#usually dark humour so I apologise for that

[manifold-updates]

Reminder of things to do today!

Eat, even if it’s just something small.

Drink lots of water, I know a bunch of us are crying so keep hydrated.

Watch feel good stuff, tv shows, films, videos.

Read feel good stuff, I’m gonna be reading a whole lot of found family today.

Hug family, friends, pets and plants, please do not hug a cactus though.

Take any medication you might have, you do not want drawbacks when you are feeling low.

Donate if you can, if you cannot donate without cutting into funds going towards other stuff, then do not.

Take a break from social media, even if it’s just a few minutes away, even if it’s a whole month.

Talk about Techno, tell people about your favourite videos of him.

Cry, just drink water and refuel your tears.

Message online friends, this kind of contradicts taking a break, but still talk to them, let them know you’re okay.

Do things that make you happy, do not hurt others to do this though, so please don’t dropkick a child, even if it is self defence.

Joke, laugh, because that is definitely a big fuck you to cancer.

Be respectful of others grieving process, they won’t mourn in the same way as you, that’s fine, they may be joking or keeping busy, that’s fine, just be there for them if they need you.

Take a shower, or even just wash your face, it’ll make you feel better, more awake.

Take a nap, only if you can or just fully go to sleep if you haven’t slept yet.

Sarcoma Foundation

Cancer Research UK

Techno’s Merchandise

Techno’s Channel Membership

Subscribe to Technoblade!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crushed 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Have a wonderful day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

You hear Jonathan stirring before you leave your room. You carry your clothes into the bathroom and get ready quickly. You are almost excited to get back to work, to get back to routine, if only to have a distraction from the chaos.

As you enter the kitchen, you smell coffee. Jonathan is dressed already, his suit clean and pressed. You hope he didn’t have too much trouble with your cheap iron and tiny board. 

“Morning,” he greets with a smile.

“Morning,” you return as you go to the machine. He’s there before you, sliding over an empty mug for you. You fill it and smile sheepishly at the countertop, “thanks.”

“Not at all,” he lingers close to you, “I should apologise. For waking you up so early. My mother never has good timing.”

“It’s fine. Really. That’s… nice that she called,” you rub your neck and back away with your mug in hand, “you must miss her.”

“Certainly,” he takes his own cup and sips between words, “but I dare think my parents are better off without me. They do enjoy an empty nest.”

“Ah,” you nod, cradling the cup as you bask in the warmth. 

“And your parents? Do they live far from here?”

“A few towns over,” you answer, “they’re swept up in my sister’s wedding though. I don’t hear from them.”

“Pity for them,” he says, “they are missing out on a wonderful daughter.”

You chuckle dryly, “sometimes…”

“What? Sometimes… what?” He prompts.

“Nothing, just… you’re too nice. That’s all.”

“If that is my greatest flaw, then I think I’m doing just fine,” he kids.

“Be careful or you might end up like me. If you’re nice to the wrong person, they might just kick in your door,” you scoff and take a reviving sip of coffee.

He doesn’t laugh. You look up at him and swallow tightly, “I was joking.”

“I know. I just don’t think it’s very funny what he’s done,” Jonathan says, “forgive my lack of humour, but it worries me. To think if I hadn’t come in to return your lip balm, what he could’ve done.”

A cold wash flows over you and your face falls. You are suddenly very sober with fear. You nod and back away.

“I know, but he’ll forget about me. He’s that sort, you know? Always on to the next girl.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Jonathan utters doubtfully.

“Well, lots to catch up on today,” you change the subject as you sit at the small round table by the wall, “I should enjoy these few spreadsheet-free moments.”

“Uh huh,” he nears and sits across from you, concern furrowing in his forehead, “it will be quite the day,” he checks his watch before planting his elbow and cradling his chin, “I’ve a meeting in Carline. I’ll have to drop you at the office and go.”

“Oh, that’s… I could catch the bus–”

“Nonsense, it is on my way out of town,” he insists as he sits back and lets his arm fall over, “I should be back before the end of the day but…” he turns his head, peeking from the corner of his eyes towards the door behind him, “if I am not…”

“I’ll be okay,” you say, not fully convinced.

“I could always leave you my spare key–”

“Really, that’s too much. How about… I’ll text you and let you know when I get in?”

He sighs and swirls his fingers on the tabletop, “he is a very aggressive man and you are…”

“I’m an adult,” you say, “I’ll have to go off on my own sooner than later.”

