#so i can take approximately 4 years to get him to be comfortable around me

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, July 31st, 2024.

What’s the most worthwhile thing you’ve done in the last year? It's difficult to pinpoint just one thing. It was more like an accumulation of worthwhile things that eventually built up to where I am today (and will hopefully continue to build up to greater accomplishments in the future). Also, this didn't all take place within the last year, but I feel like going back to the "beginning" is important for setting the foundation. It kind of started back in March of 2023. I started making art again, and I actually managed to keep up with it. Not only did it activate my creative mind, but it gave me this sense that I really could stick with something if I just put my mind to it.

Then, around the end of May 2023, I took a chance and went back to volunteering at the animal shelter again. I used to have a really hard time managing my emotions/reactions in social situations, so I was terrified that something was going to set me off and I was going to ruin it. There were things that I found upsetting or hurtful, that struck at my core fears; however, I was determined to push past them and refused to let them get the best of me. At first, I was there 3-4 days a week from about 8am-10am, but around Oct/Nov, I started showing up even earlier, staying until morning cleaning was finished (so 11am give/take), and going 4-5 days a week.

Also, it was in Oct that I started learning how to drive again. I progressed pretty quickly and began driving to the shelter. Prior to that, my dad used to take me. He'd do their laundry or write while I worked back in cattery. Anyway, some days I would go alone; other days I would drive with or get a ride with him. Then, around the end of May of this year, he had some procedures done which took him out of shelter work for a while. I continued to drive alone. By then, I was at the point where I was there from around 7am-11am/5 days a week.

I maintained that for a while quite comfortably, but just recently, I started trying out full days. Basically, I'd get there between 7am-8am and stay until closing, which tends to be sometime between 5pm-6pm. Currently, I'm doing 3 full days and 2 half days a week. I'm still adjusting, as it was a huge jump and it is pretty exhausting, especially the last push before closing, but I feel like it's something I can sustain. I'm hoping to get to the point where I can manage 4 full days and 1 half day, which would put me at approximately 40-45 hrs.

In between all that, I continued to work hard in therapy, cultivate my daily routines, carve out restful moments just for me, etc. Oh, and I almost forgot - I got back in touch with my mom in June/July 2023. I think it's mainly due to the work I've done on myself that our relationship is working out in a positive way. I don't think things would have lasted if I was still in my pre…hmm. I'm not even sure what to call it. My pre-SOMETHING mindset. Idk, but there was just this huge shift in my thinking somewhere along the way that made it possible. And even after typing all of this out, I still don't think I've even scratched the surface of the changes that have been taking place within me. It's like…for the first time in a long, long time…I have hope that I'm not broken, that I really can have a relatively normal, functional, adult life.

What foods make you want to gag? Anything overly fishy. Or seaweed. I've tried it a few times now, thinking that I'll finally like it, but nope - I never do.

Do you consider yourself to be organized? Maybe in a chaotic way. I try to be neat and organized, but I am such a forgetful scatterbrain.

Have you ever made out with someone? Yeah.

What time do you get sleepy? I'm almost always sleepy, especially these days.

What music do you listen to? I like classical, classic rock, grunge, metal, some country and indie/folk…the occasional pop song… My tastes are all over the place. If I like it, then I like it; it doesn't really matter what genre it is.

How old were you when you started to walk? I have no idea. I guess the usual/expected age.

Which member of your family do you get along with the best? My dad.

What cheers you up when you’re sad? Chatting with my dad, cuddling with my cats, making art, listening to my favorite YouTubers, trips to the Mountain Park, being at the animal shelter…and honestly, sometimes it just takes time. It's not any one thing specifically; it's just getting on with life and trusting that whatever is bothering me in the moment probably won't be bothering me in a few days, a few weeks, or whatever. I'll be bothered by something brand new by then. ;D

What do you sleep in? Sweats, a t-shirt, and a hoodie if it's cool enough.

Have you ever tanned topless? No.

Wear jewelry? I have lip piercings and I will sometimes wear several rings.

What’s something you’ve been told you’re good at? Cat whispering~*~~**~

How much can you eat? I can eat a whole lot, especially when I go out to eat, but it's not really in my best interest. I prefer to eat several small meals spaced throughout the day. It keeps my energy levels up, keeps my migraines at bay, etc.

What’s the furthest away you’ve ever traveled? East and west coasts of the USA.

Are you a cat or dog person? Definitely more of a cat person.

Have you ever done drugs? Eh.

What does your room look like? Spacious, somewhat minimal and whimsical, white/peach walls, teal carpets, lots of natural morning light… Really gives me vibes of safety, coziness, comfort…

Recommend a really amazing book. As far as relatively recent reads go, House of Suns. It's not "timelessly amazing" like some books, but I did greatly enjoy it.

Recommend a really amazing song. Idk.

Recommend a really amazing movie. Idk.

Who’s your favorite actor/actress? I don't have one.

Have you ever run away from home? Not seriously.

Do you exercise ever? Not specifically/intentionally, but I get a lot of exercise working at the shelter.

Do you like your hair, the way it is and the color? I'm fine with it. Sometimes I think I might like to get it actually styled, but…I'm lazy.

Do you have any friends named Baloo? Or is he just in the Junglebook? No.

Are you a Disney movie fan? I wouldn't classify myself as a fan, but I do like a handful of Disney movies.

Do you eat seafood? Not often.

When was the last time you cried? Oops, I had to redo this answer because I realized I was mistaken. The last time I cried was actually last Friday. I kind of already went over it in a previous survey, but it was just this defeated sense of doing my best and pushing myself so hard - really getting out of my comfort zone on a regular basis - but still feeling like a constant outsider. I don't want to get into the exact situation because it was probably just me overthinking things, but yeah.

Do you have good working habits? I mean, they're still developing, but I guess they're alright.

So where the hell do you want to go in life? At this point, all I'm asking for is a stable, quiet, and generally content existence. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy. Just the ability to provide for myself and survive.

What are your boundaries? That's…actually a really good question. Even though I'm very guarded and emotionally distant, I feel like I have pretty poor boundaries. I don't stick up for myself or speak my mind very well. I just let everything pass through me, feign ignorance or obliviousness, smile and nod, etc. I am a person without a form.

What are some of the funniest things you can think of? Idk.

What are two quirky little things about you? I don't knoOoW. I'm just weird in general. Everything about me is quirky.

Are you claustrophobic? Not seriously.

Do you like getting wasted? Ooh, that's complicated. The thinking part of my brain knows better, but the drinking part feels an almost irresistible drive to continue until I'm incapacitated. I did manage to have a few sample beers at the fundraising event last Friday without issue (and was comfortably verging on tipsy), but afterward, I was like…oh man. This is why I don't really drink anymore…because I could feel that siren song to drink to oblivion.

List three things that you look for in a friend. Compassionate, good sense of humor, similar interests.

Do you prefer Angels and Airwaves or Rihanna? Neither.

What religion are you, if any? N/a.

If your house was on fire (and your family escaped), what would you save? Do my cats count as family? If not, I would save them; if yes, then I guess I would save…idk, maybe some clothes, my phone, and a few precious items.

Do you have any sash belts? No.

What do you have on right now? Include everything, nail polish, makeup, etc. Dark gray sweats, black t-shirt, and a dark blue hoodie.

Does caffeine make you hyper? No. It can help wake me up a bit, but it doesn't make me hyper.

[milkolya]

i feel like oversharing on this fine friday morning abt whats going on in my life. if you read this, thank you 💖 i know we tumblr gays are all going Through It at any given moment, and the solidarity has always helped me cope

(TW suicide) (with details)

last week my grandfather on my mothers side killed himself by jumping out the 12th story window of their apartment building in russia. he'd been fighting esophageal cancer for approximately 4 years. he was 70 years old. he definitely had some issues, some trauma or mental health struggles, you know, SOMETHING, that led him to excessive drinking and smoking for the vast majority of his life. like, he wouldnt have had cancer if he actually took care of himself you know? its his vices / coping mechanisms that caused it. and once he started getting treated, he didnt have it in him to change his lifestyle to make the treatments worth anything.... he continued on drinking and smoking and eating sugar by the spoon (another cause of the cancer is poor diet) and even insisted that he would die if he gave up any of those things. id get in trouble if i used the "alcoholic" word around my family but they were watering down his wine behind his back when my parents visited in 2021. like come on. and even at 70, he still outlived all of his siblings, all of which died from alcoholism related causes afaik. he just... he was clearly suffering, and in classic russian fashion, he kept everything bottled up forever, never made any effort to get better, and one day when sitting down to do his bills he decided you know what, i dont want to do this anymore.

thats what happens when you dont address problems!!!!

obviously its heartbreaking but its also incredibly frustrating for me. i was super suicidal as a teenager and my mother did NOT take it seriously, she told me that it was "normal" and everyone experiences it (including her). now in retrospect i understand that she was trying to help me and comfort me, that that thought must have helped her, but like. its not normal... and its pretty fucked up that ive been suicidal, my mother has been suicidal, and now my grandpa (her dad) killed himself. he fucking killed himself!!!! what the fuck!! and i continue to be the ONLY PERSON in my ENTIRE FAMILY who tries to seek help through medication and therapy and just like, at least fucking acknowledge that we have hereditary fucking issues in the form of trauma and mental illness.... its just a mess.

and of course my mother and grandmothers top concern is What If Hes Not In Heaven. cause suicide is a sin. cause thats what we should be focused on ?!?!? sigkapfilwkflamcnwgkqj . it makes me want to scream.

ive just been surrounded by suicide my whole goddamn life and i wish it would end. my close friend attempted when i was 15 and i had no fucking clue what to do. multiple others i was close to at school were struggling with similar thoughts and urges, including myself. we were all desperately trying to hold eachother together, you know? far too much to handle for a bunch of kids. and then i went to uni, and my new friends there had similar issues, and in 2nd year, one of them did kill themself. they took their fathers gun and they shot themself in the head. and did my mother help me feel better? only until i mentioned suicide. once that was out there, there was ZERO sympathy, just judgement, and dismissal of their struggles. which really, really hurt me. because they were trans, and they couldnt handle how harsh this world is towards us, and obviously i really related to that sentiment.

like, i understand my grandpa too. i dont... i dont blame him personally? i dont even really blame my mother personally, when it comes to these kinds of issues. sometimes i will get mad at her about specific interactions but at the end of the day its russian society that made both of them this way. its so deeply ingrained. i just wish i could have helped my grandpa and i wish i could help my mama now but i cant. i can barely help myself.

and ive had to take time off work because i cant fucking focus and i just keep crying all the time and my brain is a foggy mess. and i dont know how to keep going. when will i feel better? i need to get back to work. will i be able to do that??

when my friend died... well, i call them my friend, but we were not close or anything. they were one of my good friend's roommates. we did talk occasionally and were on friendly terms. it just feels wrong to say "acquaintance" or something like that. i didnt process their death in a very timely manner. its weird but common, i think. about 2 years after it happened i started getting triggered by any content with suicide by gun. surprisingly common in media lol. folks love to hold a gun to their head on tv!! (side note: first movie i ever watched with my now fiancee, it was get out and when the guy shoots himself suddenly at the end i had a full blown fucking meltdown lmaooooooo so embarrassing it was like our 3rd date and the night of our first kiss)

idk why it took 2 years for that to start happening, i guess that was just my processing time. and then it took another two years or so to sort that out in therapy and im finally okay again and i can watch stuff with guns and suicide and not freak out. but now im scared of how this thing with my grandpa is going to affect me and how long thats going to last. i just want some peace and quiet :(

if u read all that, thank u. maybe give this a like to let me know. ive been deleting my vent posts a lot lately so idk if i will keep this up. my friends have been lovely and supportive, theres just not much anyone can really say to make it better. so it feels more comfortable to do a massive vent post like this thats optional to engage with. and ive always aired out my personal business on here so it feels right hehe.

[noritoshiikamo]

When you get time coul you do sickingly cute domestic hcs with a character of your choice, you can just straight up delete this is you don't feel like it. ~ embarrassed dragon asks

days of nanami kento, hc:

void, i know u asked for sickly cute domestic hc and i did but i cant help but twisted something at the end bcs i'm me and only pain is allowed ((jkjk void i'll write something pure sickingly cute later for you :* ) warning: 18+ minor dni, sexual content, public, eating out and thigh riding (mention of word daddy) if you read past the addendum, well uh mention of main character's death listen to beach bunny cloud 9 (slowed acoustic) for vibezz

i feel like who ever gets nanami’s heart wins at life

he would bring you flowers every time he gets home

“hello, i’m home,” you could hear his tired voice but when your face come in the view if him, he started to smile and he held the flowers to you, he wasn’t tired anymore

morning with him would be peaceful despite it being monday. you’ll wake up early, he would be sprawled on his belly, comforter wrapped around his waist with his face mushed into the pillow. your cat would be somewhere in bed, sometimes between his legs and sometimes on the same pillow as him; he loves your cat

he likes his coffee black, breakfast is just two toasted breads with spread of butter

when he kissed you, he tasted like toothpaste. you can smell his lingering fragrance from yesterday and his voice was still deep from the slumber

“good morning love.”

“coffee smells good today, did you do anything to em?”

he was shirtless you could see his back with his pants hung loose you could see his happy trails, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose with his messy hair as he took a bite of the toast

he leaned against the counter, his lidded eyes on you and suddenly you felt conscious, but you were in his tshirt and shorts and those adorable socks that looks like animal he secret loves

“you have work today?” he asked washing his hand

you shook your head, pointing to the laptop and sprawling paper works on the table, “working for home.” your body shuddered when you felt the shirt hiked up, his bare hand pressing against your waist, “good,” his voiced echoed on your ear as he pressed a kiss on your shoulder

how did it get here again? your back arching on the counter while his head mewling between your legs. his tongue is mean, it left burning trails wherever it touches, kitten licks along the sensitive slits before his lips enveloped the bundle of nerves

“kento, meetin-ahh,”

“meeting can wait.” yes it can wait until you were trembling, his arms around your waist and you were just begging him to cum and when you did he had no problem cleaning you up, eyes on you as he wiped his chin, sucking the thumb with a small smile

“thank you for breakfast, it’s delicious,” waltzing out of the kitchen with a wink like he hadn't started his day by eating you out while you sat there struggling to catch a breath

on tuesday, he took you for lunch, you went to his favourite bakery and he told the cashier that his girlfriend loves the sourdough bread their bakery made to explain why there's 4 loaves in his basket

he’ll get the same order everyday while you decided to go to the convenient store across the street because you felt like bread was too heavy for today's meal

“i’ll have another one of the croissant, she’s picky, she won’t find anything there,” he explained, pulling out his wallet

like he expected you came out empty handed, but your eyes lightened up when he held another croissant

“how did you know i won’t buy anything?”

“because i’m your boyfriend.”

on wednesday you would take him out for dinner, to that one sushi conveyor shop where they have happy hours for their sushi, its that type of night where you both get slightly wasted on beer, shoveling half priced sushis like tomorrow is the end

to nanami, money is priceless with you, no monetary value could compare to your smile as you feed him a slice of sashimi and the way i love you rolled out of your tongue when he grabbed your favourite sushi from the conveyor if she missed it

on thursday nanami looked restless. you sat at the sofa, him with a book on his lap and you going through your laptop with a cup of tea. “we have a mission coming, i’m escorting a couple of satoru’s students for their grading.”

you stared at him, cup barely got to your mouth, “you’re great, i don’t see any issues.”

“they are kids,”

you reached for his face, his face softened to your touch, nuzzling gently against your palm

“they’ll be alright.”

you squealed when he tossed the book aside, laptop forgotten on the carpeted floor and the cup carefully placed on the coffee table

your shirt slipped off your head easily while his lips never left yours

"you come back home to me alright?" you threatened, "or i'll murder you myself."

"i will, love."

on friday, nanami took you out on a date

he held your hands in the train, shielding you away from the leering men

he took you to a fancy cafe for lunch, he barely touched his food, eyes on you as you stared happily on your choice of meal

"what? is it my mascara? is it messy?" you wondered

"you look pretty today," he said, leaning to brush a thumb across your cheek

he took you to a bookstore, he followed you as you ventured through the long dimmed hallways, the smell of books overwhelmed him as his eyes burned on your back as you looked around for books, the loose material of your dress swaying around

well you did find your book, but he would hold it up high, a small smirk on his face as his fingers tapped on his lips; you got his point

so you held him against the bookshelf as you kissed him, books long forgotten, his hands under your dress as you mewled against his thighs

"let's go home," you begged but he held your waist tightly, bouncing his legs to encourage you to bounce against his thighs

"you can do it here," his lips traced kisses along your jaw, ears as you clutched his shirt, desperately rubbing yourself against his thigh. your eyes drowsy in lust, lips torn from biting too hard as you held your moans and the flexing of his thigh against your clit got your belly in knots

"can you cum for me?"

"yes, daddy,"

he smiled, "good. cum then."

you didn't get caught, but it was hard to stop people from leering at the weird wet patch on his pants as he swiped his card at the counter

you went groceries shopping, his head on your shoulder, arms around you and the trolley as you went down the isle looking for dinner idea

"what do you want, love?" his voice deep against your ears sending shudders down your spine

"anything you want."

he smiled, "well i want to marry you."

"is that a proposal in the middle of a cereal isle?" he laughed, but you can't stop the way your heart beating at the words he said. his lips pressed against the side of your face as he slipped a box of flakes in the trolley

you stopped the trolley, turned around to face him

he looked puzzled, brows up in question

"i want to marry you too."

"good, how about next monday?"

"deal."

but you woke up alone, the next day on saturday, nanami was long gone away for his mission

he left the coffee running, toasted bread and scrambled eggs in the pan and a note on a cup that said i love you, nk , his initial signed

you made yourself a cup of coffee, looking for the remote to turn on the tv

"we had lost contact with the shibuya train station, trapping approximately hundreds of people with no cell phone connection inside,"

the news anchor's word went in her one ear and another

where was nanami being sent to again?

you held his note to your heart, the coffee tasted too bitter for you today, and you leaned against the sofa

how's nanami doing?

on sunday, your ears perked up when you heard a knocking on the door

leaving the pancakes you planed to make, you wondered if it's nanami returning home from his mission

you felt slightly uneased, another set of knocking barged in, you said hold on and closed your eyes, telling yourself it's just your mind fucking with you

you smiled, feeling slightly relief as you twisted the door handle

"welcome home."

"hello, y/n?"

addendum

it was just not fair that the one time you decided to bring flower home to him, he wasn’t there to receive it.

but you’re used to it. it has been a year

all you’ll have to do is just remove the old one from the vase, add more water before arranging the bright flowers in the vase, before placing it back on his tombstone. your hand touched the cold stone, a small smile on your face as you kneeled on the grass

“hi, nanamin, i’m home.”

