreadsheets #excel #oh no

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generalsmemories · 2 years ago

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Jing Yuan the... Lion

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: how would the characters react when jing yuan somehow magically transforms into a lion (like mimi) for a day? x reader is ok!! - requested by @/ephemeralyae

✧ contents: humor, established relationship, fluff, mentions of other characters

✧ a/n: i've noticed a certain pattern with my writing sideblogs, and that is the fact that i'll always get this sort of request HAHA. And in line with similar patterns, this will be the first post written in a headcanon format! i went the x reader route with just a hint on how characters would react (not that big of a reaction, moreso what they have to do in this situation) so i hope it was okay!

not beta-read again lmfao.

✧ He is as confused as everyone else with this situation. One moment he's sitting idly by his office, writing on his desk and the next moment he's left staring dumbfoundedly at a gigantic paw quite similar to the paws he squishes quite frequently back at home.

✧ Is the quick rundown you're given when you arrive at the Seat of Divine Foresight along with Fu Xuan and Yukong - having been frequently spammed with incoherent messages from Qingzu in the span of a few minutes.

✧ And although this very much is a serious situation - nevermind the mystery that the Divine Foresight is always absent from his usual seat, if he actually stays in this lion form for more than a day everything onboard the luofu will be behind schedule and he will for real be absent from the Seat of Divine Foresight because he's going to be taken in by the alchemy comission to figure out how to turn him back.

✧ And yet, as everyone is scrambling around trying to figure out a solution to turn him back and a reason to why he specifically was turned only - you're just left staring straight back at the lion with soft white hair and golden eyes who seem all to relaxed when staring back at you.

✧ Heck the tail is even comfortably swaying back and forth - even though he's well aware of the chaos he's caused.

✧ "... You know everyone in this room is in a disarray because of you, right?" a small roar that oddly sounded like his usual laugh, "... Yukong have to be able to discreetly send a message to the other flagships without even alerting anyone else in the Palace of Astrum, you are aware of that, correct?" you swear you saw the lion nodding his head.

✧ "... Master diviner Fu Xuan is going to have a lot more on her plate with this added problem, you agree to that right?" you ask once more, the lion only gave you a closed eyed smile.

✧ "Yanqing will be disappointed when you're not going to spar with him today, you've already avoided it for the past 2 weeks and you promised him today," the lion merely turns his head around, promptly ignoring you with a side glance of mischief.

✧ How can he be a scoundrel even when turned into a lion.

✧ "... Mimi would probably attack you the moment she spots you," you settle on saying. And somehow that information alone was enough for the once relaxed state of the lion to be in distress. Jing Yuan's once laid down form springing back into all fours - the sudden action making Qingzu who were still sorting out documents yelp.

✧ "... You know you could've tried saying you would leave him to see if he would react," Fu Xuan comments as the lion before the two of you makes his way over, "I think he would die on the spot if I said that, now how do we get him to-" you're unable to finish your answer back to the master diviner when you're suddenly pounced on by Jing Yuan.

✧ And as anyone would've expected, the much heavier weight makes you topple down to the floor with a loud bang.

✧ "... Did he already gain some feline traits?"

✧ You're unable to answer the question, desperately slamming your fist down on the lions mane before you're able to wriggle your head away from the amount of fur in your face, "Jing Yuan-" you wheeze, "I'm barely able to carry you while you're human, what made you think I can carry you when you weigh close to 200 kilograms?!"

✧ The lion seemed to not care, merely nuzzling his nose against your hair while making no move to actually get off of you.

✧ "... You know what, let's just call the healers down here and leave him here for the day. I have other business to attend to and Yanqing is already blowing up my phone asking where this idiot is," you say, tapping the lion on top of you on the nose before letting your hands tousle the mane, blinking in surprise at how oddly soft it was.

✧ "... On second thought I'll stay here until the healers come," you rephrase, continuing to run your hands through the mane, Jing Yuan seeming to purr in content at the excessive rubbing.

✧ So this is why Mimi is so content whenever you would excessively rub her everywhere.

og request here!

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #hsr imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail x you #jing yuan x reader #slowly making our way through these requests HAHA

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paddockbunny · 1 year ago

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Perfect Storm

Summary : Simple. You x Daniel x a perfectly timed thunderstorm Rating : 18+ Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : 4,186 ONE SHOT!! Trigger Warnings : NSFW! 18+, language, oral (female recieving), this is basically romantic porn so there’s that Images : curated from Pintrest Authors Note : I thought I had already posted this 🙈 I’ve briefly checked over it but it might be a tiny bit raw (formatting inc.) in places so please be kind.

The glow emitting from the campfire illuminated both of their faces with a warm, golden radiance as each others features toyed by shadow and light. A smirk, a flash of pearlescent teeth or a swift side glance all heightened by the flaming, flickering embers.

In that moment, as you observed Daniel raise his glass of deep crimson red wine to his lips, it dawned on you that you couldn’t remember a time you had felt so relaxed with a guy before. There wasn’t an ex you felt so utterly comfortable with that you completely let your guard down and were able to sit without make-up, with your hair undone in one of their borrowed shirts. It had only been a few months - three in total - and yet here you were in Perth on Daniel’s farm, sitting by the fire he built to keep you warm, feeling the most utterly, blissfully comfortable you had ever felt while alone with a man in your entire life. And you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you thought about it.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” Daniel questioned upon lowering his glass and seeing you practically beaming ear to ear from your own contentment. You shrugged - not wanting to embarrass yourself by actually putting words to what you were feeling.

“C’mon…” Daniel lulled, wanting to tease it out of you. “Tell me.” His big, syrupy brown eyes bore down into your own. They were so seductive and alluring you had to remind yourself to stay strong and resilient to them. You playfully shook your head back and forth coquettishly as Daniel angled his body toward you. He thought he was sly as he placed his wine glass down on the ground but you saw him. A smirk now danced playfully upon his own mouth and it took everything you had not to sigh at the possibility of what was to come.

“Babe, c’mon….” He purred whilst leaving his own Adirondack chair that was only a few feet to your left side. With unflinching ease Daniel slipped down on to his knees and crossed the ground to you. All without breaking his intense stare. His movements were effortless. Cat like. It was as if he had rehearsed the moment a million times before. He was that smooth with it. “You’re going to get all dirty.” The words slipped past your lips with more shakiness than you intended. Daniel’s hands trailed up your bare shins and without missing a beat you swallowed.