“Yes, yes, suppose you are right, but I can’t help it. It is only you don’t deserve all this stress,” he brings his hand to the handle of his mug, “perhaps, however, I did set him straight and he knows better.” He lifts his cup, “Still, I will be certain to keep my phone close.”

“Alright,” you agree, pushing away your trepidation. You’ll just have to be sure to be quick and quiet when you get in.

🌼

Jonathan lets you off outside the building and you look up at the corporate brick front with a sense of relief. Not just to be away from your apartment, but to have some time away from your overly attentive boss. He's nice enough but you're starting to feel a bit crowded. A day apart would do you well and hopefully dispel any errant suspicions of unprofessionalism.

Your desk awaits you in its simple tedium. You brew a pot at the shared machine in the break room and wait for the slow trickle to spew out enough for a cup. You take your coffee to your computer and watch it boot, the buffering circle spinning as the old hardware chuffs.

Shari arrives and claims a cup of her own. She gives a hum as she settles in at her desk and yawns. She looks at her mug and doffs it in your direction.

"I can always tell when you've made the coffee," she chimes.

"Right, you only like it when you don't have to do it yourself," you scoff as you wiggle your mouse and open up your browser.

"Not gonna deny that," she chuckles, "feelin' better?"

You look at her, hesitating. Oh yeah, you suppose everyone thought you were off sick. You suppose you were as good as.

"Yeah, vaguely," you shrug, "migraine."

"Ah," she takes a loud swig, "and where's that handsome boss of ours today?"

You don't look at her, focusing on your screen, "hm, I think he has a meeting. Says so in the calendar."

"Sure, the calendar says so," she snorts, "he also had a personal day..."

"Really?" You let your pinky edge over your lower lip and bite down on it.

"Hey," she lowers her voice to a whisper and wheels around the side of her cubicle, "I won't tell anyone. I just wanna hear how it was. Is he as good as I imagine?"

"Shari," you gasp, "really, it's not like that--"

"Anyone with eyes can see he's into you," she smirks, "a man like that knows how to keep his cool but around you..."

You growl her name again and give a sharp look, "he's my boss."

"What no one knows, can't hurt you. You know I can keep a secret. The hubby still doesn't know my book club is a bowling club," she smirks.

"Right," you shake your head and turn your attention back to your computer, "well, there's nothing to keep secret so it should be easy."

🌼

Lunch rolls around as you find yourself bogged down in all the work you have to catch up. As is stands, you were already working from behind. You skip the tuna sandwich you stuffed in your bag and opt instead for another cup of coffee. You sit with your chin in hand, going crossed eye at the excel sheets.

The monotony of the office lulls you, making it hard to keep your eyes open. You long for your apartment and a nice hot bath. That yearning doesn't last as the dread returns. Right, you don't even know if you'll come home to a front door.

Your phone buzzes and you check the notifications, swiveling slightly to read the screen. Jonathan checking in unexpectedly, confirming his arrival in Carline and his intention to be back in town around three. You have another message that gives you pause. The name over it matches the several missed calls you didn't notice in your mindless trance of expense reports and monthly budgets.

Colin. He only ever texted before to see if you were in so he could bum on your couch or mooch a meal from you. That's clear now. You can't believe you were ever giddy to see his name on your phone.

You hit the voicemail icon and put the phone to your ear. You listen to the automated voice that declares you have five new messages. The speaker scuffs before the first starts. It's him.

"Hey, buttercup. I guess you went out with that idiot wanker. I can't seem to find you..." you hear something bang, "nope, not hiding in the closet..." You hit seven to delete and the next message starts. "You better answer before I get real fucking pissed. I just wanna talk, buttercup. And I know you want me. So let's meet halfway--" Delete. "I'm about to break something, sweetheart--" Seven, delete. "PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE!" 

You delete all the messages as a new text pops up. Your thumb hits it without a thought and you see the endless scroll of caps lock floating in bubble up the chat. Every one is just an echo of what was in your voicemail. And pictures. Of your apartment, of your shelf overturned and the contents tossed over the floor. Your pillows shredded as feathers litter the carpet.

You black out your phone and push it deep into your bag. Not right now. You'll have to deal with it later. Maybe you'll wait around for Jonathan after all. Or maybe... maybe you can sort this out without troubling him any further.