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (4): Equality Statement (Fem!Reader x Naoya Zenin, 7.5k)

series synopsis: you are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. gojo, unfortunately, does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: you make the mistake of crossing naoya zenin at a sports festival and are forced to apologise. but as you well know by now, nothing ever seems to go to plan where any of your student’s fathers are concerned. 

NSFW. MINORS DNI. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. misogyny, weird power dynamics, hate-sex, piv sex, blowjobs. naoya.  

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)   ♡  (jujutsu kaisen masterlist)

1.

The Saturday morning that your first ever undokai is scheduled for dawns bright and early, and you can’t help the little thrill that goes through you at the golden fingers of dawn lighting up your room. There’d been talk of the weekend bringing rain, and things needing to be rescheduled – but it’s perfect weather, as you put on a comfortable tank top and shorts instead of your neat pencil skirt and suit jacket combination.

This will be your first event of the kind, and you’re excited about it. The kids in the class have been practising all of their cheers and routines and the like constantly, whilst the ones involved in the competitive sports have been cheering one another on and snatching time when they can to race against one another in preparation. It’s been nice to see all of the camaraderie between them – even some of the quieter ones have seemed to come a little bit out of their shell, with so much team spirit in the air.

Well. Most of them have. You’ve noticed Junpei still hanging back, face sad, uncomfortable when other boys crowd him and tug him off to who knows where – probably to get him involved in their own practises or rehearsals.

It’s been long and hard preparing for it, but even Gojo has been focused on something for once.

“There’s just something about events like this!” Gojo chirped to you, once, as he’d held up a megaphone he did not really need and called his class back into formation in front of him. “You know! The joy of youth! I want them to have the best time possible! They deserve it.”

Seeing Gojo’s mischievous eyes sparkle with determination instead of humour had made you smile at him, and you’d felt a strange pull in your chest when he’d smiled back, needing to pull your gaze away to ask Yuuji to stop poking Megumi in the back to get him to look at a weird caterpillar he’d found on the ground.

As a junior high undokai, things are a little more competitive than they might be if this were an elementary school or even a middle school event, but there’s still a big emphasis on the teamwork and the cheering on portion of the day. You’ve watched and applauded what feels like a hundred practises for the cheering section, confiscating whistles when they’re sneakily blown whilst you’re trying to teach a mathematics lesson.

Still, you’re not surprised to see that Gojo’s class have been corralled into his classroom whilst your vivacious teacher and mentor gives them a rallying encouragement that seems to contain a lot of bigging up the fact that they are, in fact, his class.

“I thought the pep talk was for them,” you say, as heads turn to you when you walk into the room. It’s strange to see all of the faces dressed in their gym uniforms instead of their school uniforms – and it’s even stranger to be wearing an approximation of it yourself.

“You look nice!” Yuji pipes up, and you smile at him.

“It is for them,” Gojo brings a hand to his sunglasses to push them down a little, giving you a charming smile and the full force of the galaxies swirling in his eyes. “I’m just reminding them that as Satoru Gojo’s class, of course they’re going to do well! We’re going to be the strongest, and win!” He looks at all of them – bright shining faces turned to him, all lit up with the excitement of competition. There’s something in him that you rarely see right now – something encouraging and bright and compassionate. He genuinely seems to want them to do well. “I believe in all of you!”

The warmth spreading through your chest at Gojo’s words is a new experience. You’re far more used to exasperation and frustration where he’s concerned.

But now, you can’t help the infectious smiles of the children and the determination in their face to do well enough for everyone to be proud of. Maybe Gojo isn’t so bad after all, you think, as he bids the children in the class farewell and tells them to go and join everyone else outside in preparation for the day’s events.

“What d’you think?” He asks you, as Junpei leaves the room, still dragging his feet a little. You can’t blame him. He’s involved in the cheering section, as so many of the less athletic kids are, but the undokai is not optional and you think that Junpei is the kind of boy who hates being looked at. “Are we gonna win?”

“I don’t think that’s quite the point of the exercise,” you say, eventually. “We’re supposed to be fostering team spirit and co-operation--”

“Yeah,” Gojo wrinkles his nose and grins. “But we’re still gonna win, right?”

You sigh.

“With Yuji and Maki? Probably. But that’s not the point!”

Gojo stands up and stretches his arms out above him. He’s in a shirt that clings tight to a surprisingly muscled abdomen,  and dark grey sweatpants. He’s never been the ‘formal wear’ kind of teacher, but it’s still jarring to see him dressed so casually – and even more jarring to realise that he’s handsome, despite the fact you’ve spent most of the last few months rolling your eyes and sighing and cursing the world that you’ve ended up having to endure Satoru Gojo so much.

“I know, I know – but it’s nice to think about, right?” His grin is infectious. “Did you have time to have breakfast this morning? I know it’s an earlier start than usual, I’ve got a spare blueberry muffin in my bag – hope it didn’t get crushed too badly by my stretches--”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, already dreading the idea of him pressing a crumbled muffin into your hand. “I had a healthy, nutritious breakfast.”

“So did I!” He says, hotly. “The blueberry muffin had fruit in it, croissants are glazed with egg so that’s protein, and I had a slice of honey on toast too just because I felt like I’d have to keep my energy up today--”

You are constantly impressed by how he manages to consume all of this sugar without going into overdrive – then again, maybe that does explain a lot about him.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing today,” you admit to him. “I mean, I know I’m here to cheer on the kids and stuff, but I don’t know what my role’s supposed to be--”

“Oh!” He comes around and begins to walk out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow him. “Didn’t I tell you? They told me ages ago--” He did not tell you. You don’t know why you find this a surprise. “You’re gonna be in charge of the refreshments table for the first half of the morning – Yuta, you know, the other teacher’s aid, he’ll relieve you for the second half so you can cheer us on and help me a bit. Not that I’ll need it! It’s not a hard job, just be polite to anyone who needs to use it, most of ‘em bring their own lunches and snacks but we find that it’s always good to have a table with some extras – especially when it’s so hot outside!”

“You didn’t,” you say, but you follow him anyway. You have learnt by now that the most you’ll get from Gojo is a shrug and an airy ‘sorry’. And you suppose, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t so bad. It’s not like you needed to have time to stop and prepare yourself to give people a polite smile and ask them if they’d like you to pour them a glass of water.

The two of you spill out into the grounds of the school, which is already full of excited students and proud parents. You recognise a few of them – your face heats up as you see Nanami forcibly pressing a bottle of sunscreen into Yuji’s hands, and as the two of you walk past Geto who is tying back Mimiko and Nanako’s hair, ensuring the team hats that the students are all wearing sit neatly on their heads.

There’s a man stood with Maki and Mai who you assume is their father; a blond with a sneering face and a presence that makes you feel like you shouldn’t even be looking at him. Maki has her arms crossed, her chin jutting forward – the two of them are clearly involved in some kind of argument. Even as you watch, some other men are walking towards him with their heads bowed, like he’s something special.

You vaguely recall that you’ve heard some tell about the Zenins being a very rich, very old, very respected family. Judging from the way he carries himself and the way people keep looking at him, you think that must be it.

“Is that Maki and Mai’s dad?” You ask, curiously, as you’re pushed past him towards a collection of tables beneath a bright yellow awning. Gojo makes a noise that sounds like a sigh.

“Yep,” he says, sounding short. There’s some kind of history there, you think. “That’s Naoya Zenin. Better for you to avoid him, if you can – he’s not the kind of guy you want to cross, y’know?”

“But Maki’s--”

“Absolutely nothing like him,” Gojo deposits you in front of a table heaped with water jugs, ice cubes and plastic cups. “Really.”

You wrinkle your nose as you look around. At least everyone else seems happy – excited, buzzing with energy and the promise of an exciting day ahead. You can’t help but worry about Maki’s expression, though. She had looked like her and her father were having an argument that had been going on for months--

Gojo waves at you as he jogs across the field, moving surprisingly quickly for a man who ate nothing but sugar for his breakfast. You watch him go, unable to stop a smile forming on your face as he pauses by Maki and Mai. He slaps a hand onto Maki’s shoulder and says something with a bright grin that she seems to respond to with a smile, turning to follow him. Her father’s eyes narrow, as he spits something that even you can work out is venomous at the retreating backs of one of his daughters. He sighs as he says something else to Mai, a smile almost tugging at the corners of his mouth as his attention shifts back to her.

It’s clear who the golden child is there, then.

You try and shake your thoughts away from Naoya Zenin and his two girls and concentrate on the place that you’ve been given, reminding yourself that even if it doesn’t seem like a big role, you all have to work hard to make sure that today is a success. Your students have been practising and getting excited for this event for weeks, and you want all of the parents to be as proud of their students as you are.

You have a good view from the refreshments table of everything that’s going on. You watch a few of the races, a few cheering displays from the other classes to the beat of the drums – and when kids run up to you, sweaty and panting, you hand them a plastic cup full of cool water and they thank you as if you harvested it from a spring yourself instead of merely pouring it out.

Some parents ask you politely who you are, and you tell them with a smile and a bright look, hoping that you being friendly and polite will get back to other people. A few of them exchange looks when they hear that you’re attached to Gojo’s class; the man has a reputation that follows him everywhere. You give out oranges and other pieces of fruit to some of the students who need an extra sugar boost, or the ones who have a bandage wrapped around their knee or grazes from falls that have recently been cleaned. Shoko is busy today, and you often see her direct these injured children to you as a rest stop, and so their parents can find them easily.

You pause for a moment as the names are called for a relay race, and you hear Maki and Mai being summoned. This is the first race that they’re taking part in – if their team wins this one, they’ll qualify for the final this afternoon. You can see Gojo lifting his arms and hollering and hear his loud, excited voice even with all of the other people crowding into the school grounds to watch, and despite yourself you feel a smile spread over your face.

You’re still smiling when you hear a scoff.

You turn around to see what the fuss is – only to see Naoya Zenin, holding a plastic cup of water as if it’s offended him mortally. Seeing you looking at him, his lip curls.

“Is this tap water?” He asks you. He has a curious accent; slow, drawling, and clearly much superior to your own. It’s not an accent that Maki and Mai have inherited – and as he raises one eyebrow, the sun catching the rings in his ears, you find yourself glad of it. “Well?”

“I think so,” you say. You are on edge. He peers into it, and sighs.

“Don’t you have anything better? Cell-gen or Tennensui or even I LOHAS, at least?” He speaks to you slowly, like you’re a child, or as if he’s not sure whether a peasant like you would even know the names of any bottled water brands. You can’t stand being talked down to, and you curl your hand into a fist as you say, trying to keep yourself polite;

“I’m sorry, Sir. There’s just this.”

“You’d think with the money pumped in-- fine.” He sighs, taking a sip of the water, his face scrunching in displeasure at – you don’t know. The disgusting taste of tap water, you suppose. You try not to look at the bob of his throat as he swallows. Everything about this man seems to be unpleasant except the way he looks.

You take your own cup of water, just to quell some of the dryness that has made itself known in your throat at interacting with him.

The cheering gets a little quieter, and you turn to see what’s happened. As it turns out, all that’s actually happened is Gojo has stopped putting forth his own shouts to the fray, his eyes focussed on you and Naoya, a look that you think is almost sympathy spread across his face. You see that the race is about to begin, and you don’t look at Naoya as you say;

“You’re Maki and Mai’s father, aren’t you? Their first race is about to start. Maki’s been training really hard, I think she’ll pip it for us—”

A dark presence at your shoulder, and a sneering, uppity drawl.

“I gather you’re the teaching aid I’ve been hearing so much about from everyone.” he says. It does not sound like a compliment. “Maki has really found you . . . encouraging.” He says it like it’s a dirty word.

You force yourself to remain cheerful, and not ask him what the fuck his problem is.

“Maki’s really talented,” you say. “Mai’s fast, too – they’re both really good representatives for the class--”

Naoya snorts.

“They should be on the sidelines,” he says, coolly. “Supporting the men. Not running. Not getting all sweaty and hot and messing up their hair and their pretty faces.” He shakes his head. “It’s unwomanly, and if Maki listened to a word I’d said, she wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Mai is doing it too,” you point out, hating yourself for getting involved in this. But you just can’t let him stand there and be such an asshole, spewing his narrow-minded ideas when there are impressionable girls around.

“Mai’s already agreed that if they win this race, she’ll ask one of the boys to switch in for her. I’ve sorted it with the principal. It’s not ladylike for her to do any more than she has to. She’s not going to get a husband in good standing based on her athletic prowess--”

Oh, this is too far. You’re seething, though you’re trying to keep your respectable face on. You’re at work, you’re at work, you’re at work--

“Perhaps there are some other things they consider more important than finding a husband, at the age of twelve?”

Naoya’s laugh is nasty, mocking – and you hate that there’s something in it that sends a curl of heat right through you, blooming between your thighs.

“The younger a girl learns her place,” he says, his voice very slow. “The better it is and easier it is for a man to be assured she’ll do her duties. I don’t see a ring on your finger, Miss – I’d hate for them to end up working some dead-end little job just because they don’t have anyone to cook and clean for--”

Nope.

You can’t take it any longer.

You turn and you throw the cup of ‘shitty tap water’ in your hand right over Naoya Zenin’s stupid, smug, asshole face.

2.

Gojo, for what you think must be one of the first time in his life, looks uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know you were going to throw water on him,” he tries to say, weakly. “Look, we all hate him, but . . . ugh. This is so frustrating! I hate all of this bureaucracy bullshit--”

It turns out that Naoya Zenin’s family – and Naoya Zenin himself – donate rather a lot of money to the school for such functions as the one you’re all currently attending. It turns out that nobody wants to piss off the bank-roll that’s keeping their gym maintained, their events fancy and expensive, the library well-stocked – and you get that! You really do! You know that school budgets are overstretched already, and that donors like the Zenin family are something to be gently courted and kept around for as long as humanly possible.

You just wish that the big donor for this school was anybody else.

“I didn’t know all of this,” you say, reasonably. “I know I shouldn’t have thrown a drink over him, but Mr. Gojo--”

“How many times? You can call me Satoru.”

“If you’d heard the way he was talking--”

“Oh, believe me,” Gojo’s full lips press into a thin line. “I know exactly what Naoya Zenin’s modus operandi is. Let me guess: he was all on at you about how Maki’s not a proper young lady, how the boys should be doing the hard work, how he’s trying to make sure his daughters get a proper start and a rich husband – ugh.” Gojo tugs at his shirt, clearly frustrated. “I’ve had it way too much.”

“Yeah,” you say. You find yourself sighing too.

“The Vice Principal’s in his back pocket,” Gojo says, taking a seat on top of the desk that you’re currently sat behind, cooling off some of your anger – Principal Masamichi had sent you inside to calm you down, and Naoya himself had been escorted into the building by Vice Principal Gakuganji to dry off, all the while saying placating things to calm down the school’s meal ticket. “They want you to apologise to him.”

“I suppose I should,” you say miserably. “But it’s gonna feel like swallowing gravel.”

“I certainly don’t blame you,” Gojo says, with a smile, trying to cheer you up. “Hell, I know some of the other staff members have been dying to do it--”

“Ugh,” you bury your face in your hands. “This is a horrible impression in front of the whole school.”

He pats you gently on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “when this is all over, I’ll take you out for ice cream. I know the best places in the city, and they all know me too!”

You summon a smile for him. He’s not so bad, really – sure, he’s chaotic and thinks too highly of himself for his own good, but . . . at least he’s nothing like Naoya. You stand up and pull down your shorts, wriggling your tank top down to cover you as much as you possibly can. You feel a bit exposed, not in heels and stockings and a blouse.

“I should get this over with, then.”

Gojo has too much to do back on the field to escort you to Naoya himself, so he tells you that Naoya’s in the Vice Principal’s office and gives you another friendly squeeze on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he tells you. “Remember: ice cream at the end of this!”

“Ice cream at the end of this,” you repeat, as you watch him jog out of the corridor. You’re almost tempted to tell him off for running in the halls – Gojo moves so fast that sometimes you lose track of him entirely – but you push back the urge. Gojo is being decent today. You’re thankful to him for sitting with you and helping you calm – and also, evidently, for being one of the things that keeps Maki’s fighting spirit inflamed.

You stand there for a moment, in front of the door to the office, balling up your courage tight and hot in your stomach. You do not want to have to apologise to Naoya, but you know it’s for the best. The sooner you can put this sorry incident behind you and try and avoid Naoya at every single function from herein, the better – so you tap hard on the door and wait until you hear his slow, drawling voice.

“You can come in.”

At first, you’re surprised to see that he’s alone in there – sitting in front of the desk in a comfortable chair, clearly at ease with everything. His arms are sprawled over the back of it, his legs wide apart. You chastise yourself for thinking it immediately – of course the vice principal is busy right now, of course he trusts someone as well-known to the school as Naoya to be alone in his office.

It’s hard not to think about every other time you’ve found yourself alone with the parents of your students, though. A heat crawls onto your face at the very thought of it. You find Naoya repellent, disgusting – but then again, he’s also (and you’re not being glib about it) handsome. You’d be lying if you’d said you sometimes hadn’t ignored a man’s personality for a night in favour of a face and a body that had drawn you in.

Not now.

You close the door behind you, clasping your hands together so you don’t clench your fists, and bow your head so that Naoya can’t tell that you’re grinding your teeth.

“I’m sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me, Sir,” you say, though it really does feel like you are gnashing ice to get the words out. “I should have been more polite. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

“Mmm,” Naoya says, and you peek up at him through your lashes to see that he’s clearly enjoying having you at his mercy, his lips tilted into a smirk. His hair is still a little wet at the ends, but all that you throwing the water over him seems to have actually done is made his shirt cling tight to a surprisingly chiselled chest and stomach. Asshole. Fuck him. “Yes. I should hope not.”

You straighten yourself up, still a little stiff.

“I hope you can forgive me,” you say. “I . . . I am still learning my place in the establishment.”

He laughs, low and soft.

“Your place?” He asks, the words dangerously sweet on his tongue. “Yes. I can see you still need some help on that one.”

His eyes crawl over you slowly, dragging up and down the length of you, lingering over where your shorts cling to your hips and the tank top hugs your chest. You resist the urge to shift – you don’t want to let him know that he’s making you uncomfortable. You know, though, that he can sense that you have gone hot and prickly all over. He has that smug air; the one men who know what they do to people always seem to have cultivated. The knowledge that they are good-looking.

You suppose for Naoya, it’s the heady combination of knowing he is good-looking and powerful and rich, and you breathe through the force of all of his attention concentrated on you.

“Seeing as you’re still . . . new to all of this,” he says, bringing an arm forward to tap his long fingers on the desk. “And you did apologise prettily, I suppose I can forgive this transgression – just this once, darling.”

The pet name crawls up your spine like ice. He’s still staring at you, enjoying the view like you’re a piece of meat on a market stall he’s considering purchasing.

“Th-thank you, Sir,” you say, hating yourself a little bit but hating him all the more.