“I’m ok with that.” Came his response and a quick, barely audible gasp fled from your mouth. You had spent most of this trip - most of the past three months in fact - naked and enjoying each others bodies. The sex was so often and frequent in fact that you thought if it were with anyone else it would have become boring and repetitive by now. But with Daniel, well, he never failed to surprise and excite you. The thought lingered in your head as his tanned hands with nimble, long fingers tracked up to your thighs causing you to swallow again. Now he was facing away from the fire his eyes looked even deeper, darker. They flickered from chocolate umbers to smokey cedar and they were hungry, full of desire. Your eyes finally broke from Daniel’s to where his hands sat upon your thighs. Your stomach flipped at how big they were as they sat upon your bare flesh. His fingertips started circling - just like how they did when you were naked and they were between your legs, driving you into ecstasy - and you could have swore you felt wet tingles all across your exposed skin.

And just as the feeling of Daniel’s beard brushed against your knee you realised the tingling wasn’t tingling at all, it was rain and as a deafeningly loud roar of thunder rumbled through the sky the heavens above opened. In seconds sheets of water cascaded down upon the pair of you like a violent waterfall. The torrent of cold water hammered down hard across everything in sight and Daniel arose to his feet, holding out his hand to you as deluge soaked through the clothes that the pair of you had on. Slipping your hand into his he pulled you swiftly up and now, as you stood, the pair of you took off running toward the house. Reaching it only just in time as another magnificent bellow reverberated across the land while bright flashes of light sparked through the sky. Daniel closed the sliding door to the abode just in time as the water already started pooling on the patio slabs that the both of you had only moments before dashed across. Now, with the sound of the hard lashing rain hushed, the sound of heavy breathing reverberated throughout the room.

Daniel stood sodden in front of you. His t-shirt clinging tightly to his body. The slick wet fabric helping to define all of his impressive taught muscles. God, how lucky you were. He turned and caught you admiring him. Droplets tumbled from his curls, falling upon his cheekbones, across his nose, and the way he was drinking you in made you realise your own drenched state. You had been in nothing but one of his old white t-shirts. And had nothing on underneath bar a pair of little white panties. Daniel’s Adam’s Apple bobbed and the fire he had outside reignited. His t-shirt, which was now glued to your saturated skin, hugged and clung to all of your curves. It practically emphasised your boobs and hips - not that it mattered as the pale fabric had by now turned transparent. Daniel attempted to hide his smugness as you dripped onto his floors.

“Fuck….” He muttered under his breath. Another low, groaning roll of monstrous thunder drummed over the house but by the time it had finished, Daniel has closed the gap between the pair of you and had his mouth on yours with feverish intensity. You melted into him. His heat flowed through the wet clothes between your bodies and mixed with yours. Lightening struck and lit the room in dazzling light once again. The electrically charged air paled in comparison to what flowed between the pair of you and as cold as the rain had made you, your internal heat arose so high it felt like you were being kissed by fire.

Daniel’s hands pushed your wet hair back and groaned deeply into your open mouth as he kissed you. You felt the need for him burn inside of you. There was nothing else you could think of. You were desperate for him and as you felt the slip of his hand to your neck and he used your slightly helpless situation to begin to push you toward the bedroom. You gave into him completely willingly. With his arms wrapped around your body and lips locked with his it was really no wonder he couldn’t find the hallway that lead to the master bedroom. Your back pressed into the wall beside the hallway opening. His hands travelled down to your thighs, running his big wide palms over your butt. Grabbing it harshly enough for a whimpering yelp to slip up your throat. Though it was not wasted upon him as it travelled into his mouth. He knew what you liked. In the three months you had been together he had learned everything about you - especially what made you come undone for him. With another long drone furling through the sky a series of blinding bolts lit it up. Not one to miss a moment, Daniel pulled from you and his eyes stared somewhere impossibly deep in your soul.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting and it truly stole the air right out of your lungs. It was the first time he had said it and with another wave of thunder you realised it matched how your heart was now battering against your ribcage. You hadn’t just heard his words, you were feeling them and you knew they were true because you felt them too. “I love you too.”

Hungrily, Daniel’s lips came back to yours and although you could feel how desperate he still was (you could feel it against your hip) the kiss was now more tender, softer and it felt like he was making sure you knew he loved you, you hadn’t just heard him say it. Your fingers slipped down his wet t-shirt and tried to start pulling it up. Unsurprisingly, it was stuck to his skin so it was too hard for you to try to do it alone. Daniel smirked against your lips as he pulled back to help you. It was an action that had both of you smiling and laughing behaving like two unskilled teenagers doing it for the first time. As the t-shirt began to furl up around his thick neck your hands ran up his damp flesh. The tip of your fingers dipped in and out of the grooves of his muscular taught abs. Solid and yet still soft you ran up the centre of them to his chest - the small smattering of hair that gathered upon his chest tickling your fingertips. Daniel shivered and laughed.

“Your hands are cold.” He said and you smiled at his jesting tone. Even in the most passionate moments Daniel still joked with you - and you loved it because you relaxed and stayed out of your own head. You burst out laughing even louder when the t-shirt got stuck on his head and he couldn’t get it off. It made you leap into action and you reached forward - standing on your tip toes - to help. Once the top was off Daniel immediately went for the hem of yours and you pretended to pull away. “Oh that’s how you wanna play?” He joked, his eyebrows going up and he feigned shock. But as the rain pelted down on the roof even harder than before - which distracted the man who just told you he loved you - you took off down the corridor in a pretend jog. Daniel’s laugh echoed around the entire house and it reverberated off the corridor walls as he followed after you.

A chill ran through your body as you turned and went into the master bedroom. The slippy floor turned into carpet below your bare feet - your sandals kicked off back in the hall - and you could feel the droplets of water roll down your long tanned legs. You didn’t have time to think about what to do next, if you wanted to pretend to hide or try take Daniel’s t-shirt off your body yourself, because Daniel was already behind you. His warm body pressing against your cool back. His arms engulfing you from behind. You melted into him as his name tumbled from you. The flip of your stomach as he reached down and started pulling up the hem of his oversized t-shirt had your mind swirling. It was swirling so much in fact that you felt love drunk from him and your head fell back on to his shoulder so you could drink it in. Daniel sighed as he started pulling the damp fabric up, up and up till suddenly all you needed to do was raise your arms for him.

His hands wrapped around your now bare waist and rested on your stomach as his beard lightly scratched at the skin of your shoulder before he kissed it. And then he continued to kiss it, over and over and then trail up your neck before you turned to face him. “Daniel….” You sighed, feeling so utterly wrapped up in him, and another shock of lightening brightly lit up the room. Desire and want filled his eyes and you knew your own would be a mirror image.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His hand trailed down the side of your cheek and if your heart wasn’t visibly leaping out of your chest before it was certainly doing it now. He used his position to pull your lips back to his and move you toward the big plush bed that was right beside the pair of you.