You keep a hold of your phone and pull it back out. You ignore the urgent buzzing and search your contacts. You get up and leave your desk, going into the staircase to hide behind the heavy metal door. You hit Ally's name and let out a shaky breath. You wait for her to answer as you chew your thumb.

"Hey!" She chirps through the speaker, "what's up?"

"Hi, Ally, uh...." you don't know what you were thinking. What was you plan here? "Are you, er, with Colin?"

"Nah, I'm working unlike his lazy ass," she laughs, "why, what's up?"

"Well, um, I don't know how to say this... Ally, I'm going to send you some stuff, one second..."

You pull the phone away from your cheek and minimize the call. You bring up the chat and scroll, swiping your hand to screencap the litany of messages, barely able to catch them all as more spew in. You hold your breath as you go into Ally's chat and attach the images. You close your eyes and tap the send arrow.

You put the cell back to your ear and clear your throat, "Ally, please... just read what I sent you."

"Huh, alright," she giggles, "you're always so ser--" her voice cuts off as you sense the audio change as she puts you on speaker. "What the fuck?"

Silence as you sway, pacing on the leveled plain above the flight of stairs, waiting.

"Why-- did you fuck my boyfriend?"

"What? No. Ally. He-- He's the one who broke into my apartment. He's-- he's terrorizing me--"

"And why would he do that unless you were sneaking behind me back? I'm not stupid, I've seen you drooling over him."

"Al, no, I wouldn't--"

"Sure you would. I just can't believe he would," she snarls, "you're so pathetic. You fuck my boyfriend and now you think you can break us up?"

"No!"

"Go fuck yourself, you sad old spinster," she barks and the line dies.

You stare at the phone, stunned. What did you just do?

🌼

You find it hard to shake the uneasiness cast by Colin's message and Ally's reaction. You suspect you've lost two friends in less than a week. All because you were stupid enough to like someone. Because you, an adult, had a dumb crush. Ugh.

You keep your nerves at ease through your work. The numbers are easier than emotions. Around two, your eyes flit back and forth between your spreadsheet and the time in the corner. You wonder when Jonathan will be back or even what you'll tell him. Should you tell him any of it?

You hear the elevator doors swish open and hit save on the file. You pivot, expecting your boss to be striding in early, instead finding a very much unexpected and unwelcome face.

You gape at Colin as he scowls around the office at the dronish workers, many of whom are too caffeine addled or underslept to notice him. You get up, hoping to get him out before he can start anything. You know by the tension in his neck that he's up to no good.

"I wanna talk to the fucking boss," he demands, jolting several people from their waking comas as other pop their heads over their cubicle walls. Shari lets out a strange noise and mops up coffee from her chin as it dribbles down.

"Who's this?" She hisses as you take a step forward.

"Boss isn't here," Ed snorts from his desk, "and we're not hiring."

"I'm not here--" Colin starts, "fuck your fucking jobs." He sneers, "who the fuck is in charge here?"

"Colin, please," you put your hands up pleadingly, "please, just go. We can talk after work--"

"No, no, you had your chance so I'll say what I came here to say and I want everyone in this office to hear it," he snaps, "so tell me where that British douchebag is."

"He's not here," you croak, "Colin--"

"Fine, who needs him," he stomps his foot, "hey, everyone, guess who's fucking her boss?"

"I-- I'm not," you exclaim, voice squeaking, "I swear-- he's crazy. He's just my neighbour, he doesn't--"

"Why else would he be hanging out at her apartment? He was there all night. I have proof," Colin waves his phone around, "so someone tell me who I send it to because I think HR will be real interested in this--"

"Colin, get out! Go away! Why are you doing this?"

"Ah, come on, you," he points to Monica and shoves his phone towards, her, "they looks real cozy, don't they?"

"Colin," you beg as you follow him, "please--"

The elevator doors part again but you barely notice as you try to snatch Colin's cell away. He holds it above his head and nudges you away. He snickers in your face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jonathan's timbre rips through the babble of your coworkers and Colin's laughter, "Shari, call security."

"Ah, there he is. The star of the show. I was just coming to file a complaint," Colin face Jonathan, "you've been shitting where you eat, big guy and I have it all right here--"

Jonathan stands stoically across from Colin. It's like a Great Dane staring down and uppity chihuahua. He tilts his head slightly and peers past the intruder.