“You know,” he says. “You’re not exactly bad-looking.” He stands, rising to his full height, stretching out, frustratingly comfortable in this environment when you feel like a deer who’s about to turn tail and flee at any moment. “You’d be much better off at home raising children than here.” He wrinkles his nose. “Working for a living.” The way that he says the words makes it clear that he considers this a task far beneath the likes of him.

He’s moving towards you now, and your breath seems to get stuck in your throat as he’s suddenly in front of you, stalking elegantly. You want to snap back something about how you’d rather work for a living than have to rely on the whims of a man, much less a man like him – but as he grabs your chin to tilt it up to the light, you find that the words seem to die in your throat.

“Hmm,” he says. “Not bad at all.” He makes an approving noise that sends a flutter right through you, making you dully aware of a pounding ache between your thighs. He leans a little further in, until he’s so close that you can see the pale colours dancing in his eyes, the way the light hits his high cheekbones. “You’re trembling with rage, you know. It’s adorable.”

“You’re very easy to be angry at,” you half-breathe, half-hiss, and Naoya’s smirk is going to be burnt into your memory forever and ever.

“If you’re so angry,” he murmurs, “I can certainly think of a way I wouldn’t mind helping you work out your aggression.”

You shouldn’t do it. But your heart is beating a frantic rhythm against your ribcage and your breath is short, and part of you wants to wrestle him to the ground and dominate him so that he can have a taste of his own medicine. You grab a handful of his hair and drag him down into a bruising kiss.

3.

Oh, and he kisses back. His mouth is soft against yours, but the kiss itself is rough – both of your tongues fighting for dominance, both of you trying to nip at one another’s bottom lip and seize the victory. You’re practically shoved backwards so that your ass catches the edge of the Vice Principal’s desk, even as you tug hard on Naoya’s hair to tell him that you’re not going to be overpowered by him so easily. You feel the feral curve of his grin as he pulls back just enough to whisper;

“Oh? You really think you’re going to get the better of me? You’re cute--” and then you push his shoulders hard, and he stumbles and falls back onto the chair he started this whole escapade sat in. You reach down to tug off your shirt, dropping it onto the floor beside you – Naoya looks for a moment like he’s going to stand back up and resume trying to wrest back the situation into his favour, but as he sees the slight bounce of your breasts in your bra he seems to decide it would be more interesting and beneficial for him to stay exactly where he is and watch you disrobe.

So you do, wriggling your shorts down past your hips – he lets out a low groan at that, as you stand before him in nothing but your underwear with your fists clenched on your hips.

You feel surprisingly powerful like this. It definitely makes a difference from all of the other ways you’ve felt when you’ve been alone with somebody’s father--

“Take off your shirt,” you tell him, and you’re almost surprised at the imperious tone in your own voice. “It’s your turn--”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but he does as you ask. Long fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, taking his sweet time pulling it off his body – and yes, it’s a nice one. Nice, too, are his thighs as he undoes his trousers that probably cost more than you make in a year and pushes them down, sitting before you in nothing but his equally as expensive-looking underwear – an impressive looking bulge outline pressed against the fabric. Even as he looks at you, he takes hold of himself through it and squeezes it, his grin crooked.

Your body does a throb of need.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise. “I didn’t realise you were so needy already--”

“Like you’re not dripping,” he says sharply, his eyes zeroing in on the space between your thighs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I can see the damp patch from here.”

“Who’s to say that’s for you?” You walk towards him. You can’t help but feel powerful and in control at how his eyes follow you with rapt attention, how his tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he drinks in your form in front of him.

“Please,” he says. “As if there’s anyone here more deserving.”

He reaches forward and his hands settle on your hips, dragging you closer to him – hot fingertips brushing your waist, the bare skin beneath your bra before he’s unclipping that too and your breasts are bare. He breathes in deeply.

“Pity,” he says, though his voice is thick with his own arousal. “You’re such a cute little thing, if only you didn’t open your mouth--”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind me opening my mouth to do something else,” you breathe, and you reach down to ghost your fingers over his cock through the tent in his underwear. He hisses through his teeth, his eyes half-lidded.

“Don’t just say it, princess,” he says. “If you’re going to run your mouth, the least you could do is make it do something useful--”

“I’d rather die than get on my knees for you.” Your mouth is very close to his neck – to punctuate the statement, you give his earlobe a tug with your teeth, and he practically groans. You’re almost straddling him on the chair, and you do not miss, either, the twitch that his cock seems to give at the tug.

It seems like for somebody who really wants to be in control, and wants women to know their place so badly, Naoya actually is rather enjoying somebody giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He grabs your underwear and pulls it down, clicking his tongue as it bunches about your knees.

“Just give into what your body wants,” he says, all saccharine sweetness in that slow, deep voice. “You’ve made a mess.”

You know you have. You can feel slick when your thighs press too close together, hot and wet between your legs. You really are practically dripping. But it’s not just from Naoya, you don’t think – it’s from the sudden power you’re feeling, the rush of being an equal participant in everything, in feeling like you have the upper hand. And not a small part, you think, is because of the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins at the thought of putting Naoya Zenin in his place. You tip your head to the side innocently.

“What about you?” You ask, with a mean shade to the pitch of your voice. “You’re so hard it’s a wonder you’re not in pain--”

He grabs a hank of your hair with one hand whilst spreading your legs further with the other, so strong that the breath’s knocked out of you. The tip of his finger skims the outer lips of your sex, gathering your slick arousal on the pad as he growls;

“I’m still a man, darling. I see a pretty cunt to fuck and a pair of nice tits and I want to bury myself into it until the bitch remembers her place--”

“Good luck,” you breathe. “I think you’ll be the one remembering his place, here.”

He laughs breathlessly.

“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re going to be singing a different song when you’re begging me to fuck you harder.”

You give him a smile with your teeth bared; the challenge is obvious. It’s a smile that says ‘we’ll see’, even as you both tug at his underwear to pull it down and reveal what he’s been hiding beneath it.

You don’t want to admit that he’s got a pretty cock, but he has. He’s not the biggest you’ve seen, but it’s still impressive; a slight curve giving it an elegant angle that you realise with a clench will hit you exactly in the right spot when you take it inside of you.

He’s slick with his own pre-come, bubbling from the reddened slit – and as you shift forward and trap it between your thighs, he groans aloud again.

“That’s right,” he grunts, as the tip catches on your entrance and you begin to sink down upon it. “This is what you were made for, princess--”

“What?” You pant. “That would be disappointing. You barely fill me up--”

He grabs you and pulls you into another kiss as you finish off sheathing his cock inside of you – perhaps to save his pride, perhaps to muffle the noise that comes out of him, transferred into your mouth instead of his own. Whichever it is, you hate that you were right about the angle of his cock – you can feel it pressing snugly against the spongy G-spot even now, threatening you with a better time than you’d like to have.

You break the kiss to pull yourself off of him and sink back down, forcibly taking the lead and setting your own pace. You know it’s fast, you know it’s greedy – but fuck, if you aren’t boiling over with need.

You splay your hands across his shoulders, nails digging into his skin with little care to how you might mark him. You need him for leverage, as you continue to bounce up and down on his cock. Naoya tips his head back and groans, enjoying the feeling, before he remembers that you two are engaged in a battle of wits and attempts to get the better of you once more.

“I-is that,” he groans, coming to cling onto your waist and force you down on him with even more strength, helping you along in the too-fast rhythm of your thrusts and bounces. “The best you’ve got?”

“Come on,” you say breathlessly, as his cock continues to stroke that spot. You can hear the sounds of him sliding in and out of you, shamefully loud – too, you can hear the sounds of your skin slapping against one another, echoing and mixing with the breathless pants and the attempts to trade barbed insults. “Y-you’re making me do all the work?”

“Fucking pity you’ve got such a nice cunt,” Naoya snarls, his hips flexing, somehow managing to hit you deeper even as you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet and straddling him on the chair. His words are starting to sound very far away. “You should be in my fucking bed, keeping it warm, better off than wasting away here--”

Both of you are running your mouths, overwhelmed by how close one another’s bodies are and the intense heat radiating from you. There’s a frisson of electricity in the air, showering sparks, as the two of you continue to snatch words in between moans and groans and pants and whimpers--

“You’re pathetic--”

“You’re so fucking tight, I shouldn’t be surprised when you’re such a bitch--”

“F-fuck, harder, c-can’t you even keep the momentum going? You’re weak--”

“Baby girl, you’re fucking shaking – you gonna come first? Women are so predictable--”

You can feel your release hovering on the edge of your vision, blurring it as your eyes squeeze shut and you feel tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. There’s a heat inside of you that’s close to overspilling – and as you come down on him particularly hard, the head of his cock rolls over your g-spot just right, and you feel a dam inside of you break as your nails dig hard enough into his shoulders to draw blood. You bury your face into his neck so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing you cry out his name, teeth worrying into his neck to leave a love-bite reminder of exactly what transpired between you two in the Vice Principal’s office.

You feel yourself twitch and tighten around him as your orgasm rocks your body, heat running through you like veins of marble. You can’t breathe – all you can do is bite, your hips chasing the final aftershocks.

Naoya is still hard inside of you as you lift yourself off him, letting his cock slip out of you as easily as butter. His own hands clench around your hips.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asks, his voice rough and hungry. Despite that, though, you can hear the thread of some other emotion sewn in to them – and with a shiver of delight, you realise it’s neediness. He’s been left wanting, and you’ve been handed all of the cards. “I haven’t finished.”

“And you won’t finish inside me,” you snap at him, enjoying the longing in his voice. “Ask me very nicely and I’ll finish you off with my hand.”

“Mouth,” he demands – and he grabs your cheeks, squishing them, pulling you down and reminding you of all of the power that he has even though it’s your body that’s got the advantage of the high ground. “You don’t really think I’m going to be satisfied with your hand, princess--”

“You don’t deserve it,” you spit at him, but you sink to your knees anyway.

You’re not entirely lacking in manners. You suppose you did get to come. It would be rude to just leave him like this. Especially when the whole reason you’d ended up in this office in the first place was to apologise to him politely.

“This is the perfect position for you,” he sneers, as you open your mouth and envelope the head of his cock within it. You can taste yourself on his shaft. “Fuck, that’s right – put your mouth to good use for once--”

You give him a mean, slow lick along the slit of his cock head that makes him groan in the back of his throat. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, fingers digging into the nape so he can control you at least a little bit, pushing you a touch too far so you almost choke. You pull off it, drooling.

“Choke me again and I’ll bite,” you snarl, and he pats your cheek like you’re an obedient dog.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says – and you narrow your eyes at him in a way that says ‘try me’ before you return to sucking at him, hollowing your cheeks. You want to do a good job. A part of you wants to make him come so hard that he regrets being an asshole to you, even though you know that’s ridiculous and not going to happen.

Still. You’re not going to back down from a challenge, so you use your tongue to play along as much of his cock as you can.

“Fuck,” Naoya breathes. “Good . . . good fuckin’ girl—”

You’ve been hearing that low, polite drawl swear and curse for what seems like hours, but that one sends another pulse of heat through you – at your heart, you can’t argue that you love being praised. You whimper against his cock, glad that the fast pace you’ve managed to establish and the wet noises of your mouth around him muffle the noise so Naoya can’t dangle it over your head.

The hand on the nape of your neck jerks, so that you’re forced to look up at him and meet his eyes proper. His hips are slamming to meet your bobs now, the noise of him fucking your mouth filling the room. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and you feel him twitch, his voice pitching--

Salt coats your tongue as he fills your mouth.

But he doesn’t let himself finish there.

He pulls out, and he pumps his cock himself two, three times – coaxing out the other ropes of come, that hit your neck and chest and breasts hot and white and glistening. You’re too surprised by it to do anything – you’d expected him to keep your mouth on him, make you swallow down everything he gave you. He seems the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing--

But instead, he’s sighing, relaxing back into the chair as he looks at you with lazy eyes.

“You look cute like that,” he says, his voice low and sated. “I should take a picture.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe, getting off your knees. You are so fucking thankful for the box of tissues on the Vice Principal’s desk, as you reach across and grab some to dab at yourself so you’re not sticky and disgusting for any longer than necessary.

If you leave them in his pedal waste-bin, you hope that the cleaning crew will dispose of them before the Vice Principal is even aware that they’re there. Your lip curls as you wipe your mouth. You wish you had a mint – or at least a glass of water. Even tap water would do.

For what it’s worth, Naoya seems a little agitated as he puts himself to rights too. Evidently he was not expecting you to fight back so much – he places a finger on his shoulders and scowls when he sees that you made him bleed.

“I should sue you for assault,” he says. You tap your own body, at the curve of your hips and waist.

“I’m going to bruise,” you tell him. “So I guess it would be self-defence.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he tells you, with narrowed eyes – and you give him another smile, one that is clearly fake, as you pull your tank top and shorts back on and re-tie your shoes.

You’re surprised as you go to leave the room and he sets a hand on the small of your back in a mocking echo of polite manners. As the two of you walk down the corridor towards the exit, he does not remove it. To the assembled crowds, you hope it will look entirely innocent – like the two of you have merely had a little chat and come to an agreement instead of heatedly fucking one another’s brains out.

You blink as you emerge out into the light, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. You see Principal Masamichi give you a sympathetic smile – and there’s Gojo, immediately charging towards you like an overprotective bear. He slows down as he sees the way that Naoya is still touching you.

“I hope everything’s alright,” he says, sounding stiffer and more formal than you usually hear. Naoya’s smile towards him is cold.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “Perfect. You apologised beautifully, didn’t you, Miss?” Naoya looks down his nose at you, a conceited smile on his mouth. “I’ve decided to overlook this little transgression.” He leaves a pause, and you swallow as you realise what he’s waiting for.

“Thank you so much, Mr Zenin, Sir,” you say. Again, it feels like you have to force the words out through a mouthful of marbles – but they make it out of your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be so formal, Miss,” he smirks. “You can call me Naoya. I look forward to seeing you again – soon, I hope.”

“You’re just in time,” Gojo says coldly. “Maki just won the final race of the day for our team.”

Naoya’s gaze is sharp as he looks at him. His lip curls. You can tell that both of them want to do something – maybe have an out-and-out fist fight on the field. But Naoya manages to get a grip (you’re glad about it; you’re not entirely sure whether Gojo would have been able to hold back) and turns on his heel to stalk away.

He does give your ass one last squeeze, though, that you desperately hope that Gojo doesn’t notice.

Gojo’s shoulders stay set, his chin thrust proudly forward, until Naoya has been swallowed up by the crowd at large – and then, he turns to you. For the first time, you see his normally humorous eyebrows draw in with worry.

“You look upset,” he says. “Sweaty. You smell terrible. Do you need a minute?”

Your shoulders fall. Gojo gives you a sympathetic pat on the back.

“It’s a rite of passage to deal with someone from the Zenin family,” he says. “You’re just unlucky it happened to actually be Naoya today. He usually sends an underling or an uncle or someone to pretend to care about the girls.”

Wow. You sure hope the rite of passage has gone differently for everyone else.

“Why d’you think he came here today, then?” You ask Gojo. He looks at you strangely, a spark of something you can’t quite read in his eyes.

“Well,” he says, “he’s related to the Fushiguros, you know. I heard he and Megumi’s father have met up recently for drinks – it ended in a fight, of course, it always does. But maybe he expected Megumi’s dad to be here too?” He shrugs. “He can never resist an opportunity to relish over someone in his family winning, even if he doesn’t want Maki doing anything unladylike. Megumi’s dad isn’t here, though, so looks like that backfired on him--”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you think about Megumi’s father fucking you on Gojo’s desk – and the lingering way that Naoya had said that he’d heard so much about you from everyone.

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

[oreoambitions]

46 for agentreign please

Anon I'm sorry this took me a thousand years, but here you go. This gets wildly NSFW after the cut. Enjoy!

/// The first time it happens, Alex figures it's a fluke.

There are, after all, extenuating circumstances. She's not sure how many glasses of wine she's had because every time she turns around Sam has topped her off again, and maybe she should stop indulging but the wine is good and the company is better and this is the first day off off she's had for so long that it's hard not to let go a little. Kara's been keeping the showtunes coming all afternoon, a little louder than her old bluetooth speaker can really handle but it doesn't matter because Spotify is really just an excuse for Kara and Sam to sing at the top of their lungs. Alex is not participating, but she is appreciating. Appreciating because it's nice to see her sister laugh and smile like maybe things are getting better and maybe things are going to be okay. And also appreciating because, well, Sam. It's hard not to appreciate anything and everything Sam.

The activity of the afternoon is ostensibly the production of baked goods for a fundraiser related to Ruby's soccer team. Alex says 'ostensibly' because the reality is that it's been more than three hours and they haven't gotten the first batch of cookies into the oven yet. There's flour all over the floor, and she's pretty sure Kara got butter stuck to ceiling before Sam took the mixer away, but sometimes that's just the cost of a slightly raucous afternoon well spent, isn't it? And they'll have it all done in time anyway. In fact, Sam is just now finishing up the first batch of cookie dough in the confiscated kitchen aid when Alex, perhaps inebriated or perhaps just feeling emboldened by the domestic comfort of the whole affair, lunges for the beater.

This, it turns out, is either a mistake or the best decision she's ever made in her life. Her hand does contact the beater. She does come within a few seconds of pure raw cookie dough bliss. But Sam is faster, and in a flash Alex finds herself pinned between the counter and Sam's hips, one wrist wrapped up in Sam's fingers, the beater now soundly out of reach in Sam's other hand.

"Mine," Sam growls, but her eyes have dropped to Alex's mouth and for one disorienting moment Alex thinks she might be about to kiss her, thinks maybe the word 'mine' has nothing to do with the beater at all, that maybe they've crossed into some alternate dimension where there's a future for her and Sam that doesn't involve a lot of politely smiling and politely never mentioning one another's romantic entanglements or the absence thereof.

And the thing is, Alex thinks to herself, contemplating the heat of Sam's gaze and the fact that she literally cannot move beneath Sam's hips, this is... attractive. This is very attractive, in an immediate and throbbing sort of way that would be frankly embarrassing approximately half a glass of wine earlier in the afternoon. But that can't be right, because Alex doesn't like to be pushed around. Alex is the one who does the pushing. Isn't she? Sam's grip tightens around her wrist and Alex's lips part of their own accord and-

"Oh for heaven's sake," Kara says, snatching the beater out of Sam's hand. "It's mine, because you two are both being ridiculous." She rolls her eyes. "I hate being the only adult in the room."

It was a fluke. That's what Alex thinks to herself later that night when she wakes with a start from a just-dozing-off dream featuring the immovable nature of Sam's hips. They were drinking and it was a long afternoon and everyone was a little wound up and a little giddy and Alex has been single for a long time. That's it. That's all it was. That's all it has to be.

///

It's harder to write it off as a fluke the second time, but she manages.