Still embraced in his arms, his mouth on yours, tongues playfully dancing with each others, he pushed you gently back on to the cloud like duvet. An expectant moan came rolling from your lips and you knew how much Daniel loved hearing every little noise he could pull from you. So he was grinning when he pulled you up the bed and a squeal leapt from you. There was something about his strength that completely turned you on. He would easily and effortlessly turn, twist and flip you in bed. He was far more skilled than any man that you had ever been with and he knew the positions that worked for you like the back of his hand. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip as he climbed on top of you. Desperation for him was well and truly kicking in. His chest bore down on yours and you felt his muscles tense as your hands ran down his back. He was in control - just how he liked it - but you had learned how to capture little moments of his surrender to you. Daniel took the driving action in his favour and hooked his fingers around the sides of your last piece of clothing. White, barely there panties were painfully slowly peeled from your body. As they travelled down your thighs your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t realised how turned on you were until suddenly your wet, aching folds were no longer confined beneath fabric.

“Dan…” Your mouth parted and his name fell from it as he parted your thighs and lowered himself down the bed. Your teeth ground together as he lifted you so your thighs rested on his shoulders. And then, just as he has kissed you on your mouth before, Daniel tenderly kissed your folds. You gripped the bedsheets as he did it again and you couldn’t hold back from glancing down at him.

“You’re perfect.” He said as your eyes locked for the briefest of moments. Then, all you could think about was his tongue. Your head rolled back and you gasped. Swift, slick movements had your eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open. Your breathing turned erratic and you could feel him smiling against your sensitive flesh. But just as you felt yourself falling into the rhythm he was setting he pulled back, stopping. It made your eyes fly open to look at him but he was already manoeuvring up your body.

“Not yet.” His voice muffled as he trailed his lips up your navel. You knew he wanted to draw it out, take his time. He loved it when you would come together. Your blood was rushing so hard around your body you could hear it whoosh in your ears. It was so loud in the moment that Daniel chose to take your nipple into his mouth that it drowned out the loud clamour of the boom in the skies above. The resonant rumble mimicked the hum that Daniel made in pure satisfaction of you begging for him.

Your hands trailed down his back when his lips connected once again to yours in a dizzying, all consuming kiss that left you gasping for air. As your hands fell upon his round ass Daniel took the hint and ground his still clothed self against your core. The feel of his hardness pressing against your folds wasn’t enough. You were growing impatient to feel him inside of you so you did the only thing your position allowed, you bucked yourself against him to gain some more friction and encourage him. It reduced him to deep moans that were like music to your ears.

And thankfully, Daniel took all of your hinting. He pushed down his shorts and underwear and you couldn’t refrain from reaching between your bodies to touch him. His breath shook as your hand closed around him, thumb brushing against his leaking tip and this time it was him that was moaning. Your name cascaded from his parted lips. It set your soul on fire. His hand replaced yours and he trailed the tip of himself up and down your folds, covering himself with your slick wetness that he helped to create. Your fingers entwined through his hair and he pushed inside of you as his lips reattached to yours. He paused for a moment to let you adjust to him but really all you wanted was for him to move. And then when he did the heavens decided it was the perfect moment for loud clang of noise and dazzling white light to fill the room. It was an almost poetic sense of irony that it happened as soon as Daniel found his pace - a familiar slow, steady, ardent one that never failed to have you falling deeper in complete all consuming love for him.

The feeling of him pushing in and withdrawing out, steadily had whimpered sighs bubble up from your throat. Your hand drew down his back from his hair and found their place at the base of his spine. Drawing him into you silently. You loved his wide, broad back and the dip right before his perfectly round ass but what you really loved most was the feeling of his hips as they caressed across yours with each and every stroke. But Daniel didn’t let you get lost in your dirty thoughts. No. Just as he groaned into your mouth he reached down and pulled your thigh up around his waist. He had taken your speechless hint of needing more and acted upon it. An angle favouring him and how he could position himself inside of you.

“Fuck…” He purred against your lips and you felt yourself inadvertently squeeze around him. Your eyes flicked open when he halted his movement and used his strength to pull up from you. “Keep doing that and I’m not going to last long.” Your eyes had flicked open just in time to hear him say that. “Sorry” you whispered in delighted response and found yourself biting your lip to stifle a pleased laughter.

“Oh you find that funny, do you?” His voice was laced with a certain cheeky cockiness. With hands either side of your shoulders he pushed his body up, detaching his chest from yours and simultaneously driving himself even deeper inside of you. An action that had a loud pornographic gasp run from your now parted lips. With furrowed brows you managed to regain enough composure to open your eyes and stare straight into his. Without skipping a single beat, Daniel withdrew and plunged himself straight back in. Eliciting yet another obscene exclamation from you. Pleading for more with use of his name and hands sliding all the way up to his immense neck. This time your teeth plunged into your bottom lip because of the feeling of pure lust raging rampant throughout every inch of your body. And now, in this new position, Daniel continued the motion of his hips. Satisfied that he had both reprimanded you and had so effortlessly almost tipped you right off the edge.

And as Daniel’s own unadulterated moans filled the air - mixing with yours - unable to stop himself from the impending high your body was driving him toward, you used every single ounce of strength you had in you to flip him over. Now underneath you, you were able to see his shocked (yet completely pleasured) expression. Daniel was always in charge when it came to sex and rarely relinquished control. You knew you would always have to take it if you really wanted it and tonight - after he told you he loved you for the very first time - something clicked inside of you. You didn’t want him to do all the work as usual. You wanted to make sure he knew how his words earlier had affected you and how you desperately wanted to show him. “Baby…” Was the only word that flowed from his lips. Any thought of protestation abandoned as you sunk down on him. Taking him to the hilt. It took you a second or two to adjust but his breathy, pleasured sigh was like heaven to you. You watched as his eyes rolled back when you rolled your hips and placed your hands flat against the flesh of his chest to steady yourself. You had ridden him before but it was a rarity considering his love for playing the man in the bedroom.

Seconds turned to minutes as your new position on top of him was welcomed. He loved being able to touch you, grab at your chest and grip your thighs so hard you were certain his fingertips would leave marks. You felt confident enough to lean back, your hand finding his knee so his throbbing girth angled right against your most sensitive of spots. Daniel wasted absolutely no time abusing your position and his thumb found your bundle of nerves that had been desperate for his attention. He continued for only a few moments till you were almost a whimpering mess and he was ready to regain a small portion of control. He sat up. Grabbing you and holding you flush against his body. His cock repeatedly hitting the spongy spot inside of you.