"Shari, put the phone down," Jonathan waves her hand down, "I shall deal with this myself."

Jonathan steps forward, coming chest to chest, or just above Colin's chest, as he glares down his adversary.

"I suggest you leave or I may just have to escort you out. I'm certain you don't wish to repeat last night," he warns.

"Nah, I'll stay--"

Colin barely keeps a grip on his phone as he grunts. Jonathan grabs him by the front of his hoodie and drags him away from the bullpen. Colin struggles with him, stomping around, trying to crush the other man's sleek leather shoes. 

Jonathan spins as Colin's fist glances past the instinctive turn of his head. Your boss keeps a hold of your neighbour with one hand and presses the elevator button. The belts grind, and the doors open. He dodges another fist as he throws Colin into the box.

"Good day, sir," He taps the down button as Colin lands on his ass. The doors open and leaves the office in deafening silence.  Jonathan turns to face his audience and raises his chin, "back to work."

He strides past you and between the cubicles. He swings his office door shut behind him, punctuating the tension. You gulp and go back to your desk, sitting numbly as your eyes haze with tears.

"I knew it," Shari trills.

[kit-walk3r]

Maybe a fic with James being with a modern human girl? Maybe she’s super into technology and has a Wednesday Addams style and sense of humor!!

Thank you for the request, sorry it’s a little late! Confession: I haven’t seen Wednesday or the Addams family so don’t know much about her personality/sense of humour. What I’ve gathered from the internet is that she’s sarcastic and has a dark sense of humour. I’ve tried to incorporate that into this as best as I can but I apologise if it’s not Wednesday accurate. I hope you enjoy it either way 💓

Photograph (James Patrick March x fem!reader)

James becomes fascinated with your phone.

Warnings: slight mention of blood

You were lounging about in the hotel room you often shared with James, mindlessly messing about on your phone when James appeared. He wasn’t in his usual three piece suit attire, but just an undershirt, trousers and a bloody apron. From his get-up you knew that he had just been butchering up some poor stranger. You were used to that by now, so you were barely phased by his bloody appearance. On the off occasion you actually found yourself weirdly liking it.

“What is that device?” James asked, pointing at your mobile in your hand. He’d often seen you playing around on it but didn’t actually know what it was, or what it did.

“It’s my phone,” you said, voice dry in a ‘duh’ tone as if it were obvious. It would be obvious to anyone if they weren’t from the 1920s.

James scoffed. “That’s not a telephone,” he denied.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, it is,” you said. “Things are different now, you’re just old.”

“Let me see it,” James extended his hand, expecting you to hand your phone over to him. You did as he said, realising how funny it was going to be to watch James try and use your phone.

James examined the phone, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to work out what it was and how it worked. “What on Earth is this?” He muttered to himself. He pressed the power button in his examination and the screen suddenly lit up, startling him slightly at the unexpected light. “Oh my…”

The screen turned black again and you watched James as he just stared at the blank screen, unsure of what he did to turn it on. It was getting painful watching him try to understand your phone, so you decided that it was time to offer him some help.

“I’ll show you,” you got up so that you were standing next to James and pressed the same power button James had used just moments ago, lighting the screen up again. James’ eyes widened with fascination as he watched you type in your passcode and another screen popped up, this one filled with lots of little tiny square images.

“To use it you just touch the screen like this,” you swiped your finger across the screen so it switched to a new page, demonstrating how to use it to James. You pointed at the app icons. “These are called apps. You can use them for a bunch of different things. You can play games, call people, take photos,” you clicked on a random app. “And to open one you just click it like that.”

“Google,” James’ eyes squinted as he read something off your screen. “That two tone haired buffoon said he ‘googled’ me. What exactly is Google? It sounds obscene.”

“You look things up,” you explained simply. You snatched your phone back off James and typed ‘James Patrick March’ into Google. You handed it back to him. “See? That’s all information on you.”

James began to run his finger over the screen, looking at all the different results that had come up. “‘Ten things you probably didn’t know about infamous serial killer James Patrick March’,” He read aloud before scoffing.

However, he clicked on the page and, after a moment of amazement at watching the screen change yet again, started reading what it said. There was an intense look of concentration as he read the entire thing. “That was ridiculous,” he claimed once he had finished. “Did this ‘Google’ honestly think I would not know my own birthday?” He shook his head. “What utter nonsense.”