James is in town and so it's game night. Not their monthly game night as scheduled, but an extra at-the-last-second game night, and Alex is on call. Which is fine. She can count on her fingers the number of times she's had to handle something in the middle of the night while on call for the DEO, and she's not particularly worried. But it's a problem because she can't be drinking, which means she's sober when Sam corners her in the kitchen.

It's been a long night. Not in a bad way. Just in the sense that things have been a little more risque than usual, what with Nia falling over herself trying to make it clear to Brainy that she'd like to sleep with him without actually making it clear, and Lena shooting those long smoldering looks at a characteristically oblivious Kara, and then there's Sam. Alex can't stop looking at Sam in that shirt where it sits a little too tight across the shoulders, can't stop tracing the line of that necklace to the place where it disappears just below her collar, can't stop following the meaningless movement of her fingers as she absently fiddles with a beer that wouldn't have an effect on her even if she drank the whole case. She wonders idly if it's for the aesthetic or if Sam just likes the taste of a craft IPA.

The trouble is that every time Alex catches herself looking at Sam, she also catches Sam looking at her. And so, upon dragging her eyes up once more from Sam's fingers to find Sam staring back at her, eyes dark and expression unreadable, Alex decides it's time for a drink after all. One beer won't hurt, even if the world decides to consider coming to an abrupt conclusion in the next hour or so and it turns out to be her responsibility. It's just that her mouth is suddenly dry, and the room is suddenly too loud, and she needs something to roll between her fingers the way Sam is rolling that IPA back and forth and back and forth and- Yeah. Just one beer will be fine.

She slips into the kitchen while Nia is yelling about how they should all do a TikTok together. It's quieter here, and a cool breeze through the window over the sink raises goosebumps across her arms. She pops the fridge open, pulls a beer at random, leans up against the counter. Maybe she doesn't want a drink after all. Maybe she just needs a minute.

"Aren't you on call, Ms. Danvers?"

Sam. Alex pouts. "What are you, the party police?"

Sam steps up close, takes the beer from Alex without so much as looking at it. "Aren't you the alien invader police?"

That's a dumb line and it doesn't remotely reflect Alex's actual job description, but she laughs anyway. "It's just one beer. Like 4%. I can handle it."

"I know," Sam murmurs.

Alex thinks she's forgotten how to breathe. Sam's eyes are on her mouth and those hips are pressing into her again and when Sam slips one arm around her waist and one hand into her hair a sound comes out of her that might have been a whimper. There's an inevitability to the way Sam leans in, to the way Alex's lips part as Sam tilts her head back with a firm tug. There's a moment of hesitation, a lingering, an opportunity to say no. Instead, Alex whispers, "Please."

Sam obliges. She kisses her slow, languid almost, holds her firm against the counter as she licks into her mouth and Alex is thinking that maybe she's going to come right here just letting Sam kiss her like this when Sam presses a thigh between her legs and she gasps, grinds down hard without meaning to.

Sam chuckles into her mouth, drags one hand around to her throat, traces feather light kisses along her jaw, tugs on her earlobe with her teeth. "Good girl," she whispers.

Alex isn't sure if it's the heat of Sam's breath, or the praise, or the way she's been casually immobilized, but she shudders, and Sam chuckles again, lips against her ear, and that only makes it worse.

"Fuck," Sam says. "If I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here."

Alex is pretty sure that would kill her. She's pretty sure just the thought of it is going to kill her. Just the pad of Sam's thumb dragging across her throat as she kisses her again, just the roll of those hips, that thigh pressing hard into her, that deep ache coiling tighter as Sam pulls back just far enough to meet her eyes and-

"Hey, Nia wants- Oh!" Lena stops short just inside the kitchen door. "I'll just." She plucks a bottle of wine from the counter. "Take this and tell her that you've uhm. That you're busy."

"We'll be right there," Sam says. She straightens Alex's shirt with a tug and a smirk. "Wouldn't want to miss the TikTok dance."

"Nope," Alex chokes out. "Wouldn't want to miss that."

It's a fluke. Alex takes a long shower when she gets home, and she takes care of the lingering ache that's now outlived not one but two TikTok dances, and she thinks about texting Sam. She falls asleep with her phone in her hand and if she has dreams about a tall, handsome, strong woman railing her against a kitchen counter, well. That happens sometimes. Could happen to anyone. Doesn't mean anything except that Alex has been single for probably too long . She downloads Hinge in the morning and considers explicitly mentioning in her bio that she's the one who wears the strap.

///

The Hinge profile lasts about three days. Alex scrolls through a ridiculous number of women, all of whom are... fine, before she comes to the conclusion that the problem is that none of them are Sam. She's sitting on this stupid app pedaling her stupid profile and all she wants is the woman whose attention prompted her to download a dating app in the first place. And she can't want Sam because it would never work. They're fundamentally incompatible. This bedroom ain't big enough for two tops. It's not going to happen.

But the words if I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here are as stuck in Alex's head as that Lady Gaga song Brainy won't stop playing over the speakers at the DEO. She can't stop thinking about it. Picturing it, even. Dreaming about it when her mind should be anywhere else, on anything else. And she'd just avoid Sam, just look the other way until her hormones sort themselves out, except that Sam is virtually impossible to avoid.

Kara doesn't make it any easier when she calls on Friday night to ask her about a movie night at Sam's apartment.

"Ruby's on a school trip, so it'll be just the four of us," Kara says over the phone. "I'll bring snacks, and we can order whatever you want for dinner. Please? Lena's never seen Star Wars; we have to do something."

Alex doesn't know how to say no. No, I won't come to what feels suspiciously like a double date movie night at Sam's apartment, because Sam's strap is at Sam's apartment, and I'm not sure that she isn't going to try to fuck me on the bathroom floor, and furthermore, I'm not sure that I don't want her to. Instead she says, "Any Star Wars? That's a crime. Which movie are we starting with?"

It's probably a safe bet anyway. Kara and Lena will be there the whole time; Alex and Sam will never be alone. All Alex has to do is make sure that she leaves when everyone else does and they can avoid the awkwardness altogether, and no that is definitely not anticipation she's feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she certainly does not spend an extra half an hour in bed on Saturday morning keeping herself busy with the thought of offering to stay and help clean up, of finding herself pinned against the refrigerator door while Sam takes her from behind. That absolutely does not happen because that would be ridiculous, undignified, untoplike behavior.

Alex is certainly feeling ridiculous, undignified, and untoplike standing outside Sam's door that evening, anxiously smoothing out her shirt with one hand, a case of that IPA from game night in the other. She's arrived a carefully calculated fifteen minutes late just to be absolutely sure Kara and Lena will get here first, but she didn't spot Kara's car outside, and so she isn't particularly surprised when Sam opens the door with a warm smile and welcomes her into an empty apartment.

"Kara and Lena?" she asks as Sam takes the proffered beer.

"Lena got held up at the office," Sam replies, already disappearing into the kitchen. "They're running late. An hour or so. Told them we'd wait. Do you prefer an IPA or a lager? I don't have any stouts in the fridge right now. Might be a decent sour in here somewhere."

Alex lingers in the entryway, that not-anticipation feeling thrumming through her veins. She could follow Sam to the kitchen. Kitchens do seem to be their Thing. But Sam returns with two lagers, her question unanswered, and nods her head towards the living room.

Well, now they're alone together after all and Alex is feeling awkward. She settles onto one end of the couch and tries not to read into it when Sam deposits the lagers on the coffee table and settles in next to her, legs folded under her, almost too close, instead of occupying the perfectly good cushion on the other end.

"Sam," Alex tries. They should talk about this. "We should talk about this."

"Hmm." A hint of a smirk flickers across soft lips before Sam schools her expression. "Talk about what, exactly?"

If Alex had bothered to rehearse this conversation in her mind, she still wouldn't have imagined it going this way. Her eyes drop to Sam's mouth and then she struggles to look elsewhere. The records on the shelf under the window. The blank television screen.

"I-" she starts, but the words don't want to come out. The lager on the coffee table. She doesn't reach for it. "I can't stop thinking about game night," she forces out, and then she looks back up at Sam to gauge her reaction.

Sam is smirking openly now, a hint of laughter in her eyes. She reaches out to tangle long fingers in the hair at Alex's nape, the same grip she used to pull her into a kiss just last week, and Alex's arousal is embarrassingly immediate. "Really?" Sam asks. "Game night, huh? You want to know what I can't stop thinking about?"

It's Alex's gaze that drops first, to Sam's mouth again, and this time she can't look away. "What?"

"Tonight," Sam replies, close enough that Alex's eyes flutter closed, close enough that she can almost feel Sam's answer on her lips. There's probably a coy response for this somewhere in the lesbian handbook but Alex is reaching and coming up empty. She presses a soft kiss to Sam's mouth instead and feels that anticipation - there's no denying now that it's anticipation - thrum again when Sam's tongue immediately presses into her, hot and demanding.

"What's so special about tonight," Alex mumbles as Sam kisses along her jaw to her neck.

"Mmm." Sam nips hard against Alex's pulse point, smiles into her skin when she gasps. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"Take your shirt off."

Alex hesitates. That isn't remotely the answer to her question, but now Sam is sucking on her neck and her capacity for rational thought is rapidly diminishing. She fumbles with the first shirt button, fingers trembling, and then the second. Three undone is enough for Sam to pull the offending garment over her head. The sports bra follows, and then Sam is tugging on Alex's hips to reposition her so that she's lying back on the couch, and Alex suddenly understands what everyone finds so attractive about kryptonians, because it's effortless the way Sam moves her. She has about a half second to be transfixed by the abs peeking out from under Sam's own blouse before Sam is kissing down her collarbone and over her breast, chuckling when Alex's hips jerk underneath her.

"You know," Sam says, "I was expecting more of a fight out of Alex But-I'm-A-Top Danvers."

Alex opens her mouth to let out a retort but Sam's tongue is working a circle around her nipple and rational thought is once again threatening to fail. "Is that what you want?" She manages, struggling to sit up. "You want a fight?"

"No." Sam pushes her back again, pins her arms over her head with one hand, brushes the fingers of the other across her ribs, frowns. "No, I like you better like this."

Alex flushes and has to remind herself not to squirm, not to look away as Sam studies her in silence, drops kisses across her shoulders, traces the lines of her hip and the inside of her thigh. And then Sam reaches under the couch for a box, the implications of which are momentarily as immobilizing as the hand still holding Alex's wrists down, because Sam planned for this, planned far enough in advance to stash supplies where they might be convenient.

Alex swallows hard when Sam's pants exit the scenario, and Sam's eyes flicker over her face as she opens the box.

"How do you feel about being strapped on the couch?" she asks.

It's such a blunt question that Alex flushes again. "Uhm. Okay?"

Sam stops with her harness halfway out. "Just okay? I'm gonna need a clear yes or-"

"Yes. God. Yes please," Alex says, flushing an even darker shade. She's going to let... this... happen, but she's not going to beg. Christ. Consent granted; please let's move on before things get awkward. Sam chuckles a little at her discomfort and presses a kiss to her brow.

"Okay. But if you want me to stop you just say the word."

Alex nods, not trusting herself to speak, eyeing Sam's fingers where they're tightening the harness. And then all at once she blurts out, "Kara and Lena could be here at any moment," which she hadn't realized might be a concern until it came out of her mouth but now she can't stop thinking about it, and how embarrassing that would be, and Kara can see through walls for heaven's sake, and-

Sam chuckles. "Baby," she says, sliding herself between Alex's legs, "You're not going to last long enough to be worried about that."

Sam is embarrassingly, excruciatingly not wrong. By the time the strap is working into her Alex is pretty sure she's wound tighter than she's ever been, and she'd crack some kind of joke about how it's clearly been too long since she's had anyone inside of her but this is really not the time. Sam is pressing inexorably deeper and it's all she can do to hold her breath because otherwise she's going to come altogether undone before they've even gotten started.

Sam gives her a moment when she's all inside, waits for Alex to exhale, waits for her nod before she starts to rock her hips, and the drag of the strap is so intense that Alex loses her breath and her self control in the same instant with a groan that only deepens Sam's smirk. Alex is kind of wishing Sam would give her back the use of her hands, but that's not in the cards. She squirms instead, hips bucking of their own accord, head thrown back hard against the cushion of the couch.

"Thought about this every night," Sam murmurs, and Alex thinks she'll say since game night but she says, "Since the day I met you," which is almost as mindblowing as the pleasure somehow, incredibly, continuing to build between Alex's hips. "Thought about how good you'd be under me."

Alex shivers at that and then comes, bucking hard into Sam to take as much of the strap as she can, half aware of Sam whispering something in her ear that might have been what a good girl you are if Alex had been cognizant enough to comprehend it. She comes back down to soft kisses across her face, and when Sam lets go of her wrists she wraps her arms around her and tries to remember how to breathe, how to pull all the pieces of herself back together, how to be a competent and capable, dignified and toplike partner.

Alex runs a hand absently through Sam's hair and hums. "Do you want me to return the favor?" she asks. She doesn't have a strap with her but, well, it's not like that was ever the best trick up her sleeve anyway. She opens her mouth to make a quip about how a good top is always prepared but Sam reaches out and casually tips an untouched lager onto her discarded shirt.

Alex splutters.

"Too late," Sam says brightly. "You'll have to ask me after dinner. Lena and Kara are here."

"Lena and Kara are what-"

And there's the knock at the door. The door not ten paces from where Alex is lying in a state of naked disarray on the couch where they are supposed to be watching Star Wars. There is a moment of absolute stillness before Alex begins to scramble for her clothes.

"Bedroom is the second door on the left," Sam says, sneaking in a last kiss while Alex reaches for the underpants peeking out from under the coffee table. "Clean shirts in closet. Do pick something nice; I've been dying to see you in my clothes."

Alex scurries down the hall in her socks quietly cursing and thanking every star in the sky. It's going to be a long night. If she's lucky.

[spockandawe]

Hello! While I know this point must have already been talked about a lot in the fandom but since I have only recently read tgcf, I don't know much. I came across threads on where people talked about Hua Cheng being obsessive and toxic, with his existence being centered around Xie Lian and hence not having a grounding personality and life of his own + the scene of Ten Thousand Gods Cave.

Since I have been reading your metas, I was curious about your thoughts on this? Thank you!

Sure thing! Apologies for the slow response, this whole thing with my back has been really disrupting everything I want to accomplish. Now, I think that Hua Cheng is obsessive in a way that could easily become toxic, but calling him obsessive+toxic relies on only a shallow reading of the character and limiting yourself to the point where he is at the very start of the story, ignoring all the character/relationship development that happens over the course of a very long book.

Now, when it comes to the flashback books? Hua Cheng can have a little obsession, as a treat. I’m not going to say that the way he feels back then is any kind of basis for a healthy adult relationship, but Hua Cheng is approximately ages 10-17 over the course of book 2, and isn’t much “older” after his death as the ghost fire and as Wuming in book 4. He’s not relating to Xie Lian in a way that’s going to lead to a relationship of equals at that point, but he’s also a kid who’s worshiping a god who saved his life at a young age, twice, and who comforted and reassured him when their kingdom’s guoshi told him that he was doomed to bring misfortune to everyone in his life. All of their interactions in book 2 are extremely good reasons for why Hua Cheng would idolize him and obsess over him in that way, and I’m not going to fault him for any of it.

Now, I would say that the end of book 4 illustrates how badly that kind of idolization can go better than anything set in the present day, but it’s telling that this is also the point where Xie Lian abruptly realizes how much he doesn’t want to be Like This, and hauls his life around. Even eight hundred years later, he’s more ashamed to speak of this part of his life than anything else. He’s way more willing to laugh at his own pain and suffering than he is to even mention a time where he was cold and controlling with someone who offered themself to him.

SO. In the present, Xie Lian has a very good reason to know that he does not want to take advantage of someone else’s offered devotion. It’s an old memory, but when we see how much he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s clear that it made an impression. If the direction of this book was only up to Hua Cheng? He’s already made it abundantly clear that he’s willing to sacrifice his everything, including his sense of self, if Xie Lian asks, but Xie Lian has confirmed very strongly to himself that this is not what Xie Lian wants.

And Xie Lian is walking a very fine emotional line in a lot of ways that he himself isn’t even fully aware of, but the early development in the book has this really interesting balance in the dynamic between him and Hua Cheng. He’s happy to rely on Hua Cheng for advice and help, but he’s also completely willing to worry for him (when he jumps into the sinner’s pit) and to gently scold him (when he jumps into the sinner’s pit). Hua Cheng worries about what will happen if Xie Lian finds out who he really is, but Xie Lian pretty much confirms it to himself, and when Hua Cheng is finally anxious enough to ask about it, Xie Lian’s main reaction is ‘isn’t the important thing that I like you as a person?’

If Hua Cheng was left to his own devices, he’d obsess over Xie Lian in a way that let himself suborn his entire identity to whatever Xie Lian wants from him, but Xie Lian has been so horribly lonely for so long, and even before a relationship enters the picture, what Xie Lian wants is a friend. And Xie Lian, on his own, is determined not to let himself take advantage of a person the way he took advantage of Wuming. And no matter how much Hua Cheng wants to submit himself to Xie Lian, what’s more important to him is what Xie Lian wants. The meta that’s been doing good circulation that I bet you saw was about how Hua Cheng developed his own independent sense of self over the last eight hundred years, no matter what he’d originally wanted, but as he gets to know Xie Lian in the present, Xie Lian makes it clear that Xie Lian likes who he became. 

Hua Cheng does still definitely take the position that ‘whatever Xie Lian wants is more important than what I want’, and that could go badly in so many ways, but from the very beginning, Xie Lian is firmly, firmly expressing, ‘I like who you are and I want to be friends.’ Xie Lian doesn’t scold Hua Cheng for being a dick to Fu Yao and Nan Feng, or for breaking heavenly artifacts, even one that used to be one of his own treasured possessions. He scolds Hua Cheng because ‘you jumped down into that pit and I was afraid you would be hurt.’ He doesn’t try to sand off Hua Cheng’s sharp edges or change him, and isn’t willing to sit back and relax as Hua Cheng puts himself in harm’s way. He doesn’t give Hua Cheng room to make himself a less-than, and (probably unintentionally) positively reinforces Hua Cheng when he lets bits of his own true personality show through. One of the reasons I love this book so much is because that relationship could have so easily turned toxic and controlling, but the main pair like each other so much that they manage to pull through into a healthy, balanced relationship.

It’s not a perfect relationship, because perfect relationships are boring and unrealistic, and there’s no tension in a story if two characters are perfectly in step. But by the end of the story, this is a more perfect relationship than I’d ever expected to be invested in, because they’re so in sync, haha. 