“Does that feel good?” He whispered against your mouth, his tongue momentarily swiping at your bottom lip. You couldn’t speak. The feeling of sheer utter euphoria was hurriedly rushing toward you like a tsunami. He pushed up as he guided you back down. And repeated the action again, and again, and again.

“I love you…” He repeated his earlier words and the mix of your orgasmic high muddled with the high of your man telling you the most important words he could say to you. With a tender hand placed against your cheek, holding you, gripping you, you just about heard Daniel tell - no command - you to let go. And you did. Succumbing to the intensity of the orgasm that ripped throughout your entire body. The electricity that sparked in the skies above you now ignited all across your body and truly you could have been forgiven for spacing out and letting wave after intense wave ripple through your body. Daniel slowly but steadily continued the movements that had driven you there and you could feel him come undone himself. His muscles tensed, his stomach tightened. His fingers squeezed you harder and the moans got louder.

Just as he had done mere moments before, you repeated his words to him; “I love you” as his own orgasm struck him. The milky liquid flowed from him and filled you up. His body tensed and trembled under your touch.

“Fuck…” The profanity escaped you as you tried to regain control of your breathing. Nothing felt better than this, no one felt better than he did. It would never be so intense and powerful as it was with Daniel, of that you were one hundred percent sure. Your forehead pressed against his as he twitched inside of you a few more times. Making sure to give you every last drop of himself. And then finally his breathing slowed and his lips found yours once more.

“That…” He couldn’t find words, and your mind had all but gone blank. He kissed you again before you pulled back and opened your eyes - your bodies still connected together - you wanted him to hear you properly this time. As for the first time you wanted to say it first.

“I love you.” His hands pushed your still damp hair back and he didn’t need to say it back. He had told you first and he had shown your body he truly meant the three little words. You knew, he knew you meant it and it wasn’t just a quick response. A smile danced across his lips and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

And although no more words were exchanged as he pulled out of you, gently flipped you over to lie on your back and proceeded to take care of you, cleaning you up, you found yourself drinking in the moment. It dawned on you that the storm had faded outside and the hammering of rain had ceased. As you realised you had never before been so thankful for a terrible sudden tempest, a smile grew across your contented face.

“What are you smiling at” Daniel rejoined you in bed, his hand gliding across your stomach as he pulled you into him. It was practically word for word what he had said an hour earlier, before the rain began and just as before you coquettishly shook your head from side to side.

“I’ll find out y’know,” he paused and glanced down at you smirking and you felt like your heart was singing “I always do.”

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #Daniel Ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagines #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo one shot #f1 fan fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 smut #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction

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millysastroblog · 5 months ago

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Tik Tok Accounts stealing Content from Tumblr Astro Bloggers

!!!!!Warning!!!!!!!

@millysastroblog

So, early this morning, I was just randomly scrolling on TikTok and saw an astrology post. At first, I found it really interesting because it stated something I wrote in my own "Random Astro Observations" post from two years ago. But as I kept reading, I started noticing that the rest of the sentences also sounded way too similar to mine.

And then… BOOM. It hit me. Some random dumbass had the audacity to straight-up steal my content from Tumblr without ever asking for permission or giving credit. And no, this wasn’t one of those typical screenshot posts, it was a self-written post, formatted in a way that made it look like it was their original work. TikTok users would probably assume that this account was the real creator, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. IT’S FUCKING NOT.

These people don’t just steal and screenshot your work without giving credit, they go as far as rewriting it, editing small parts, slapping their own name on it, and then answering comments as if they actually have the same knowledge and insight as the original creator.

I was shocked. Because before realizing this, I actually thought that the TikTok account was creating their own observations. But no it’s fake. They just copy, paste, and claim it as theirs.

Like, I know you mediocre, good-for-nothing people don’t actually understand the astrology content you post. You just like the attention, the likes, and the views. Meanwhile, people like me have actually studied astrology for YEARS. I mean that I've spent over 5+ years studying astrological placements, reading charts, and truly understanding the deeper meanings. I didn’t just skim through random posts and use them as "resources" to build my own platform. I actually sat my ass down and studied for HOOOOUUURRSSS every single day because I genuinely wanted to understand myself and the people around me. Astrology has always been a passion for me.

I love learning new information, analyzing people’s placements, reading synastry and composite charts (which, let’s be real, these people probably don’t even know what those are). At this point, I could read someone’s birth chart and tell them things they aren’t even fully aware of themselves. BUTTTT the fact that some random Susanne or Tom really thinks they can just steal my content, build their own fan base off of my work, and assume I won’t find out? That’s actually diabolical.

Let’s be honest you guys don’t know shit about astrology like that. The only reason you even have information to post on TikTok is because of original creators who actually have talent, knowledge, and a passion for sharing it.

ALL OF YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED.

It’s okay to start as a beginner and learn at your own pace. I mean bitch there is CHatGPT now like I don't understand. But doing it in a dishonest and disrespectful way? That’s just wrong, and you know it. You just don’t care.

All I’m trying to say is that this shit needs to MF STOP NOW!

I’m tired of having to remind 5–10 TikTokers that this content is MINE!!!!!!!! And in general, just stop doing this to other bloggers too. Just stop. It’s not fair, and you know it.

Have some respect. Let it be. Create your own original posts and share them with whoever you want, but let us Tumblr bloggers rest. For god’s sake, we are tired of our work being ripped off left and right. It’s immature, it’s childish, and it needs to end.

And to that dumbass TikTok user who literally stole my shit DELETE IT NOW. Hoe, I SAID NOW. I know you’re going to see this.

I will make sure your page gets reported , hoe!!!.

Tik Tok account to ban:

⬇️

- @thehorowitch (Copy & paste Tik toker)

And so many moreeeeeeee !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#astro notes #astro observations #astrology #astro community #astro placements #astro posts #astroloji #astroblr #astro love #astrology asteroids #solar return #astro thoughts #astro #don’t take my shit #like or reblog #share #please share

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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

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FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Series Masterlist;

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn.

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys.

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house.

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues.

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now.

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also.

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now.

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her.

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died.

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for.

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say.

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him.

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him.

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him.

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My girl, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back.

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now.

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room.

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue.

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral.

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too.

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action.

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched.

He should’ve fucking been here.

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you.

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit.

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths.

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you.

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick.

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.”

We.

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him.

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance.

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything.

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt.

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks.

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it.

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt.

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

Your father is made small and withered in death.

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man.