I think the moments that show the ways it’s not obsessive in a toxic way best come through in the times when Hua Cheng has some sort of grudge against a person that Xie Lian genuinely cares for. It starts with the shitty teens in the Banyue arc, but even near the story end, Mei Nianqing is Xie Lian’s old beloved teacher, and is also the person who told Hua Cheng ‘wow! you’re destined to fuck over everyone who ever gets close to you’ when Hua Cheng was just a little kid. It’s clear that Xie Lian likes and respects him a lot, and Hua Cheng feels not at all compelled to play nice. He’s happy to continue being nasty as hell to Feng Xin and Mu Qing, who are Xie Lian’s next two closest friends. He’s not even willing to be nice to E’Ming even as 1) Xie Lian pampers it, and 2) E’Ming is literally a part of himself. 

And he doesn’t hide this at all. He’s willing to act in ways not at all aligned with Xie Lian’s own opinions, especially as time goes on and Xie Lian doesn’t correct him. He’s willing to act against Xie Lian’s wishes in order to protect him (taking back his spiritual energy in the black water arc, overexerting himself to the point of dissipation at the climax), and it becomes more clear as the story progresses that he’s a person who wants only the best for Xie Lian, but who exists independently from Xie Lian, and isn’t willing to completely defer to Xie Lian’s desires or to override Xie Lian’s desires for what he thinks is best. To me, this relationship is primarily defined by how much the two of them like each other, and especially early on, I could see it easily tipping in an unhealthy direction, but it feels like most of the later relationship development specifically exists to undermine that particular flavor of toxic dynamic, and what we end up with is a very sweet, very balanced relationship. Hua Cheng’s willingness to submit himself to what Xie Lian wants is overridden by Xie Lian’s desire that Hua Cheng be himself, because that’s the person who Xie Lian loves.

[kuromochimi]

Kageyama x Reader x Atsumu

A Minute Too Late

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

wc: 1,007

Content & Warnings: college setting, fluff, angst, suggestive parts in the following parts, please do not read if you’re not comfortable with talking about skinship and sexual topics!!

Playlist

You were ecstatic to say the least. You couldn’t believe that you were about to go to university with your whole high school squad. It for sure doesn’t happen very often. High school friend groups usually went separate ways for college but here you were with all of your closest friends.

You were moving in at the moment and you were more than glad to have yachi as your room mate. Across the girls’ dorm building, the two dorm units directly facing yours was occupied by the rest of your friends. One room being kei and tadashi’s while the one next to it being tobio and shoyo’s. After dropping everything off in your room, you decided to take a little walk around campus. It would have been nice to go with the rest of them but they were all busy at the moment. See, they all had already moved in 2 months prior. The clubs which they have chosen ahead of time required them to stay at the university dorms earlier than regular students for preparations or training and that includes today too.

While walking around, you noticed that you’ve been going around in circles. It was a really big campus after all and you weren’t exactly the best with directions. You had to admit, you were kinda lost.

“That’s exactly what having friends are for!” You thought to yourself.

Group chat conversation:

<yn: you guys I think I’m lost..>

< yachi: I can’t get out of club yet yn I’m sorry 😭>

<tadashi: me and tsukki are swamped with tasks too>

<shoyo: I’ll be out in 30 minutes if you can wait>

<tobio: I’m done training, where are you?>

<yn: I’m.. at this huge ass fountain in front of a building with brick walls>

<tobio: alright, wait for me there>

As you put your phone down, your stomach grumbles signaling your hunger. You grunt before taking a seat beside said fountain.

10 minutes

24 minutes

37 minutes

48 minutes

You have been waiting for kageyama for approximately an hour now. Your hunger seeming to have already passed and your mood was already declining too. You stood up to walk around and hopefully find your way back to your dorm but you were stopped by a familiar voice behind you.

“Now now what’s the pretty manager doing alone around here?”

You look back to see a handsome, tall, blonde man wearing a shirt from another university.

“Atsumu san? It’s been a while hi!” There was surprise in your voice and also a pleasant tone from seeing a familiar face.

“Yn!” He extends his arms for a hug and you immediately reciprocate his actions.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing alone here?”

“Oh I was waiting for tobio but I think he’s running a bit late.”

“You look like you’ve been waiting for a while now. How about grabbing something to eat?”

His offer was tempting and you were hungry too so you went ahead and agreed to him, shooting kageyama a quick text that you were fine and that he could head straight to the dorm once he’s finished with his current engagements. You weren’t mad at him though. You understood that maybe he had other things to do for club and he would never leave you waiting there on purpose anyway.

Atsumu took you to a nice ramen place right outside campus and you’re quite confused as to why he seemed so familiar going around when he doesn’t even look to be going to the same university as yours.

“So yn, what’re ya majoring in?”

“I’m a liberal arts major. But atsumu san-“

“Please, drop the formalities, atsumu is fine”

“Okay so atsumu, why were you at my uni anyway? You’re obviously wearing another university’s track suit”

“Oh well I went ta visit samu. He goes here”

“I’m just surprised. I never expected to see you again like this. Last time was during the training camp?”

“mhm and you totally rejected me too”

“Oh grow up atsumu. That was years ago.”

“That was only two year ago sweetie”

“Whatever”

The first time you met atsumu was at nationals. Karasuno’s first time attending. You were a first year and he was a second year. Next time you met was during training camp where he accidentally hit your arm with a serve which he felt super bad about so he made it his mission to make it up to during the whole training camp. Even tried to ask you out but you immediately rejected him because you already had your eyes set on someone else.

“Dinner’s on me by the way. I think it’s time for me to walk you back to your dorm. It’s getting late”

With a simple nod, you got up and walked out of the restaurant.

Kageyama’s pov

Just as kageyama was about to grab the rest of his things so he could come pick you up, his coach called for him

“Kageyama, you’re a very promising player. You just got there but I have been receiving dozens of invitations and offers for you. Mind staying a little longer so I could tell you about them?”

Thinking that this wouldn’t last more than 10 minutes, kageyama agreed and immediately lost track of time.

“That’s about it. Please tell me which ones you want to attend so I can respond to them.”

Kageyama acknowledged his mentor’s words. He checked his phone in panic once he realized that he stayed way past just 10 mins. He was met with a text from you telling him that you were fine and that he could head straight back once he’s finished. Despite your reassurance, he still felt guilty.

As he was nearing the dorm complex, a familiar figure comes closer, reaching the gate at almost the same time. It was you. Only, you were with another tall figure. Definitely too muscular to be tsukishima or yamaguchi. Too tall to be hinata. His eyes finally adjusted to the semi-dark setting and recognized the guy. It was Miya atsumu.

Notes:

> yn has been karasuno’s manager together with yachi since their first year in high school

> yn dand atsumu didn’t regularly contact each other and only ever talked during volleyball events

> among the karasuno squad, yn is closest to kageyama

[itsagrimm]

Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

[unfortunatelyuncreative]

In light of episode 22 of Ousama Ranking, I wanted to discuss some of the things that happened therein and try to recontextualize them.

Now, to clarify, this isn't a "Miranjo defense post" or something like that, nor am I trying to say that the author nessesarily intended all of the things I'm going to imply. I'm also not saying, "Oh, it makes sense if you Really think about it & are smart like me." Like no, just no.

These aren't definitively correct or canon ideas or interpretations. This is just my way of rationalizing and recontectualizing what happened in canon so that I can comfortably move forward with the story.

Anyway, this is going to be divided up into several sections, and 2 separate posts.

Spoilers below! (Also FYI, this is going to be long as HELL, so Keep Reading at your own risk.

1. Daida x Miranjo

Alright, let's get the elephant out of the room. This was weird. Really weird.

I am NOT saying that this would be OK in real life or that it's totally normal and you shouldn't bat an eye at it. And just because there's no real life equivalent for something, that doesn't mean it's automatically all a-ok. But there's absolutely nothing sexual or even inherently romantic about this development so I see no reason to interpret it in the worst way possible if I can help it. Therefore I do feel justified in arguing that A. We have no reason (as far as I am aware) to believe that Miranjo was an adult before being placed in the mirror. And B. Since there's nothing in the real world that even really comes close to possessing a mirror and then being resurrected, it can't conclusively be said that Miranjo "aged" while she was in the mirror. Furthermore, I'm going to explain why their marriage wasn't romantic in the second half of this post (yeah, in retrospect, I should have put that part first but I wanted to get my speculative math out of the way).

First of all, let's address how old Miranjo was to begin with. I suck at math, so I may scew up here, but everything is going to be approximate anyway. Please keep in mind that I am intentionally trying to assume she's as young as possible in all these cases.

When her & Bosse are on the island, I'd place her at about 8 or 9. She's still very young looking and definitely a child.

By the time she and Bosse visit the demon, I would say she would be around 10 or 11.

I'm inclined to say she's still at this age when Bosse encounters Sheena. Travel wouldn't take long for him, and there's no reason why he would waste any time trying to find and woo the wife he needs to bear a child. Similarly, I don't think he & Sheena would have waited very long before having a kid. They both seem like Very straightforward people, and considering they were both warriors at this point, who "never planned to live very long" I doubt Bosse ever had to insist on having a child quickly.

So by this logic, Miranjo would have been about 10 or 11 by the time Bojji was born.

A few years pass, and in that time, she builds a giant creepy basement, a war with some shreks begins, and Miranjo also decides to tutor Apeas. Now, we know that this happened before Miranjo possessed the mirror because of the manga. In the manga, the Miranjo-shaped puppet she uses to escape the mirror every once in a while is drawn with a line across a neck to show she's made of plastic or wood or whatever.

When Miranjo's flashbacks with Apeas are shown, no such line is present. So ironically, her line about her body being "mostly fabricated" was less accurate then than it became later.

Now, this might seem to imply that Miranjo was around for a very long time before getting put in the mirror. However, there's pretty definitive evidence against this. We know that Bosse's kingdom was founded on the day of Bojji's birth. And we also know that Miranjo died at the same time as the Queen.

I can't imagine it being contested that Bojji was only about 3 or 4 at this point. He wouldn't have many memories of his mother later on, or even nessecarily a crystal clear idea of what happened, but an event like this would be enough for him to feel it's impact years down the road.

This means that Miranjo is about 13-15 years old when she is killed and her body is preserved in ice.

Considering that this would make Daida about 10 years old in the current events of the story, it's still a really weird matchup to have them together, but it's in no way a grown adult being in a relationship with a child. I'll come back to this in more detail later however.

1B. Now to address the issue of mirror time. Miranjo was clearly in the mirror for a good long while, I'm not going to bother with the exact amount. The problem is that while Miranjo's body wasn't aging, it's not clear if we can say her mind was.

The only things I can think to compare Miranjo's situation to are either a ghost possessing some cursed object, or being in a coma. In the first instance, we obviously don't say that a ghost is aging just because the object they are bound to exists in real time. Ghosts stay frozen in or around the age they were when they died (At least in all the stories I've heard, unless we're talking Ghost of Christmas Past). However, could you say that if a ghost was self-aware enough to gain new experiences, couldn't the ghost possibly mature over time? I'm not sure to be honest.

Similarly, there's no recorded case that I can find of a person entering a coma as a child or tween and coming out of it as an adult. The consensus seems to be that such a person would definitely not have matured and would at least on some level still have the mentality of a child, but there's no way to know for sure. (I mean if you're a neuroscientist and want to claim otherwise go ahead, but I'm not gonna try.)

Now you may be wondering why I would compare Miranjo's situation to being in a coma when comatose people aren't conscious, and Miranjo definitely was self-aware. The thing is, over the span of 10 years or so, she may not have been conscious very often at all.

For comparison, I want to bring up the character of Alphonse Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist. (Spoilers for both Fullmetal Alchemist and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood after this FYI)

Alphonse lost his body and is a soul bound to a suit of armor. There are 2 series based upon this initial premise. In the first, his original nody was dissolved into energy. When he regains a body, it is the biologically at the same age he lost his original body at AND he loses all memories of his years in the armor. In the second series, Brotherhood, Alphonse's body has been preserved at a place called The Gate, and when he gets it back, he has grown physically and retains his memories. Now in both these cases, the retaining of memories depended on the fate and aging of the body, but Miranjo's did not.

(FMA Spoilers Over)

Now the real comparison I want to draw here though, is that Alphonse Cannot sleep. He often cites it as being the worst part of having a metal body. He is ALWAYS conscious, and his mind is ALWAYS active and taking in new information. If Miranjo was the same way, I would say she certainly would have aged mentally at least. But I don't think that's the case. We know the mirror has an "off" button so to speak; she isn't always in it. Now sure it's possible that she only does this to trick people into thinking the mirror isn't possessed. But in all seriousness I think if Miranjo had been conscious for 10 years straight with no dormant period, she would have gone WAY crazier than she did in canon. To not even be able to move around on her own, or go anywhere except the basement, or eat, or breathe, or smell? Girl would've gone bananas & I couldn't blame her. Like, yes she's kinda nuts in canon but she's not As Nuts as anyone who went through that would be.

The main thing I want to posit here is that Miranjo was probably downright in hibernation for most of the time she was in the mirror. What else was there for her to do? She wasn't seeing Apeas anymore, she wasn't ever in public either. Maybe Bosse struck up a chat with her once in a while just to make sure she was still in there, but the only other thing for her to do was Maybe wander around the basement with her hockeymask lackeys and set up the giant blender and shadow-corpse portal. No matter how you slice it, that isn't going to take 10 years.

Now, Daida looks to be about 5 or so when Bosse gives the mirror to him. I'm honestly inclined to guess even older. Hiling sniffed that mirror out like a bloodhound before, so the only reason she would be OK with it in her son's room is if she didn't even go in there often enough to see it. This means that for five years or so Miranjo was doting on Daida and setting him up. This was probably the period where she was conscious for the longest stretches of time, and considering that Daida was a very ambitious and involved prince, they may have spent no more that 10 solid minutes together on any given day.

All of this isn't to say of course that these years count for no time at all, but I do think people should keep in mind when discussing Miranjo's age how little she may have been "awake" at all.

CONTINUED IN PART 2

[shtern-and-art]

I have more questions because it's no longer 4am lmao.

Does Skeppy fear any animals? I just wanna know if there's any sweet moments of Skeppy clinging to Bad whilst he tries to calm him down.

I'm guessing Bad still hates things like littering and woodcutters but would he ever act particularly strongly about it or would he have more control?

I like how Rat seems to tolerate Skeppy because Bad likes him but would she ever get jealous if Skeppy started pettting another dog?

I have a horrifying image of Bad just spider climbing up a tree to fetch Skeppy. I don't know why but I feel like dude wouldn't even need branches lmao.

What other supernatural creatures/people do they come across? Were there any that were especially dangerous and did they befriend any?

Is Bad much physically stronger than Skeppy? I keep thinking of Skeppy being a little shaz and Bad just one-arm picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder XD.

Does Bad ever get nightmares of the day he became the forest spirit?

How far would Skeppy take stealing? Would he steal something he knows the owner has genuine attachment to? Would he do everything in his power to steal something for Bad even if it means getting hurt?

Who's more likely to protect the other?

Skeppy just minding his business looking at one of Bad's textbooks, turns his head and Bad's just having a tea party with a freaking bear. Surprised the man hasn't had a heart attack yet XD.

What's your favourite thing to imagine them doing?

Is Bsd an adrenaline junky? Or is he scared of more dangerous things like bungee jumping and mountain climbing.

What would their reactions be to rollercoasters?

Do they have a favourite date-night activity?

Everytime I think of this au it brightens my mood!! Thank you for making something so heartwarming!! <3

Glad to see you again :D And yaay, questions!

My pen pressure broke again, I can't finish any sketches for this ask rn, but here's a couple of old messy designs.

1) Comforting and nightmares

Skeppy has a normal, I’d even say adequate level of fear towards wild animals, whilst Bad has it in negative numbers. And, yes, this fun juxtaposition leads to a lot of unfortunate moments of Skeppy nearly dying from heart attack when some of Bad’s animal friends show up unexpectedly, or Bad goes all out for his tea-parties with wild bears or smth.

So, yes, sometimes the comforting hugs are necessary! And no, none of them ever play up the dramaticness of the situation just to drag out the nice comforting moment They do n o t. That’d be very silly and unnecessary, and will deserve a lot of teasing. So, it’s all serious. Not only for the first couple minutes. Yes.

But If you’re looking for comfort-after-actual-hurt – Bad does have to hold and comfort Skeppy, when the stress of trying to not fuck up the good stuff around him gets too strong. And after the nightmares where they are hated and chased by people. Those dreams do not come often, but when they do, Bad is there to hold Skeppy, whisper in his hair that he is alright, that they’re both alright, and that they can handle everything that’s going on right now.

And Bad himself, well. After leaving the town, his nightmares about the night of the ritual stopped almost completely. They come rarely, only when the anxiety gets really bad. Before, in the forest, Bad had them pretty often. It’s one of the reasons he mostly slept not as himself, but in the minds of the animals.

2) Littering

Bad will not maim someone for not getting a candy wrapper in a trashcan, especially if there are people around. But if someone leaves a big mess in the nature, or even (*gasp*) does it regularly, Bad can and will try and teach them a lesson. As in: pull a cautionary (and probably slightly terrifying) prank on the misbehaving person.

It doesn’t always work out as Bad intended, and may even scare some people off anything relating to nature for good, but, according to Bad, it’s still “a fun and useful little hobby to have :3”.

3) Rat

Rat takes a looong time to warm up to any other animals that infringe on her territory. And Skeppy might be a little shit (and his own rights for Bad are debatable) but he is Rat’s territory still (by approximation from Bad). So, she can gatekeep Skeppy a little bit. Not as much as she does Bad, but the man gotta know his place – Rat comes before other dogs for him too.

4) Tree climbing and strength

Oh, Bad can an will climb down a tree like a full-on creepy creature he is: head down, using only his claws, with Skeppy tucked under one arm. Maybe not even upside down, if Skeppy is lucky, and wasn’t too annoying about wanting to stay up on the tree for the night :D

5) Meeting other spn creatures

Oh, that’s a big question (: Yes, they do meet other cryptids, befriend some, and get in trouble with some, and deal with a handful of new and old spn troubles :D

I always thought that Bad and Skeppy’s life after the main story can make a series of short stories (or one big episodic one) dealing with exactly that: the guys traveling around, meeting other cryptids, learning more about themselves and the world, trying to build a life between human and supernatural crisis going on. Just like In The Dark it can based on the mix between the real life and the minecraft-verse events.

I wanted to focus more on finishing the main story first, though, so these stories are not as sought through, I didn’t even write down any of them yet :D

But if you have more concrete questions, ideas, or suggestions (about a specific person, or a specific thing happening) – write me, I’ll think about it, and how it can work with the theme and worldbuilding I have in mind.

6) Stealing + Protectiveness

Skeppy can sometimes forget about, ahem, moral principles, or human decency… emphasis oh “human”. He’s nature and different worldview it gives, it seeps through in his life and actions even more with age. Especially after he’s been away from actual people for a long while. So, I guess, he might at times steal something that is very important to someone, or do something that could be considered weird or rude in general.