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone.

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for.

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one.

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber.

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger.

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell.

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time.

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim.

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself.

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry.

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world.

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime.

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob.

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory.

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave.

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat.

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear.

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another.

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all.

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday.

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way.

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy.

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time.

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year.

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient.

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor precisely intentional in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom.

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days.

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp.

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph.

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home.

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly.

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range.

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him.

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling.

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him.

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone.

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself.

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower.

You’d always hated them.

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved.

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans.

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad.

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel.

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far.

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want?

Someone to care.

Someone to love you.

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy.

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s.

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling.

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be.

Who that is? Still being decided.

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch.

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get.

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else.

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad.

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way.

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you.

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god.

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less.

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without.

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all.

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped.

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh. “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so.

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up.

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son.

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you.

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy.

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath.

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time had been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your American twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion.

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know.

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Obviously not.

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing.

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good.

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you.

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday.

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel.

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now.

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that.

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad.

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue.

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along.

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life.

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you.

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you.

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully.

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man.

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it.

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.”

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl.

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable.

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest.

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours.

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered.

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head.

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either.

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains.

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning.

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core.

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now.

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest.

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return.

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned.

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood.

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him.

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

Chapter 2; Sugar, Not so Sweet

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#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x FMC #joel miller smut #Joel miller angst #the last of us AU

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pforestsims · 3 months ago

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Why I started using DXT1 texture format for TS2 CC again (sometimes)

In the past I discouraged ppl from using it. But it has one benefit, which TS2 CC creators shouldn't ignore: DXT1 textures are about half the size of DXT3. In TS2 DXT1 is only used for textures without transparency.

There are two facts about textures that some ts2 cc creators and cc hoarders are probably unaware of:

Lossless compression (compressorizer etc) significantly reduces file sizes, but it does NOT help texture memory, because texture files get uncompressed before being stored in GPU texture memory cache

Byte size does NOT equal resolution. For example: Raw32Bit texture takes up around four times more space in texture memory cache than DXT5

DXT3 2048*2048 px takes up ~4MB, but DXT1 2048*2048, thanks to its harsh 8:1 compression, takes up only ~2MB of texture memory cache, which is an equivalent of two makeup textures 512*512 px Raw32Bit format (TS2 makeup creators' favourite :S ).

@episims posted a comparison of DXT formats here - but please note Epi compared texture sizes after those were compressorized. Also, I believe the DXT1 preview actually shows glitches that are not visible in the game.

To change texture format in SimPe you need to install Nvidia DDS utilities, which can be downloaded here (SFS). Yape package editor is much faster and easy to use.

*This is about GPU texture memory. As far as I know, it's unclear how internal TS2 texture memory works - does it benefit from lossless file compression or not? No idea. But IMO we don't have a reason to be optimistic about it :/ What we know for sure is - the easiest way to summon pink soup in TS2 on modern systems, is to make the game load large amounts of texture data (large for TS2 standards anyway) in a short amount of time.

DXT1 built in SimPe with Nvidia DDS Tools tend to look bad - but as I had learned very recently, SimPe DXT1 preview (and export) is broken! It displays some artifacts that are not actually visible in game!

The only way to correctly view DXT1 created in SimPe outside of the game is the new YaPe package editor. You need to switch the texture format preview to AltRGB24 (Raw24Bit).

DXT formats use lossy compression which affects texture quality - this compression matters for texture memory.

DXT1 512*512*4 (4 bytes per pixel) / 8 (divided by 8, because of 8:1 compression ratio) = ~131 KB

DXT3 512x512 px (4:1 compression) = ~262 KB

Raw32Bit 512x512 px = ~1MB

2048x1024 px DXT1 texture takes up around as much texture memory as 1024x1024 px DXT3 or DXT5 (non transparent*) = ~1 MB

*Flat (non transparent) DXT3 size is the same as DXT5.

Fun fact: flat DXT1 and DXT5 built in GIMP look identical, and also not much better than SimPe DXT1 (in game!).

DXT5 has 4:1 compression just like DXT3 but it can store more data in alpha channel, and that allows for much better looking transparency (if smooth alpha is present, size is increased). As I already mentioned, DXT1 does not support alpha transparency.

I don't want my game to look like crap, but if texture looks OK as DXT1, then why not use it. Aside from hood decor, I've been reconverting some wall and floor textures for myself to DXT1 recently, instead of resizing.

Some ppl might cringe on seeing 2048x2048 skybox textures but to me large texture is justified for such a giant object. I cringe at Raw32Bit makeup.

I'm slowly turning all Raw32 makeup content in my game to DXT5 (no mipmaps). I've edited enough of those to know, that quite often the actual texture quality is not great. If a texture has been converted to DXT3 at some point, alpha channel is a bit choppy. "Upgrading" such texture to Raw32 doesn't do anything, other than multiplying texture size by four. I don't know how 'bout you, but I only use one or two skyboxes at a time, while my sims walk around with tons of face masks on them, so it's a real concern to me. And don't make me start on mip maps in CAS CC. My game certainly doesn't need 33% larger hair texture files :S

*note - another thing I've "discovered" after writing this post, SimPe DDS Builder can actually make crisp mipmaps as long as you set Sharpen to "None".

Note2: Raw8Bit (bump maps) / ExtRaw8Bit (shadows etc) are also uncompressed formats, but don't contain color data and weight around as much as DXT3.

/I've taken out this part from a long post I'm writing RN /

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #ts2 tutorial #well it's not really a tutorial -

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 2 years ago

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❝ YOU ALREADY HAVE A PIECE OF MY HEART (WHICH I HAVE NEVER GIVEN TO YOU) ❞

warnings: burn scars, battle scars, grief, derealization, trauma (so much trauma), major character deaths (Satoru, Suguru, Tsumiki, Nanako, Mimiko, Principal Yaga, (Y/N)'s mom), Fushiguro Megumi angst, Junpei mentioned (surprisingly without angst), Itadori Yuji angst (minor), NSFW content for Sukuna's section, implied cannibalism

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL! The formatting is a bit all over the place but these are straight-up taken from Discord chats I had with Elias, pls. I hope they're not too hard to understand. These are all basically "what ifs" and alternate universes + one section for Heian Period Ryomen Sukuna with a (L/N)'s ancestor! " " = means straight-up copy-pasted so I guess they kinda act as a foreword for each drabble

starting off with some HCs of (Y/N)’s high school years!

(Y/N) thinks Satoru must understand the pain of being the next head of the clan, get trained vigorously, and deal with aching bones and sores. Nope! Satoru’s never dealt with that much less dealt with (Y/N)’s father.