And if Bad really needs something, or is in danger – all rules are down. If there is no one to reality check Skeppy, he might proceed to walk on heads, and commit risky and reckless crimes just to help or save Bad.

They both are quite bad with that, the protecting each other thing. Bad, tho, can be more fiscally violent in his protectiveness.

7) Adrenaline and rollercoasters

Well, it’s not that Bad likes adrenaline specifically, he’s just very curious, likes to try new things, and is almost unkillable. So he can just- just go for everything that’s interesting for him with reckless abandon, and if it goes wrong – welp. Bones can heal limbs can regrow, and the cool abandoned caves will not explore themselves. He’ll have to learn to ease up with lack of selfcare though. Because Bad can’t always leave Skeppy to fend for himself, while he heals, and Skeppy does NOT like seeing Bad getting hurt so much, and not caring about himself at all.

This probably comes back to Bad dealing with his spn nature and learning to make peace between it and himself. And to his anxiety, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

And hey, it’s the same for Skeppy and his lack of adequate moral compass at times :D

There will be a lot of tension and growing they’d have to do in regards to all this.

Also Skeppy is the one who’s really into chasing the thrills :D Man spent nearly half a year annoying probably-murderous-forest-spirit just for little not-boring fun, jeez :DD

Rollercoasters are a no go, tho. They go up in the air, real high, and, once again, Skeppy and highs do not mix, they do not mingle, they will not have tea parties (with or without bears). Unless, of course, Skeppy really needs to prove something. Then he’ll go on a ride, and die an honorable death, and will never admit he screamed all the way through it.

8) Dates

(*insert an innuendo from Skeppy here*) But, ahm, actually I’d say they love going on picnics: getting food, and hanging around in the nature for a while.

And I honestly donno what I like to think about the most… I just really enjoy the vibe and the atmosphere of the whole story, and how Bad and Skeppy interact in general.

It all is a real delight to write about :D

---

In The Dark - masterpost

[bluejayblueskies]

hello! i hope it's okay to ask, i was wondering if you have any good merfolk/selkie tma au fic recs? i've been looking for them on ao3 but apparently i'm not very good at filtering because i can't really find anything aside from the 3 or 4 i've read already. feel free to ignore this if you don't have any or just don't feel like answering! thank you either way<3 (also i just wanted to say i love your tma fantasy week fics, i read most of them at 3am and they made me so ridiculously happy)

 thank you so much! 💛💛💛 i’d be happy to give some recommendations!

i’m not sure what you’ve already read, so i’ll just include everything!

(list begins below the cut)

The Sea Calls Me Home | jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: mothjons | tumblr: @mothjons

When Martin Blackwood takes a job working at Peter Lukas's estate, in the highlands of Scotland, he meets an odd man down by the shore, who looks at him like no one ever has. This man proves to be another secret Martin Blackwood must keep, for more reasons than one.

To be so sure of a love the world denies is a heavy burden to bear. But bearing it was, and will always be, a choice. And it's one that Martin has chosen.

Mer!Jon, Historical AU! One of my favorite TMA fics. Heavy on the angst but has a happy ending, and the writing is beautiful!

What Belongs to the Sea | jonelias, lonely eyes, jonmartin, rated M | Ao3: TwoDrunkenCelestials, WhyNotFly | tumblr: @twodrunkencelestials, @apatheticbutterflies

“My grandmother taught me about selkies,” said the tattooed man.  “Said it’s good luck for them to grace your ship.  To treat ‘em right, and they’ll guide you safe.”

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to believe.

Selkie!Jon, angst with happy ending. Has darker themes, so be sure to heed content warnings! The endgame ship is jonmartin.

Breathe in the Salt | jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: SqueeneyTodd

Martin Blackwood works in a lighthouse that echoes too much against a sea he doesn't care for.

The lighthouse isn't meant to have people in it.

Selkie AU focsed around mystery! Martin’s mother is a selkie and he works at a lighthouse that has some very strange happenings. Jon, Tim, and Sasha come to investigate.

as the clouds roll by | jongeorgie, jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: PitViperOfDoom | tumblr: @pitviperofdoom

If Jon had a penny for every time someone stole his coat and told him it was for his own good, he would have two pennies. It wasn't a lot, but it still happened twice.

Selkie!Jon, angst and hurt/comfort. Featuring terrible person Jurgen Leitner and Kitsune!Georgie. This is the prequel to and i won’t let you choke which is also excellent!

kith, kin and tread softly | jonmartin, timsasha, rated G | Ao3: bibliocratic | tumblr: @bibliocratic

Jon is 100%, bonafide human being before Beholding gets its hands on him.

This is not entirely true for the other members of his team.

and

Their existence narrows into endurance, survival. Knowing how hard every day is going to be and surviving it anyway, hand in unlovable hand.

Or: Despite everything, the OG Archive crew live through season 4.

Fantasy AU where Tim is a phoenix, Sasha is a mermaid, and Martin is a selkie. Featuring hurt/comfort, found family, and averted apocalypse

A Box of Sea-Scented Memories | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: ArtificialDaydreams | tumblr: @artificialdaydreamer

When Martin was a child he moved to a small town by the coast and his best friend just also happened to be a seal who loved tuna fish sandwiches, headpats, and bringing him gifts. The shoebox of treasures was practically all he took with him when he left a year later.

Jonathan Sims' childhood friend has just returned after almost twenty years spent apart. Sadly Martin doesn't recognize him, and it's not like Jon can tell him about being a selkie. It's a good thing Martin has a lot of experience talking with seals, and Jon's an excellent listener.

Selkie!Jon, childhood friends AU. Very very cute, and seeing this plot bunny come to fruition has been lovely!

It Will Set You Free | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: cinnamoniic | tumblr: @cinnamoniic

He’s heard the stories. He knows his mother wouldn’t take another step on land if she could help it, not anymore. It took a long time for him to feel comfortable walking alone on the beach without anticipating torches and pitchforks at his first footfall, skin-thieves and scoundrels looking to steal him away.

Martin’s supposed to avoid humans, but he’s never been great at resisting temptation. In the aftermath of a dreadful storm, he finds himself and his sealskin coat trapped in the home of his mysterious human crush, Jon.

Selkie!Martin, hurt/comfort. My favorite part of this fic is Martin not really understanding human things!

and, just to include some of mine:

to take the road less traveled by | polyarchives, rated G

Once upon a time, in a land divided by water and mountains and the hands of men into fourteen kingdoms, there was a prince. His name was Prince Timothy of the House of Stoker, ruling over the land of the fae, and though he was neither fae nor human, he would do as a prince should, even if his heart lay beyond, in the kingdom of ever-watching eyes.  So when his father commanded him to venture beyond the land of the fae and into the spiraling forests of the Twisting Deceit, wherein lay a tower so high it was thought to touch the stars, and rescue a trapped princess from that tower, Prince Timothy donned the lightest of leather armors, plucked his bow from the armory, and left his kingdom behind in the glow of the rising sun.

Of Prince Timothy, his lovers, and a princess trapped in a tower.

Fantasy AU with Selkie!Martin (and others). A fairytale-style fic with multiple character perspectives coming together over the span of the fic.

delphinus | jonpeter, rated T

Three and a half weeks ago, Peter had packed enough supplies for four months, set sail from port, and had breathed in the salt of the sea with a relief that was as palpable upon his tongue as the taste of brine. He would cast a net over the side of his ship and inspect its contents for anything that might spark his interest (or, on occasion, make a sum of money). More often, though, he simply released the mass of wriggling fish back into the sea and settled for watching the sun dip below the horizon, with only the gentle rocking of the boat to keep him company.

Two and a half weeks ago, Peter had pulled the net over the side of his fishing boat, straining at the weight of it, and found a pair of sharp brown eyes staring back at him.

Mer!Jon, no fear entities AU. In which Peter is not as terrible as he is in canon and there is an approximation of fluff.

[mandoalorian]

Vanilla Lattes [Frankie Morales x F!Reader]

Summary: You camp out at the coffee shop in the midst of a thunderstorm, only to be awoken by a soaking wet man with puppy dog eyes, who is struggling outside in the rain. You let him into the warmth, offering him a lot more than just a vanilla latte to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Warnings: drink mention, brief mentions of anxiety and a few sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 4,200 words

Masterlist

You took a deep breath, hunching up your shoulders as you fumbled with the key trying to unlock the front door. Your hands felt like ice, the cold stinging your fingers and even making them swell up slightly. The key got jammed, again. The heavy raindrops pelted against your back, drenching you, and you couldn’t help but let out a prolonged groan of frustration. Pressing your body weight against the door and wriggling the key into the lock, you were grateful for the bolt of lightning which provided you with a temporary illumination to see what you’re doing. Hearing the lock click out of place, you sighed with relief as you managed to shake the door open and entered the coffee shop almost in a turbulence. You slammed the door shut before locking it behind you and turned on the light.

The chairs had been stacked neatly on the tables from the night before, the floor had been swept and mopped, and an overwhelming smell of lemons filled the room. It must have been the new air freshener your boss had purchased after the last one exploded. You slid out of your shoes, not wanting to leave a puddle of water with every step, and took off your coat, hanging it on the radiator. You checked the time on the wall clock. 3:45am.

Your apartment was shit. Your landlord was shit. And everything was going to shit. The thunderstorm had been going on for days now. At first, you were coping, despite the power outage. But now apparently there’d been a leak in the building’s boiler room and your apartment had no heat at all for the past day and a half. It was far too cold to sleep, no matter how many fluffy blankets you had to hide under. So, in the midst of the night as you tossed and turned, you were struck with an idea. You could camp out at work. No, it wasn’t the most convenient of places and if your boss found out you’d most likely be fired but at least it had heat, and lighting, and at least you could catch a few hours of sleep before it opened for business.

Thankfully your hair wasn’t too wet to begin with, thanks to the hood on your coat, and as the front of the shop began to warm up, you were able to cozy up. The mismatched patterned rugs and the dim amber lights created the perfect, homely environment. There was a sofa in the back room which you contemplated sleeping on but it was torn and covered in suspicious looking stains, so you decided to just stay out front, take a chair down and sit at a table, resting your head against the oak wood.

There was no telling how long you were asleep for when you heard a loud thudding knock against the store door. You bolted up and your eyes snapped open as you tried to distinguish the silhouette who was standing behind the glass. All the lights in the shop were on which meant he could definitely see you, but the blackness of the night sky meant that you couldn’t make him out at all. You were struck with fear, cursing yourself for coming to the coffee shop in the first place. The figure continued to bang their fists against the door and your mind started to race as you wondered what to do.

They could be anyone. They could be a serial killer. Should you call the police? You tried to shake away your anxious thoughts, promising yourself that the chances of the silhouette being a mass murderer was slim-to-none. 

"Hey! I see you in there! Please- please could you let me in? I'm f-ffffreezing." The voice was deep, masculine, and it didn't necessarily sound local. You almost wanted to stifle back laughter at how they drawled out the word 'freezing'. Feeling less afraid, but still hesitant, you slowly approached the door until you could get a clearer look at the person.

It was a man, and he was soaking wet. He was wearing denim jeans and a pale green shirt. Well, it looked like it was meant to be pale green, but the rain had darkened it considerably and it clung to his body uncomfortably. In his hand, he held a soggy map and a baseball cap. He looked up at you with big brown pleading eyes as if he was waiting for you to open the door. You'd be foolish to open the door to a stranger in the dead of night.

But of course, you opened it anyway, and he didn't move an inch. He continued to stand still at the door frame, staring at you. You were lost for words. Was he going to pounce on you? Attack you? You could just slam the door in his face and leave him out in the storm... that was always a possibility.

"May I come in, p-please?" he asked politely through a shiver, and your heart sank into the depths of your chest. There was no way a man as softly spoken as him was going to put you in any kind of danger, and you almost felt bad for assuming that he would. You nodded, quickly stepping out the way so he could come into the warmth of the coffee shop. You shut the door behind him. "Are you- are you open?" he asked. He couldn't tell if the shake in his voice was from the cold, or quite possibly nerves. What were the chances he'd find a coffee shop open at 4am, and a beautiful girl to let him in?

You furrowed your eyebrows together, checking the time on the wall clock before turning back to him. "It's just turned 4:15." you sighed as if that would answer his question.

"Right, I'm sorry, that was a dumb thing to say," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. You hoped you hadn't come off as rude. "Thank you for letting me in."

He was dripping wet, literally. His dark brown hair was flat against his head but the tips began to curl into waves as the heat of the shop quickly got to it. You had so many questions. So many. But the fact he was still holding himself, shivering, distracted you just enough to ask your next question.

"Can I get you a coffee?" you questioned him before scrunching up his nose. A coffee at 4am was going to be the last thing he needed.

To your surprise, he answered yes.

You nodded in affirmation, giving him your best barista smile out of habit and padded around the coffee bar, turning on the machine. "Will take a sec to turn on," you explained as the man just stood there. "Uhm, what's your name?" you asked, taking a paper cup and a black permanent marker. This felt like something out of a fever dream. The stranger had been adorned with your presence for approximately three minutes now and you had only just asked for his name— because you were making him a damn coffee. Nothing about this situation was ordinary.

"Frankie." he smiled. His smile was so warm and comforting, you couldn't help but shoot him an even wider smile back. You didn't know if it was the dimly lit room in the dead of night, but his eyes had a sparkle in them which brought around a feeling of protection and safety. He was a stranger, but you already felt like he could trust you.

Frankie. And his name was just as sweet as sugar. Frankie. You imagined the way it rolled off your tongue so perfectly. A pretty name for a pretty boy. He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts and you scrunched up your nose wondering how long the uncomfortable silence had lasted for. At least, you hoped it hadn’t have been uncomfortable. You gritted your teeth together and introduced yourself.

"Hey, that's a nice name." Frankie beamed, stalking over to the coffee bar and awkwardly shuffling to sit down at one of the stools. 

"I was gonna say the same about yours." you giggled, trying your hardest to ignore the heat that flushed your cheeks.

"Really? It's short for Francisco." he explained as you held the paper cup under the espresso machine.

"Francisco," you hummed, liking the way that rolled off your tongue just as much as Frankie did. "It's cute," Now Frankie was blushing. "Do you have a sweet tooth?" 

Frankie's gaze snapped to meet yours, his mind wandering elsewhere. "A sweet-? Ohhhh," he nodded knowingly when you held up an abundance of syrups in his direction. "You know, I've never tried coffee with syrup before. Afraid the guys will tease me for it." he muttered.

"The guys?" you beckoned further out of curiosity. 

"Oh yeah uh- the guys I work with. My friends. I live with ’em too. Well like, not all of them. But Santi is my roommate- Santiago, I mean…" he rambled. You paused making his coffee, staring at him intently as the man you had just met began talking to you as if he's known you forever. He had such a friendly nature. "Sorry, am I blubbering?" he asked. "I don't normally get nervous- I mean, I'm not nervous, I just-"

You grinned ecstatically, shushing him. He looked up at you, the corners of his lips curled upwards and his chocolate coloured eyes wide, full of admiration. "So, how does a vanilla latte sound?" you chuckled.

Frankie nodded. "Delicious."

You pushed a few pumps of the vanilla syrup into the cup, stirring it around the espresso with a lollipop stick. You loved the smell, it was your favourite.

"Are you from round here?" you quizzed Frankie, hoping he wouldn't mind the questions. Small talk was part of your job as a barista, something you'd grown very much acquainted too, but after years of working here, he was the first customer who you were actually taking an interest in. Maybe it was his rugged handsome looks, or the fact fate had somehow brought you into the same coffee shop, at the same time during the same thunderous stormy night, but you had an urge to learn more about him.

"No I'm not," he started, holding up the soggy map. "I actually got lost. I'm here for work."

You took the dripping map from him and looked at it with a quirked eyebrow. "Don't you have the Maps app on your phone?"

"The what? Sorry, I'm not too good with technology," he brought his phone out his pocket and set it on the counter. "It's actually ran out of battery."

"Thankfully we have the same phone," you laughed, and Frankie's eyes lit up. "I should have a charger round the back. Where do you work?"

"Everywhere, really," Frankie shrugged. "I'm a pilot," The milk had finished steaming and you brought the jug away from the machine and back to the cup. Tipping the cup to its side, you practiced some experimental latte art. "How long have you worked here? I'm assuming you work here," he said awkwardly and you let out another laugh. "Well I had to check!" he laughed back, raising his hands defensively.

"Four years," you sighed. "Was supposed to just be a temp job to get me through my degree, help pay my tuition, but… you know, I'm still here." 

Frankie nodded. "I get it. I used to do engineering stuff at some dodgy garage back in my hometown. I used the money to help me get through flight school but I was there way longer than I needed to be," Frankie told you and you nodded sadly. "But I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

"Well yeah!" he exclaimed cheerily. "If you weren't, who would be able to save me from this God-awful rainstorm."

You passed him his latte. His jaw dropped slightly when he saw the pattern you'd carefully construed with your jug of steamed milk. A heart. "I- wow," he said almost breathlessly.

"Do you like it?" you asked nervously, biting down on your lip. You hoped your attempt of a flirt didn't come across as too overbearing.

"Yes, I like it," he confirmed before clearing his throat and making direct eye contact with you. "I like it-a-latte."

After a momentary silence you burst into laughter, Frankie soon following. "You dork!" you smacked his arm playfully. Frankie swore your laugh was contagious, and he adored the way small crinkles in the corners of your eyes appeared. This man had made you smile so much in the past fifteen minutes, your cheeks were beginning to hurt.

Frankie took a sip of the hot beverage, before licking his lips and relishing the taste. "That's delicious." he moaned longingly before taking another sip. Your fingernails subconsciously began to graze at the wooden counter. His moans and hums of delight were like the sweetest melody you'd ever heard. You'd whip him up a thousand more vanilla lattes if you got to hear him make those noises more often.

Your smile dropped when you remembered he was still dripping, even his bare forearms had goose pimples. There was a man sitting before you in soaking wet clothes, and he was too shy to even mention it to you. "Is the coffee warming you up?" you asked with slight concern. He nodded gratefully, taking another sip. You were glad. "We might have a change of clothes out back. It'll be employee uniform but-"

"You wouldn't mind?" Frankie asked with gratitude.

"Of course not, let me go see what I can find."

You went to the back of the coffee shop, where it was a lot colder, darker and dingier. Rummaging through one of the plastic crates, you managed to find a pair of black pants and a maroon coloured polo shirt, both with the company logo embroidered into it. They looked to be about his size. You took a sniff, thanking the Lord they were clean. You brought them back out to Frankie.

"You have to wear this?" he asked with a slight gasp as he unfolded the shirt.

"Yeah, it's not the most attractive," you giggled. "Will it be okay?"

"It's perfect, thank you so much." Frankie stood up and went to take off his shirt.