Shoko has a dark sense of humour so she laughs at his dark jokes but (Y/N) does notice the three of them end up pampering him more often.

Satoru buys him food most of the time. Drinks and snacks and ice cream, if (Y/N) gazes at something too long Satoru just tosses it into his cart.

Suguru tends to help him stretch or massage him. He’d even fix (Y/N)’s hair, almost motherly in his actions. He makes sure (Y/N) is presentable, makes sure he doesn’t have to worry because; “Su-Su will fix it~”.

Shoko makes sure (Y/N) is always wound-free. From buying antiseptics to burn relief gels (they all have a travel-sized bottle on their person to be fair). She buys him cigarettes when he needs them and always pokes him in his sides or the back of his head, she made it a habit to use RCT on him just in case he’s in pain but can’t feel it.

"You'd come back to me"

"What if Nanami Kento and (Y/N) survived the Shibuya arc?"

Kento stroked your bangs away and then pressed kisses with every compliment he gave. Your chuckles give him this feeling that if you ever told him "please" he'd give up everything just to hear it again. Kento lightly pushes you away but slips a hand underneath you, tugging his (Y/N) closer. “Kennnnnny."

Usually, Kento doesn’t enjoy nicknames but every time you say it, the world seems bright and sweet. So he noses at your jaw and relishes in the giggles.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with so much sincerity.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Kento grins and presses a searing kiss to your lips.

You are both covered in scars. Nanami’s still pinkish and healing even with the help of socerery and yours still aching and bruised. But nothing about you could be wrong. Because that wasn’t possible. The ring on your hand is cool on his neck as you tilt his head to deepen the kiss. Kento turns and chuckles as you yelp, straddling him now.

“Kento!”

“Yes, my (Y/N)?”

Your eyes soften, and he kisses you again.

"The beach will be more cloudy. We can sit on the porch and I'll make you that milky tea again." He thinks it's a shame the two of you are stuck inside the house. It cannot be helped; his skin was far too sensitive for Malaysia's unapologetic sunny rays and dry heat and although you comfort him by saying your scars are still healing too, he wants nothing more than to pick you up and wash away all the remnants of Shibuya in seawater. "I can make it," he says. "Kento," you press your finger onto his lips, tracing it until you're cupping his face and stroking over his cheekbones. "Let me take care of you." Kento frowns and places his hand over yours, tracing the shape of your healing knuckles and raised scars. "Only if you'll let me do the same, my (Y/N)."

Kento who survived the Shibuya arc is left with a very sensitive wound all over the left side of his body. His hearing is unbalanced and his depth perception is fucked but (Y/N) helps him through all the transitions he goes through.

(Y/N) feels guilty for using his curse technique when it’d been fire that hurt Kento. Who doesn’t use it around Kento or if he does use it, he makes sure the smell is gone and washes his hands, and makes sure Kento can hold him without fear. But Kento doesn’t fear him! Kento figured it out and he just tells (Y/N); “My love, you never need to hide yourself from me…”

Yuji helps Kento with physical therapy. Kento grunts but allows Yuji to hug him when he regains consciousness. Kento who asks Yuji if he’d like to be his ringbearer during their wedding.

(Y/N) who is so nervous to meet Kento’s parents. He knows non-sorcerers and sorcerers don’t have many differences in their daily lives outside of exorcising curses but worries nonetheless. Kento’s mom is bright and jovial, and his father is even more so! (Y/N) is honestly taken aback by how soft-hearted they are and how they thank him for saving Kento. He finds himself loving them so much because they remind him of his mother and how gentle and kind she was.

When he asks for their blessing? He bows but is surprised when Kento’s father blocks his forehead from meeting the floor, blinking away tears when his mother holds his face.

“We’ll gladly take you in as your son, (Y/N),” and they all start crying because (Y/N) is crying, LMAO.

Kento tells (Y/N) he asked for his parent's blessing and he's confused because Kento should never do that - he doesn’t need to ask his father for his blessing but Kento simply says:

“I visited your mom’s grave. I asked for her blessing. I talked to her about how much I love you.”

At their wedding, there are empty seats in the crowd. Seats for their fallen comrades, their loved ones, seats for Tsumiki, Principal Yaga, Yū, Satoru, Suguru, (Y/N)'s mom… (blame Elias for this one)

In regards to (Y/N) seeing Geto Suguru's "body" as he descended into madness: Kento who spots him muttering to himself or staring into space. (Y/N), who after surviving the Shibuya arc, still sees Suguru and now Satoru as well. At times, he even sees Yū, Kento, Megumi, Tsumiki, Yuji, Nobara, Maki, or -His brain constantly makes it hard for him to decipher reality or fiction.

A HC based on Katniss and Peeta: (Y/N) asking Kento, “Real or not real?” when he can't tell reality from fiction.

“You’re alive, real or not real?” “Real.”

“Megumi is still breathing. Real or not real?” “Real, my love. He’s just healing. He’ll wake up soon.”

"...You love me, real or not real?" "Real, my love."

When Fushiguro Megumi wakes up:

When Megumi recovers he cries. Openly cries, sobs, and wails as he begs for forgiveness from everyone around him. (Y/N) literally rushed into the room which made Megumi flinch, yelling at him to stay away because he killed his father (Satoru), his sister, and everyone else Ryomen Sukuna had killed. But (Y/N) just holds him and holds him and holds him. Megumi finds it hard to piece his brain together after what Sukuna has done so Yuji helps. Yuji asks Kento for advice because Megumi and (Y/N) are lowkey in the same boat-ish.

Megumi who begs for forgiveness because Sukuna had done unspeakable things to (Y/N) just to make him his concubine and (Y/N) just comforts his son.

When Megumi is strong enough they go to Suguru and Satoru’s graves. There are no bodies but they buried the things that they treasured. Their wedding ring rests where Satoru would have along with Megumi and Tsumiki’s childhood drawings, pictures, and Suguru’s hairband and button. The flip phone was full of memories and high school photographs - his wedding picture too. He rests beside Geto Suguru, whose grave is filled with his daughter's belongings and the flip phone he kept too, the creased photograph of himself with Satoru, (Y/N) and Shoko. Tsumiki, Nanko and Mimiko are next to their fathers. Megumi cries as his knees give out, his only family left, his dad; (Y/N), just comforts him as much as he can. His precious boy, his beautiful son... They visit as often as they can, telling tales of their days, their weeks, and their months. Soon enough, it will be less painful for them to visit that hill. It'll be scenic and they'll no longer curse at the heavens for all this loss. They'll hate that they're no longer the same person their loved ones had seen, hate the wrinkles and the greying hair and the way they couldn't grow old together. Hate that they've been alive longer than them when they feel like they don't deserve to be. But one day it'll stop and they'll take it as a blessing to grow this old, knowing they'll see their family soon enough with so many stories to tell.

"And isn't it just so pretty to think? All along there was some invisible string, tying to you me?"

"You know - in every universe, Satoru falls in love with Suguru and (Y/N). In a few universes, their love is not tragic. In this special few, Satoru does not use (Y/N) for honor. Suguru comes back after his betrayal,l and (Y/N) and Kento defend his rights as a human. Satoru has (Y/N) help him with Suguru’s rehabilitation, and Kento helps Suguru with his clashing ideology. In the special few, Megumi is still beloved by YN but he doesn’t fear betrayal, and love just needs love to be perfect. Uncle (Y/N) cherishes Tsumiki and Megumi and Uncle Kento who teaches them how to be kind and responsible. Mimiko and Nanako learn how to befriend Tsumiki and Megumi!”

(Y/N) would've become a teacher like Satoru! Kento sends him to and from. He pouted so much when Kento knew Yuji was alive but forgave him. (Y/N) invited Yuji to eat homemade lunch and dinners in their home, and Yuji pretended not to feel himself tremble; a homemade meal was eaten around a dining table.

Yuji, who never had such an experience before; and who craves familial bonds; can’t stop shoveling food in his mouth because he keeps grinning too hard -

And when Junpei is brought back alive? (Y/N) takes to him like a moth to a flame. He volunteers to help Junpei, to house him, and bares his teeth at the higher-ups who dare take the boy from him.

Junpei wakes up to Kento cooking breakfast and (Y/N) who makes tea. Junpei gasps as (Y/N) opens up a movie and invites him to watch with him. Junpei relishes Kento’s words of advice for his newfound curse technique.

Junpei cries into the pillows and gets surprised when (Y/N) comforts him, telling him he misses his mother too, and lets (Y/N) hug him.

Junpei stares at himself in the mirror when Shoko heals his cigarette scars, brushing back his bangs confidently for the first time.

Junpei who bonds with Megumi about having shikigamis! Who Nobara (affectionately) bullies and toughens up! Maki is reminded of Yuta every time, and Inumaki chuckles at her face. Panda just loves being his senpai but keeps pushing Junpei away from him when Junpei tries to touch his fur -

Satoru and Suguru come over with Mimiko, Nanako, Tsumiki, and Megumi to their home. Yuji and Junpei picked out the movie (it’s obviously Human Earthworm - all 4 movies). The Gojo-Geto’s brought snacks and drinks, and the Nanami’s made their home so cozy and warm.

"Tell me you belong to me"

Heian Era Sukuna and the ancestor of the (L/N) clan, his only male concubine which he adored so much it caused his unending.

As a foreword (just a fan theory I adored not canon at all): "The theory that Sukuna keeps CTs within his Malovent Shrine (hence, in my fic, it’s why the (L/N) clan never flourished. Sukuna took their innate technique and left them with a CT so strong none of them had enough will-power to master). It’s not confirmed but in the Jogo fight, he says “open” and all of a sudden he can use a flame CT???" "This is basically an AU of (Y/N)'s ancestor, lmao."

They sacrificed (Y/N) to Ryomen Sukuna and gave him their prince who came to him with a sharp glare and dirtied with bruises and cuts.

“You wrap my gift so carelessly?” Sukuna drawls out.

(Y/N) is bound and gagged. His hair must have been in an impressed top knot, now a mess that spills from his shoulders.

Uruame shifts next to him and they grip (Y/N)'s cheeks to inspect him.

What a beautiful man, they think with mild surprise, it was no wonder he was chosen as a sacrifice.

But, Sukuna wants him. So, he adds his first male concubine to his harem. (Y/N) is scrubbed clean, dressed to the nines, and made to look like a doll. His face was painted, his hair brushed, his nails trimmed, and his skin moisturized.

Ryomen Sukuna is a monster with a picky tongue. Despite his greed, he only eats refined meats and fights the strongest sorcerers.

Sukuna doesn’t “love” his concubine but he favors him. That much, (Y/N) can tell. When he plays the biwa or recites sutras and haikus, Sukuna is ever so attentive. When (Y/N) bows and sits next to Lord Sukuna to feed him his meals, he finds those big hands holding him in one way or another.

When he takes (Y/N) as a “woman”, he is not gentle. Uruame is the one to prepare him. They provided him with oils and aromatic smoke to ease him, not out of the kindness of their hearts but for their Lord’s pleasure. (Y/N) swears he nearly rips taking his size but Sukuna spreads his legs and pushes in deeper and (Y/N) gasps, his tears like diamonds as he pleads for his Lord to grant him mercy.

Sukuna does. It surprises himself. But he does.

Maybe Sukuna will never understand the word love because he tells himself he’s never loved. Or maybe, he confuses it with ownership and cruelty - because it’s obvious he loves (Y/N).

He’s unfair to all but him.

He is still the King of Curses, a cruel tyrant, but (Y/N) is someone who calms his wrath with ease.

When they made that Binding Vow for (Y/N)'s curse technique to be given to Sukuna in exchange for Sukuna not being able to kill off his clan. He had thought to give YN another curse technique. But then, after (Y/N) learns Sukuna murdered a huge chunk of his clan, (Y/N) plans for his betrayal.

(Y/N) seeing the shock on Sukuna’s face as he gets sealed away, feeling the God's disdain weigh on his bones as he breaks the Binding Vow - he weeps for Sukuna despite knowing how horrible he is.

(Y/N) marries and his bloodline continues on, but there’s this terrible desire to be loved. It persists in every one of them. This ache that the King of Curses had left. This magnetism that power holds over the (L/N) clan.

In another universe, where (Y/N) finds no love in Satoru nor Kento, but Sukuna?

How delighted would the King of Curses be to see his concubine so willing for him? The King of Curses would have a harem of women. But the one man? Oh, he’s beloved. His room is closest to Sukuna’s, his appetite always filled and his bookshelves overflowing. Uruame enjoys his presence, tending to him personally and making him food as well.

(Y/N) who takes a liking to human flesh. Who finds himself ignoring the screams of tortured men and women, and only curls his nose in distaste when Sukuna wants to consume “soft” flesh.

Who grins so serenely in his King’s lap, who can’t decide which mouth he prefers on him or which hand is his favourite. Sukuna loves to be fed by (Y/N) and does the same to him.