"Oh- uhm-" you started, diverting your gaze immediately. You got a glimpse of his tummy and the little trail of hair between his belly button and the waistline of his underwear that was poking out above his jeans. He pulled his shirt back down and looked at you with doe-eyes. "There's a room out back if you'd feel more comfortable getting changed back there. You know, for like, privacy." you mumbled awkwardly.

Frankie nodded. "Thank you." he said graciously before following your finger that was pointing towards the backdoor.

He wasn't gone for long, maybe just a few minutes, but you couldn't help yourself from daydreaming about him. You cursed yourself for letting your mind wander as you imagined him changing out of his sticky wet clothes and into the clothes you had provided for him. You thought about the shape of his arms, the curve in his bicep and the way his thighs might flex as he slides his legs into the pants. Maybe you were the one who needed a coffee to wake you up from these ridiculous thoughts.

When he returned, you were both back to laughing almost immediately. He did a little twirl, modelling the employee outfit. "It's cute! Suits you. You know if you ever get bored of that piloting thing…" you joked.

"I'll consider it, thanks," Frankie chuckled. 

"Oh, you should take off your socks and I'll hang them next to my coat on the radiator. There's nothing worse than having wet feet." you recommended.

"You sure?" Frankie asked hesitantly, but already reaching down to untie his laces. You nodded your head. Noticing his hair was still wet, you grabbed a small tea towel from one of the cupboards.

"You should dry your hair too," you told him, passing him the towel. Your urge to care for him was almost maddening. "So you don't catch a cold."

"W-would you?" Frankie asked awkwardly.

"You want me to dry your hair for you?"

Frankie nodded— and how could you possibly refuse him?

“How come you aren’t wearing your hat?” you quizzed, gesturing aimlessly towards the discarded baseball cap on the table.

“Well I like this hat. Didn’t want it to get wet.” he chuckled. You gently let the towel tangle in his dark brown locks of hair, making a conscious effort to massage his scalp. He closed his eyes. "F-feels so good…" there was that elicit moan again. You didn't say a word, continuing to gently rub the towel into his hair. This whole night definitely felt like a fever dream.

The hours that went by felt like mere minutes as you and Frankie talked and laughed and messed around. Five cups of coffee later, and you were both practically bouncing off the walls, full of energy. You had clicked instantly and learned that you both had so much in common with each other.

He was charmed by you, entranced even. If your beauty wasn't enough, he admired your endearing personality and how you were so thoughtful and passionate with everything you did. From the latte art to drying his hair for him, he thought you were the most perfect girl he had ever met.

You could say the exact same about him. You didn't want the night to end. In fact, you wanted to spend every waking moment with him. You learned a lot about him too. He was ex-military, divorced, with a two year old daughter that he couldn't help but gush about. He showed you a photograph of her that he kept in his wallet and she was the spitting double of Frankie, with big dark eyes and curly brown hair.

By morning, the storm had ended and the golden sun had risen. The birds were tweeting and the roads slowly started to get busy in preparation for the day ahead.

The cuckoo wall clock made a disrupting noise as the handle struck 9am. "Oh shoot," you gasped, standing up. "We're officially open for business! Uh- I gotta go get dressed for work so I'll be as quick as I can. Just- just wait here." you told Frankie in a hurried rush before whisking yourself to the back of the store.

You didn't even give Frankie a chance to reply. He sat there, at the table, nursing his fifth vanilla latte. You hadn't been gone long at all when the doorbell jingled, signifying that the coffee shop had gotten its first customer of the day. Frankie abruptly stood up, his eyes going comically wide as he spun around on his heel, ready to address the customer.

It was a tall, broad shouldered businessman with dark blonde hair holding a briefcase. His mismatched patterned tie and pocket square was enough to make Frankie cringe as he sauntered into the coffee shop with tired eyes. "The usual." he muttered.

Frankie furrowed his eyebrows together. "Hey, I recognise you from somewhere…" he trailed off, thinking of where he might've seen the man before. Frankie figured he was just being hyper-aware, considering he wasn't even from round here.

"You must be new," the customer grumbled. "Three shot espresso black coffee, extra hot, extra wet, no sugar or sweetener or anything like that." His words were very stern and demanding.

Frankie couldn't help but emit a small, helpless gasp when he remembered he was dressed in employee uniform. It certainly looked like he worked in the coffee shop, but the truth was, he hadn't operated one of these extravagant machines in his life. He might know how to do helicopter repairs but this was brand new to him. And what the hell did 'extra hot' and 'extra wet' mean? The businessman sighed, tapping at his gold wristwatch impatiently.

"Chop chop," he said rudely. "I don't have all day." Frankie frowned at his comment before sauntering behind the coffee bar, looking at all the different machines around him. He took a deep breath. Taking a paper cup, he requested the businessman's name. "Really? I know you know my name," the man snarled. “Or do you need me to do the thing?”

“What thing?” Frankie quizzed back feeling genuine bewilderment. The man took a deep breath and pointed his finger, but before he could say anything you returned from the back to the front of the shop just in time. "Ah!" Frankie called excitedly, taking your hand and pulling you behind the counter with him. "We have our first customer of the day!" he exclaimed with a fake enthusiasm through gritted teeth. The businessman slowly dropped his ring clad hand back down to his side and huffed in annoyance.

You wanted to laugh. Frankie was so adorable. Frankie's brown eyes flicked nervously between you and the businessman as he passed you the paper cup. 

"Just the usual?" you asked the businessman politely, already writing his name down on the cup. Frankie assumed he must've been a regular.

"Obviously." he rolled his eyes.

"How come you didn't send your assistant for your morning coffee?" you asked.

"You know I don't care for small talk." the businessman sighed before pulling out his wallet.

"Right, sorry, that'll be four dollars please." you apologised quickly. He tapped his black company credit card against the reader and you passed him his triple shot espresso. He left without even muttering a thank you.

"What a jackass," Frankie whispered, intensely staring at the man long after he left the shop. He slipped into the back passenger seat of a car which quickly drove away.

"Believe me, I'm used to it. There's plenty of customers who are like that." you explained, making sure all the machines were switched on and ready for the day.

"Well you shouldn't have to be," Frankie sighed, shaking his head. "I should probably go," he shrugged. You nodded your head understandingly. Frankie went to the back of the shop to collect his clothes. "Thanks for everything." Frankie smiled. He really didn't want to leave but he knew he had to eventually.

"Of course." you returned the smile. You found yourself fumbling with the stack of napkins. He hadn't even left the coffee shop and you already missed him. Frankie nodded and headed towards the door. He opened it and turned to you one last time. 

"By the way, what does 'extra hot' and 'extra wet' mean?" he asked, and you burst into a fit of giggles at his comment. Frankie loved hearing you laugh, and he loved the way that he was the person who could make you laugh.

Picking up the black permanent marker, you scribbled your phone number on a napkin. "Give me a call and find out?" you suggested, handing him your number with a small but flirty smile. Frankie's cheeks reddened and his heart felt fuzzy.

"O-okay," he waved. "I'll speak to you soon. Have a good day at work."

"See ya, Frankie." you smiled one last time.

That was, by far, one of the best nights you had ever had.

------

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[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (6/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

ao3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

August

“I come bearing food.”

No one responds, and Emma knows there has to be at least five people in this house. And while David and Mary Margaret live in a really nice place thanks to Mary Margaret’s dad, it’s not so big that no one can hear her when she walks in the front door.

“Hello?” she repeats, shifting the bags of food in her arms. She’s got approximately eight hundred pounds of appetizers in her car, and she needs help carrying them in. “Hello, it’s me, the lowly caterer. Should I have used a separate entrance than the front, or is someone as lowly as me allowed to use that one? What if the neighbors see?”

Still, no answer, and Emma walks down the hallway until she’s in the kitchen. Every inch of the countertop is covered with food, drinks, cutlery, and the works. It’s an organized mess, much like Mary Margaret herself, and Emma puts the bags she’s carrying on the kitchen table before looking out the window to the pool.

“Oh my God,” she whispers to herself. “Like, oh my God.”

Killian Jones is standing on the pool house roof with what looks like garland or bubble lights or some kind of string object, and David is standing below him to...catch him. It looks like David is there to catch Killian.

Emma pushes open the French double doors and steps outside. “What the hell is happening here?”

Killian drops one of the strings he’s holding, causing David to move to catch it, and Emma swears she sees Killian’s life flash before her eyes before he catches himself on the flattest part of the roof.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he gasps, out of breath, “warn a man.”

“Consider yourself warned.” She closes the door behind her and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s ridiculously hot out today, and she can already feel the sweat gathering down her back and underneath her bikini top. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Ah, well,” Killian starts as he picks up the dropped string of lights and starts adjusting them again, “I ran into Dave here at the market, we got to talking, and since I had nothing else to do, I’ve agreed to risk my life to hang his lights.”

“He’s more nimble than I am,” David says, like that explains all of this.

“Trust me, mate, Emma knows that.”

“Oh my God,” Emma whispers to herself as Killian and David keep talking, not paying her any attention.

Emma opens the door back and steps inside, away from the madness. She doesn’t know what’s happening out there, and she doesn’t want to know. Some things are better left not talked about or questioned, and this is definitely one of those things. She knows her friends all know Killian. The night at the bar where he met Mary Margaret and Ruby really snowballed things, and it’s fine. It is. She swears it’s fine. Except.

Except, well, they usually never meet the people she’s sleeping with. They’ve met her boyfriends, if only because it was nearly impossible to keep them away after so long, and they liked...Graham. They really liked Graham, not so much the others, and Emma feels the exact same way. But her casual flings, like with Killian, her friends don’t meet them. They don’t meet them, and they really don’t invite them to their big almost end of summer parties. They don’t ask them to help hang they string lights and get ice. She bets they asked him to get ice.

What is happening?

This is…this is a lot, and Emma doesn’t know how to feel about it.

She doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things, mostly Killian Jones, but there are other things included in there. Those things just aren’t quite so in her face.

Shit.

When Mary Margaret invited him to the party a few weeks ago, Emma was fine with it. It’s just a party. There are going to be a lot of people here, and what was the harm in inviting one more? Besides, it’s not like she could have said no when Mary Margaret asked. That would have been rude, and despite what a few select people say, Emma is not rude.

Emma picks at a grape on the counter, popping it in her mouth, and then gets another one as she watches David and Killian outside. Killian takes another string of lights from David and hooks them over a nail on the roof.

He’s different from her past few flings. They’re usually as big of a mess as she is, and while she assumes Killian is as well, she doesn’t know enough about him to truly know. They’ve got a pretty good deal with their one personal question of the day thing. She knows it’s usually more than that, little things coming out in bed or when he stops by the Blue Dog, but she has comfort in being able to veto any question that gets a little too personal.

If Emma could have a veto in most things in life, it’d be a hell of a lot easier.

Emma grabs another grape and then starts unpacking the food she brought. Mary Margaret must have run to the store to get something else, but Emma knows how she’ll want to arrange things. She’s been to enough Nolan parties to know what happens. If she focuses on this, she’ll be able to ignore the man outside and all the pesky little thoughts in her head.

“Swan,” Killian says from behind her, and Emma lets out a little curse. “What are you doing, love?”

“Helping out in the air conditioning instead of outside.”

He hums and steps up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist as his scruff scratches her neck. It’s a contrast to the softness of his lips that are running down the side of her throat. Arousal rises in her veins, quick like lightning, and it continues when one of his hands glides down her body and cups her ass as he presses against her.

“Killian,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip, “this is not the place for this.”

“What? Your friends’ kitchen isn’t the place for us to have a little fun?”

“No,” she laughs as she tilts her neck to give him more space, “it’s not. They may know we’re sleeping together, but I don’t think they want to witness it.”

He laughs and twists her around. His fingers skim her collarbone, lifting up the strap of her bikini. “I like this.”

“You’re such a man.” She pushes against his chest and moves away, going back to arranging the charcuterie boards. Multiple. “I’m sorry David roped you into helping. You could have said no.”

“It’s fine. Can I help you in here?”

She wants to say no, to send him back outside, but it might be nice to have company that’s okay sitting in silence with her. The rest of the day is going to be filled with people celebrating the near end of summer, even if it tends to linger for another month midway into September, and Emma could use a little quiet time before the chaos.

“If you could slice those apples for me, that would be great.”

“Aye, love, no problem.”

They work in silence setting up the boards. Killian catches on quickly, copying her arrangements, and eventually Mary Margaret comes home with more fruit and cheese and a car full of hamburger buns. She takes one look at the mess in her kitchen, has a bit of a meltdown, but then Ruby shows up with Mulan and it all starts coming together enough for everything to calm down.

For about five minutes before the neighbors start showing up with their own food and alcohol, and suddenly all the quiet, familiar voices are drowned out by loud new ones. Emma pours herself a glass of lemonade and sinks into a corner of the kitchen before moving outside. It’s miserably hot, the sun warming her skin immediately, but she knows it’ll cool soon. Until then, she finds her spot in a rattan chair in the shade, curling her legs up with her, and she watches as more and more people begin to filter in.

Emma doesn’t know how any two people have this many friends. She keeps a small circle, and they’ve been around for years. She’s slow to trust after spending her entire childhood in foster care, and while she likes to think her past doesn’t define her, she knows sometimes it does. Right now, when she’s cornering herself off while everyone else is having fun, she knows it’s a time where some old demons are knocking at the unlocked door waiting to get in.

She twists the lock and tells them to go away. She doesn’t need this today.

Ruby jumps into the pool, splashing everyone around her, and Emma laughs to herself. Ruby is one of the people that’s allowed in her head, and sometimes when Emma thinks her life is falling apart, she remembers being eighteen years old, desperate for food and a place to stay, and Ruby and Granny taking her in. they gave her a job and a place to stay because Ruby told Granny she would throw a fit if she didn’t take Emma in. So, it was a threat, sure, but it worked.

It’s good. Emma’s life is good. It’s messy and confusing, but it’s good.

Mostly.

Killian walks toward her, tilting his head in question, and she nods, scooting over on the cushion to give him room. Killian takes it, his thigh warm against hers, and then offers her a beer.

“No thanks. Not quite late enough in the day for me to want something to drink. I’ve got to save it all for when David starts telling the bad jokes once he’s finished cooking and can get plastered.” Killian chuckles then puts the bottle down on the grass. “What? You don’t want it either?”

“No.” He wraps his arm around her, letting it lightly fall on her shoulder. His fingertips pull on the ends of her hair, and a shiver runs down her spine. She’s always loved when people play with her hair. “It’s too early for me to be drinking as well. I try to stay away from the stuff when I can.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you now?”

Emma nods and leans a little further into him. She shouldn’t. This all feels a little too couple-like, but she does anyway. “You tend not to drink and when you do, you’re very calculated. You don’t just drink a bunch of wine like I will. It’s almost like you measure it out, literally.”

Killian clicks his tongue and yanks on her hair a little more before he draws his nail over the bare skin of her arm. He doesn’t answer, though. He stays silent, so Emma pulls her legs up and curls into herself while staying next to Killian. Ruby is jumping in the pool again, and Mary Margaret is walking around the pool with a platter of appetizers Emma brought from the Blue Dog.

When Killian still doesn’t answer, Emma decides to change the subject.

“So, tell me, how did you end up being some kind of soccer superstar?”

Killian chuckles and scratches at his chin. “Ah, that’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. I don’t plan on giving up this chair any time soon. And it’s my one legitimate personal question of the day, so answer or veto.”

His brow raises, like it’s tempting her to take back her statement. She doesn’t. She must be really good at asking the worst questions possible today. They never really talk about what he used to do for a living, mostly because she doesn’t care, but she never thought it would be a sensitive subject. Then again, she should know better. She’s got enough sensitive subjects herself.

She waits for the veto, but it never comes.

“My mum got me into it as something to do after school to keep me active, and I loved it, mostly because Liam, my brother, did it too.” Killian smiles, one of his more genuine ones, and Emma leans back to get a better look at him. She likes the little lines around his eyes much better than the ones around hers. “Long story short, I was bloody good, my father learned there was a way to bet on children’s matches, and he kept me in it to make money. I nearly quit when I found out about it, but then I was too invested in the camps and in training. I loved it, and by some miracle, I ended up being able to do it for a living. I got the dream.”

“So why’d you stop?”

He laughs, but she can tell he finds nothing about this funny, especially when his fingers tighten around her arm. “Well, my brother died, I fell apart, and by professional standards, I was too old to have any kind of time to redeem myself. I nearly drank myself to death, which answers your earlier question, so I’m careful about how much I consume now. That’s actually why I came here...to get away from it all.”

That was...that was much more than Emma was expecting, and she doesn’t know what to say. That’s a common theme in her life. She knows what she feels, but she doesn’t have a damn clue how to express it. So she leans over and wraps her arm around Killian, matching him, and presses up until she can slowly glide her lips over his. It’s soft and sweet, just a taste of how they usually kiss, and she knows it goes against every rule she has for herself.

He’s leaving soon.

This is okay because he’s leaving soon, and when they leave, Emma rarely has to worry about the consequences.

“I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid,” she says against his lips, foreheads pressed together. “I never took a class or owned a tutu, but all I wanted was to be able to do the Nutcracker dance because that’s what they did at the community theater. I didn’t have any money as a kid, and I just thought it was the most luxurious thing in the world.”

Emma pulls back. She can’t believe she said any of that, but she did. It’s out there, one tiny piece of the gigantic, five-thousand-piece puzzle that is her life.

“You would have made a hell of a ballerina with those legs of yours, Swan. What an apt last name as well. It could have been a match made in heaven.”

“Ha,” she scoffs, getting up from the chair. “You haven’t seen me dance. Unless it’s, like, in a club where all I really have to do is grind my body on a man, I can’t do it.”

“It’s easy. All you need is a partner who knows what he's doing.”

“And what if I want to be a soloist?”

His brows go up at that. “Well, then you need a teacher because apparently you make a poor excuse for a dancer.”

Killian stands from the chair, and in two quick steps, he’s next to her with his hands on her ass lifting her up. She doesn’t register what’s happening quickly enough for her legs to go dead, and by the time she’s in the air over his shoulder, she doesn’t care enough to fight what’s coming.

It’s a party, she reminds herself, might as well have a good time.

“Get my phone out of my back pocket before you throw me in, would ya?” she asks, and Killian slips his hand in and gets her phone. “Thank you. I’m totally getting back at you for this later.”

Killian stops as Ruby wolf whistles, Mary Margaret gasps, David chuckles, and everyone else starts whispering about whether or not Killian is actually going to throw her in.

He does.

The water is cold at first, like a shock to the system, but by the time she rises to the surface, it’s just the burst of energy that she needed. Killian is sitting at the edge of the water smirking, and yeah, she’s definitely got to get him back for this later.

-/-

-/-

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys - Chapter 4 -

- Ao3 link -

It had been an inauspicious year to begin with.