Who learns how to please Sukuna’s cocks all by himself. Who has servants prep him open only to be killed right after - but what a privilege they had, to have Sukuna’s concubine mewl around their fingers.

Sukuna loves watching him ride, loves seeing the bulge in his stomach, the twinge of pain on his face. He loves sticking his tongue out (the one on his stomach) to lick at (Y/N)’s cock and (Y/N) yelps every time.

At times, you’ll find his precious concubine so stunning after a night of pleasure you’d stare. Each time, Uruame is there to gauge their eyes out.

Their master's toy is his alone after all.

"What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes"

polycule of satosugu x yn!

Satoru thinks he’s selfish. He knows that marrying (Y/N) fulfills duty and honour but in doing so it would be cruel for the boy. On the other hand, marrying Suguru was completely out of the realm of possibilities no matter how hard he insists.

His personal feelings about them both confuse him too.

Satoru loves Suguru. Satoru loves (Y/N).

You could imagine the relief 16-year-old Gojo Satoru felt when (Y/N) blushed at Suguru’s soft-spoken voice or when Suguru caught himself staring at (Y/N)’s lips for too long in a conversation.

In this AU - Satoru never dated Suguru, he instead gathered the two of you and just announced his feelings.

It was choppy waters to navigate through, among the political aspects of a marriage and teenage emotions and deadly missions.

But the three of you made it work. This relationship was among three men who fulfilled honour, duty, and love. Who only needed each other to feel filled.

A polyamorous marriage wasn’t taboo, it was just outdated, still with Gojo Satoru and Gojo (Y/N) both insisting that Geto Suguru would be their husband after Satoru became the head of the Gojo clan. It wasn’t as though they could be refused now.

In this AU, Suguru would not betray his husbands though not without thinking of it. He simply tightened his hold on the rings before he brought the twins back home and his heart softened as he saw them tend to the girls.

What a rowdy household. The children are so loved that they cannot fathom love doesn’t exist.

Satoru who will sigh and embrace his husbands out of the blue.

“You’re beautiful,” he’ll tell (Y/N) as he cups his face while the poor man is simply reading some document at the dining table. “Our husband is beautiful, Suguru!”

Suguru immediately gets drowsy whenever your fingers thread through his hair, and chuckles when you trace his features as he’s about to wake.

Gods, seeing you and Satoru hold onto your children’s hands as all of you walk together in a park makes thoughts of those dark summers dissipate into nothing.

Satoru sleeps in the center of your California king-sized bed. He simply refuses any other spot.

The Tokyo School has its hands full of the Gojo’s. From the husbands to their 3 children with rambunctious abilities.

When Tsumiki got cursed...it was an emotional day for everyone. Suguru swore he’d do anything to break it while Nanako and Mimiko yelled and yelled, Megumi just sobbing into your chest.

The girls visit her often, talking to her as they fix her hair and ensure she’s comfortable. Megumi appreciates their care as he silently stares from the corner.

Oh, breakfasts are always bustling.

The children are spoiled just as much as Satoru’s husbands are.

What a terrifying trio you are - abilities powerful beyond the curve!

Shoko always takes a few shots before heading over to celebrate holiday dinners, lmao.

She understands that you three enjoy asking about her love life though all three of you were made to kneel in apology as she glared after Satoru and you “accidentally” found the woman she’d been seeing.

Suguru rolls his eyes every time Satoru and you stroke the dragon spirit's snout or compliment the spear-wielding spirit.

While they bring burn-relief medication for you, Satoru and you ensure to bring snacks to wash away the foul taste of curses for Suguru and Suguru and you always have extra blindfolds and painkillers for Satoru.

Yuta grew flustered as he found out the three of you were together. He had honestly thought Suguru was cheating on Satoru with you but Maki’s scoff of “disgust” and her brief explanation made his face bloom into fifty shades of red.

Yuji would honestly not care - he’d be surprised at first but bounce back rather quickly (although Ryomen Sukuna would certainly have his comments).

ANGST TIME!

The Shibuya arc would be very different of course, though wouldn’t it just be delightful if Kenjaku managed to grab (Y/N) and force his husband to see Ryomen Sukuna not only take over their son’s body but see their husband get claimed by another?

Delicious angst, me thinks.

"But I just wanna stop right next to you, if I could my dream? I just wanna stop right next to you."

polygamous marriage (?) of Satosugu and kentoYN!

In this AU, (Y/N) and Satoru would feel so guilty for letting their eyes wander to their significant future husbands.

It’s not as though they don’t love each other but there’s this societal norm of monogamy and despite never getting physical with Suguru/Kento the emotional aspect still makes them feel like they’re doing something dirty.

It wasn’t fair to anyone.

Shoko dryly mumbling about polygamy had Satoru and you instantly perking up.

You loved Suguru and Satoru liked Kento - but neither of them wanted to be in a relationship with each other. So this arrangement of Satoru’s boyfriend and (Y/N)’s boyfriend honestly worked. It was confusing at first but it worked.

When Satoru married Suguru and you married Kento, it was a joyous event. A double wedding!

A rowdy household once again, Satoru insisted on living on the same land just with multiple “sections”. Even if this was a polycule, I’d imagine solitude from one another is still appreciated after all. The house was built from the ground up and it was a labour of love to ensure all four of you (and your kids) would have their own slice of heaven.

Kento adores you, the rings on your fingers, and the home you share.

Satoru adores you as well, never once making you feel as though this is a competition.

Both Satoru and you are fair to each other and your respective husbands. Never favouring the other or anything that would make them feel like a “glorified side chick.”

The kids aren’t confused at all.

Although they did have to adjust to call which father what.

They settled with Dad (you), Papa (Suguru), Pa (Kento), and Father (Satoru - only to annoy him.) Sometimes the four of you will have to play it by ear since they just use “daddd!” interchangeably.

Shoko still takes shots before she heads over to go to holiday dinners.

The students are also not confused. Yuta got a bit flustered but Suguru just informed him about it and Yuta felt less anxious - he genuinely thought Satoru was cheating on (Y/N) when he walked in on Satoru and Suguru making out in an empty classroom.

You’d honestly just giggle at Yuta’s face when he told you this which made him more confused while Suguru gave him the mercy to pat his head.

Yuji would think it’d be so cool that such a dynamic worked.

Nanako and Mimiko as Tokyo High students make my heart soar - Megumi has his older sisters tease him relentlessly whenever their schedules overlap (they always do).

#s3thwrit3sstuff #gojo satoru x male reader #geto suguru x male reader #nanami kento x male reader #ryomen sukuna x male reader #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader

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