A poor harvest led to famine among the common people, which in turn created conditions ripe for evil creatures of all sorts; the night-hunts that were often treated as playful competition by the cultivation world became more like the boring drudgery of everyday work, disciples setting off in packs on a regular basis all over, time and time again. The tension wore on the sects, some more than others, and dozens of small disputes began to rise up, needing to be dealt with. Lan Qiren’s schedule became busy, and then busier, and then became overwhelming; he was forced to discard one pastime after another in his efforts to hold back the rising tide, and in the end sacrificed sleep and sometimes meals to preserve only two: playing for Jiwei and spending time with his nephews.

It meant that he was unprepared, both mentally and physically, for word of the death of Cangse Sanren and her husband, which took over two years to finally come to ears of the Great Sects – such a shocking failure of information that Lan Qiren briefly wondered if it had been concealed intentionally.

The sudden shock of grief hit him hard.

He tried to convince himself that he had expected it, that she had expected it, that at least her son was now safe in the Lotus Pier, and yet all he could think about was that he had one less friend in the world. The sadness interfered with his focus, creeping in at all hours, uncontrollable, until one evening he was playing guqin with his nephews and looked up to find them both weeping uncontrollably from the music he was playing. When he tried to stop mid-song, he abruptly collapsed, and upon waking was informed that he had become feverish at some point in the night.

His sect doctors advised him to go into seclusion until he could control himself.

Lan Qiren refused.

They advised him again, this time with greater insistence, and with the support of his sect elders.

“Tell them to fuck off,” Lao Nie suggested, pouring a calming tea that he’d brought from Qinghe.

He’d come to visit with his sons, Nie Mingjue disappearing with Lan Xichen as always and Nie Huaisang engaged in the newest stage in his eternal battle of wills with Lan Wangji over a game of weiqi that they were both taking far, far too seriously.

(Despite knowing Lan Wangji and indeed Nie Huaisang better than most people alive, Lan Qiren honestly could not determine whether the two of them despised each other or were close friends. Lao Nie claimed the answer was both, simultaneously, but Lan Qiren didn’t understand that at all.)

“That is not how we do things here,” Lan Qiren said, accepting a cup. It was rude for him to allow a fellow sect leader who was his guest to serve him, rather than the other way around, but he had a headache from the persistent fever and exhaustion that was even more persistent, the boundless river of grief in his heart translating into physical agony, and anyway Lao Nie hadn’t exactly asked permission before proceeding. “It would be more appropriate for me to present a well-reasoned case for it not being necessary, based on rules, authority, and precedent.”

“Except you can’t put one together because you’re upset and tired,” Lao Nie said with a snort. “That’s stupid. You’re overworked, stretched too thin, you just found out that your friend is dead – you need sleep, not seclusion. Anyway, what happens if you do go into seclusion? Aren’t they always saying they need you to stick around to be Sect Leader so desperately?”

Lan Qiren rubbed his eyes. “It would not be true seclusion. I would be expected to continue certain parts of the work.”

“You’re joking.”

“It would be primarily administrative correspondence –”

“By that token, your brother ought to do it!”

Lan Qiren glared. “It’s not the same and you know it. And they are not wrong that I need rest.”

“From what I recall of what you’ve told me about your sect’s practice of seclusion, that’s not rest,” Lao Nie said acidly. “Surely there’s something I can do to help. I could send over some of my disciples…”

“Excellent idea,” Lan Qiren said, rolling his eyes. “We can replace all those rumors that I’ve been secretly pining for years over my best female friend with ones regarding my best male friend.”

“It is a little ‘hero rushes to save the lady’, isn’t it?” Lao Nie said thoughtfully, shaking his head in amusement. “But seriously, I came here for a reason, and it’s not Jiwei or A-Jue or anything like that. You’re always trying to help me, Qiren. For once, let me help you.”

Lan Qiren would normally protest this – because Lao Nie had so done many things for him over the years that it was an incorrect statement, because he hated the helpless feeling of letting someone do things for him, because that wasn’t something sect leaders did for each other – but he was tired and he feared seclusion and sometimes he thought it might be nice to do one thing that could be considered a little reckless before he died.

“Very well,” he said, closing his eyes and drinking the tea. “Do as you like.”

That was a dangerous thing to say to someone like Lao Nie, who promptly pulled three dozen Nie sect disciples from out of nowhere and sent them scurrying around hunting down evil with the energetic enthusiasm of youth entrusted with gigantic sabers and the freedom to use them as they would, while he himself settled in very happily in Lan Qiren’s home, sleeping on a guest bed, keeping away unwanted visitors and helping with any paperwork that didn’t explicitly require a Lan. He also recruited Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen to assist, despite Lan Qiren’s protests that bureaucratic busywork was not an appropriate way for boys of approximately fifteen and definitely twelve, respectively, to spend their time; both of them very solemnly assured Lan Qiren that they were more than happy to do whatever they could.

Even little Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang bullied their way into being involved, insisting that they wanted to do it more than they wanted to train or play, although at their ages there really wasn’t much they could do besides grind ink and run messages to the relevant recipients.

As Lan Qiren might have expected, rumors immediately started about some sort of torrid affair – life would be so much easier if everyone obeyed the rules against gossiping purposelessly – and they even got to the point that several of the sect elders cautiously hinted to him that although cutsleeve relationships were far from being in vogue, they had at no point been explicitly forbidden by the rules, and cited several provisions which seemed to favor such things.

Lan Qiren had thanked them for the reminder and caustically commented that he would be sure to incorporate that into his next set of lectures as he could see no other reason for them to mention it, and soon enough they backed off, shaking their heads. Still, those busybodies that had his best interests in mind were still preferable to the ones that started once more raising the idea of finding him a nice bride of suitable age – by suitable age, they meant too old for children, lest he get any idea of challenging his brother’s line of descent – before he did anything foolish like fall in love, or, worse, to act on it.

Obviously he had no intentions of permitting that.

Still, after a month of enforced rest, Lan Qiren was feeling a bit more himself. He took on more and more of the work, albeit supervised by five sets of judging eyes, and even began to play once more, this time without bringing anyone to tears. Jiwei and Xinfei rested together by the door in comfortable equilibrium, hot and cold, weak and powerful, and the jade pendant that Lan Qiren carried with him remained cool to the touch, not hot at all.

“You will need to go soon,” he told Lao Nie, who shrugged, not denying it – a month was a long time for a sect leader to be away from home absent some valid excuse like a war, not quite too long but starting to push it. No matter how effective one’s deputies were nor how much work one did from a distance, a sect leader was still necessary, in the end, or else Lan Qiren’s life would have been very different.

“Next week,” he said. “That’ll give me just enough time to take the boys home before heading back out again for the conference in Qishan.”

“There’s a conference? I wasn’t informed.”

“No, you weren’t, because I didn’t inform you,” Lao Nie said, utterly shameless. “You’re going to stay here and rest. It’s just a stupid party.”

“That doesn’t matter if it is also a stupid party which everyone else is attending,” Lan Qiren said sternly.

“Jiang Fengmian isn’t going, either,” Lao Nie said. “Doesn’t want to leave his new ward alone just yet…newest rumor has it that Wei Wuxian’s his bastard with Cangse Sanren.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes. “Of course. Wasn’t I the one having the affair with her last week?”

“Perhaps it was a love triangle?”

“A square, at minimum. Don’t forget she had a husband.”

“A pyramid!”

“Lao Nie…”

Lao Nie laughed. “Jin Guangshan isn’t making it, either. His wife’s giving birth – predictions say to a daughter, I think, assuming this one survives the birth – and all accounts say that she’s threatened to cut his balls off if he even thinks of leaving Lanling City. So, you see, it really is just a stupid party, and by missing it you’ll be doing just the same thing as all the other Great Sects.”

Lan Qiren felt a sudden stab of misgiving. “Except you.”

“Except me,” Lao Nie said cheerfully. “Me and Hanhan.”

Lan Qiren truly did not want to know what went on in Lao Nie’s mind sometimes.

“Why don’t you refrain from going as well?” he asked, aware he sounded tetchy and irritable like some jealous wife in an opera. “If no one else is going.”

“Oh, I have to go. A-Han asked for me specifically,” Lao Nie said, and Lan Qiren thought to himself oh I’m certain he did, then promptly felt bad about doing so. Sneering for no reason was prohibited. “Someone’s gifted him with some magnificent saber for his collection, apparently, and he was boasting that it was the best there was right up until someone stuck their nose in it and said that it was all well and good but no comparison to my Jiwei.”

Lan Qiren could imagine exactly how well a statement like that had gone over with Wen Ruohan.

“And now he’s demanding you show up and produce evidence?” he asked, unimpressed.

Lao Nie grinned. “Ah, Qiren, it’s almost like you’ve met the man before.”

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Lan Qiren said. “Why should you go just because he asked? He’s your equal, not your master.”

“There’s no harm in giving him some face.”

Lan Qiren could think of several ways that it could lead to harm, the inflation of Wen Ruohan’s already bloated ego being not the least of them, but Lao Nie was his equal as well, his equal and his elder. If the man had made up his mind, as it clearly appeared that he had, there was nothing Lan Qiren could say that would change it.

“Good luck, then,” he said, shaking his head, and called the boys to come in for dinner. As usual, the Lan half of the table remained mute while the Nie half did nothing but chatter, each according to their own family custom. It was a test of wills and endurance – Lan Wangji’s eye kept twitching every time Nie Huaisang filled in words for him, possibly due to the extremely high pitch Nie Huaisang chose to represent him – but it was a joy to share the time with them nonetheless.

Before Lao Nie left, Lan Qiren tried, not for the first time, to press the jade pendant that resonated with Jiwei into his hand. “You should take it with you,” he insisted. “Especially if you’re going to the Nightless City to exhibit your saber – there’s a great deal of resentful energy there, and you know that always gets Jiwei’s bloodlust up.”

“Which in turn will sharpen my reflexes, just when I need them most,” Lao Nie said, pressing the jade pendant right back into Lan Qiren’s hand. “Better you have it.”

“Lao Nie…”

“Jiwei likes you now,” Lao Nie said, as if that mattered. “She’s been just as avid to protect you as I’ve been, this past month – if I didn’t need her by my side, I’d almost be tempted to leave her here with you.”

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows. “Are you suggesting that I can’t protect myself? Here? In the Cloud Recesses?”

“Saber spirits are not smart, Qiren. But even she can tell that you’re not well yet.”

Lan Qiren waved a hand dismissively. “Well enough,” he said, and it was even true – the grief was still there, of course, and likely would be every time he thought of Cangse Sanren in the near future, excluding maybe the few times when it was one of his students that resembled her only in terms of how much mischief she would get up to, but it was no longer drowning him. He had hope that, in time, this wound would also scab over and the hurt fade, and that at that time he could once again think of her with nothing but joy.

Lao Nie huffed. “Well enough isn’t well,” he grumbled, but that didn’t stop him from gathering his children and his disciples and heading out back towards Qinghe. “Take care of yourself, Qiren! Be well!”

“And you,” Lan Qiren said. “Keep out of trouble, my friend.”

From what he later heard, the party at the Nightless City went about as anyone with half a brain might have expected: Wen Ruohan swanned around until Lao Nie showed up, there were tense words exchanged, and then Lao Nie produced Jiwei, allowing Wen Ruohan to examine her and even pat her a few times before the Wen sect leader was forced, with great reluctance and through gritted teeth, to admit her superiority to the saber he had received.

The stories ended there, but Lan Qiren had enough imagination to fill in how the rest of the night might have gone, especially with the only sect leaders there being Lao Nie and Wen Ruohan. He sincerely hoped that Lao Nie had remembered all those lectures he’d given him about the foolishness of lying in the same bed as poisonous snakes, no matter how beautiful they might be on the surface.

Perhaps he had, perhaps he hadn’t.

Either way, Lan Qiren heard nothing else until the day he interrupted his own afternoon lecture with a sudden cry of intense pain – the jade pendant had abruptly gone so hot that it had burned, and although his clothing, protected by stitched-in incantations, was unharmed, the heat was so severe that it had nevertheless left a mark on his thigh through all those layers.

Clutching at his leg, Lan Qiren ordered his students to run to fetch him cold water and a doctor, and wondered what in the world had happened.

A letter, he decided. He would write Lao Nie a letter to ask.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

an introductory rec list (that no one asked for) to some of my favorite ships: drarry [4/10]

First fic I read for the pairing: Obsession by yesbocchan [2k,T] Harry thinks Malfoy is up to something evil. Until he finds out maybe he's not the only one with an obsession. [just a cute little eighth year fic i saw on tumblr back when i was first getting into fandom stuff (and back into harry potter in general) when i was near the end of high school. it’s cute, it’s sweet, and i was curious about drarry as a concept so]

Fic that really sold me on the pairing: Stealing Sweaters by DorthyAnn [12k,T] It's their eighth and final year and over the course of several months, Harry and Draco have managed to become close friends. Their friends are entirely certain that they ought to be much, much more. So they just decide to... help things along. [listen, everything that DorthyAnn writes is phenomenal, so how could i not fall in love with this ship after this?]

Absolute favorite fic(s) for the pairing: Animus Nexus by MystyVander [96k,T] It's Eighth Year at Hogwarts and it seems Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hate each other more than ever before. Everybody is sick of it. Somebody was tired of the two enough to curse them, binding them together. What at first appears to be a death sentence to both Harry and Draco turns out to be the thing the both of them needed the most. [it’s enemies to friends to lovers coupled with accidental bonding coupled with discussions of magical theory coupled with wizarding traditions with a few misunderstandings and some angst all set in eighth year and that’s basically the perfect combination for me.] Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 [302k,T] Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Pairings: HP/DM (Slash) Timeframe: 1994-2002 Goblet to 4 yrs post-DH EWE Rating T for language, high angst, content. [this fic has lived rent-free in my head for three years and it fucking slaps. there’s angst and fluff and so many bittersweet moments and it’s both canon compliant and completely canon divergent and i am obsessed with it. 40000/10]

Most recent fic I’ve read for the pairing: love me now (touch me now) by swisstae [3k,G] Harry's never had a bath. Draco plans on changing that. OR in which Harry gets his hair washed and Loves It (and Draco. He loves Draco too.) [this fic is adorable and sweet and i enjoyed it immensely.]

Favorite AU(s) I’ve read for the pairing: Alternate Sorting AU (Slytherin!Harry): Malfoy Flavor by Vorabiza [199k,E] Harry’s ready to banish the Golden Boy image and take charge of his life. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately, there are surprises in store for him. [Slytherin!Harry but it’s not an entire canon rewrite like most of the alternate sorting fics i love so much, so that’s fun. also severitus and just the right amount of soul crushingly painful angst. oh and it has a delightfully fluffy little sequel. ] Alternate Sorting AU 2: Electric Boogaloo (Ravenclaw!Draco): Chaos Theory by Tessa Crowley [102k,E] Chaos: when the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future. One gene varies, one neuron fires, one butterfly flaps its wings, and Draco Malfoy's life is completely different. Draco has always found a certain comfort in chaos. Perhaps he shouldn't. (warnings for: major character death, graphic depictions of violence, psychological torture, implied/referenced non-con) [as my notes on my bookmark said: GOD DAMNNNNN. I LOVE THIS FIC. I CRIED SO MUCH AND ALSO THERE WAS LAUGHTER AND JUST GOD DAMN. ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITES. so that about sums it up.] Time Travel AU: Annus Mirabilis by Ren [39k,E] Harry and Malfoy are trapped at Hogwarts around the time the school was founded. Stuck with a different way of doing magic, with no chocolate, and with each other, they have to find a way to work together if they want a chance to go home. [i almost never fuck with time travel aus but… this one slaps. also? hogwarts founders era?? hell yeah. also also? their relationship progresses in a way that feels so natural and the tension is so palpable and the writing is excellent.]

Favorite Series for the pairing: Leo Inter Serpentes by Aeternum [746k,E,6 Works] Just one conversation between two eleven year old boys goes slightly differently, and the world changes. Just how much will be different with Harry being sorted into Slytherin, and how much will stay the same? [Slytherin!Harry? Harry, Draco, Hermione friendship? Severitus? All in a complete series re-write that’s currently six completed works deep? What more could you possibly need?]

Longest fic I’ve read for the pairing: I Do What I Want by XxTheDarkLordxX [509k,E] They say you shouldn't touch what isn't yours... Too bad no one told Harry that. A simple mistake that Harry made in his first year at Hogwarts is coming back to bite him in the arse. The war is over but the threat to his life is just beginning. This story begins with a simple apology that changes Harry’s life. It starts a domino effect that leads to unbelievable connections, undying love, unique past lives, unknown villains and an unstoppable family. Follow Harry and his friends on an epic adventure filled with twists, bumps, comfort, enemies, a new life and a lot of love. (warnings for: major character death, some character bashing) [the first (or first few? i forget) chapters are written in first person but they’re an internal monologue and the rest of the fic is not in first person, just so you know. Also, the concept slaps and the fic is cute and i love to see it (and i’ve read it thrice).]

Fic(s) with some of my favorite tropes: Matchmaking: Ron Weasley: Accidental Matchmaker by Phoenix_Waves [2k,T] "There's not a sexual tension out there that the man can't accidentally detect!" George beamed. "And then ask the stupid arse question that's going to light the spark and fan the flames." Lee added matter-of-factly. A fluffy Christmas one shot featuring our favorite older Gryffindors. [god this is excellent: the obliviousness, the mutual pining, the matchmaking, having the older gryffindor kids around and having a good holiday time- it’s all excellent.] Soulmates: Kiss Me Not by DorthyAnn [21k,T] Sometimes a witch or wizard's magical signature is so completely incompatible with another that they repel one another like magnets. On the other hand, if two magical signatures mesh well together, well there are no stronger relationships in all the world. In a sample of a thousand people, the average witch or wizard will be slightly repelled by four or five people and strongly repelled by only one, at the most. The opposite is true for attraction. But Harry Potter can't kiss anyone at all. [this is actually such a fascinating take on the classic soulmates trope. there’s no predestined person for everyone and there’s no magical guarantee of anything, just magic being a little difficult and i adore that. also the writing style is excellent and the characterizations are spot on.] Accidental Bonding + Bed Sharing: Let's Take A Chance On Happiness by endless_grey [21k,E] Harry works with Luna at her magical antique shop, and everything is going pretty well until a mysterious ring makes an appearance. Cue curse-breaker Draco Malfoy and an accidental bond, and suddenly Harry is magically married to his former nemesis. They need to break the bond before Hermione's fundraiser, but Harry doesn't remember "fall in love with the git" being part of the plan. [i discovered this fic while looking for something else, but it’s so good. i love their dynamic and it’s shift as the story progresses and i love both of their friendships with luna just as much. it’s funny and a little angsty and well written and has two of my favorite tropes in it. what more can i say?]