You snorted at James’ anger at the article, finding humour in how worked up he was getting over one webpage.

You showed James how to exit the app and let him play around with your phone for a bit longer, exploring the different applications and settings on your phone. He ended up in your gallery, and was flicking through your photos with a growing grin. “Darling,” he held up your phone, showing a photo you had taken of yourself earlier. “You’re breathtaking.”

There was a slight hint of a blush in your cheeks at his words, but you played it off as if you were unaffected by his words, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. You liked playing him that way, not letting him see the real effect he had on you. You could tell when he would slowly get frustrated when he couldn’t get a reaction out of you.

James continued flicking through different photos on your face, eyes wide with fascination at photographs of yourself he found. He looked up at you. “I want to take one,” he announced.

You looked at him oddly. “Uh, okay,” you shrugged. You opened the camera app and switched the camera round so that it was front facing. “Just press this button when you’re ready.”

James nodded and looked down at the phone. After staring at the screen intensely for a moment he finally pressed the button and took a picture. You noticed how his facial expression did not change.

Once he was done, James handed you the phone back with a satisfied look on his face, clearly happy with the photo he took.

One glance at it and you couldn’t help but snicker. James looked confused.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, voice laced with confusion yet also slightly defensive.

You showed James the photo, trying to hold back more laughs. “It’s just not the most flattering angle of you,” you explained. It was taken from a very low angle and didn’t exactly capture James’ handsome features.

James looked offended at your words, like he was seriously insulted by your critique of his first attempt at taking a photo of himself on your phone. It was understandable, he was quite the perfectionist and not being able to do something as simple as taking a nice photo of himself must have been hurtful to his ego.

“Here, let me take one,” You offered. It would be nice to have a good (and attractive) photo of him on your phone. James thought for a moment, not necessarily wanting to admit defeat over not being able to take a nice photograph of himself, but remembered that you were more affiliated with the modern world and clearly knew how to take a better picture, so he finally agreed.

“Great,” you opened the camera on your phone and raised it to take the photo, before thinking of something and pausing. “Maybe you should get changed?” You suggested. “You’re still covered in someone’s blood and even though it’s a look I think one of your suits would look much better. More hot.”

James looked down at his bloody attire before nodding in agreement and disappearing. He reappeared a few minutes later, finely dressed in one of his pinstripe suits and hair neatly combed over. He looked good. He looked great. Wow.

“I’m ready for my photograph,” James announced.

You nodded and raised your camera to take the photo. James actually posed, not looking directly at the camera but slightly off into the distance, and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics. James was always one to be more theatrical than needed, of course he wouldn’t pose with a simple smile. Anyway, you took a couple of photos before handing your phone to James to check.

He looked down at the screen and grinned with the same satisfaction he had when he took the photo himself. “I do look rather dashing, even if I do say so myself,” James said smugly.

“That you do, James,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That you do.”

•———•

I hope this was okay! I’m still a little nervous about how I write James since he’s such a distinct character but I hope I did an okay job. Thank you for the request!

My requests are still open 💓

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[sukunasweetheart]

a sequel to when he falls in love.

warnings; yandere/toxic sukuna, dark content, manipulation, murder, mild nsfw

Sukuna finally catches the pesky journalist who has been on his tail for numerous years.

“You think I’m the only one? He’s going to get rid of you lot as well, once he’s done with me.” He’s tied to a chair, rendering him immobile.

Heavy footsteps make an entrance into the scene, and the men part themselves to reveal none other than the corrupt man himself, standing proudly between. He smiles triumphantly, his shadowed face looking down at the journalist at hand.

“You couldn’t be more incorrect. I treat my people and my belongings reasonably... unlike you.” Sukuna speaks rather quietly, using a low voice, but not a single word goes unheard.

"You’re nothing but scum. A corrupt leader. I’ve seen you throw away people like they’re nothing. Are you gonna do that to her too? Is your wife aware of the things you do? Or is she just one of your belongings, like the rest of them?"

At the mention of his wife, Sukuna’s face sours up a little, and the journalist can’t help but show a little smirk at the reaction. It was his job - to tailor his questions so that they jab at the specific individual.

"As expected of a journalist. You do nothing but seek answers to pointless questions. How annoying." He kicks the chair that he is sitting on, sending him to the floor.

"I'll humour you for a bit, and answer your last one. Since I’m nice," Sukuna crouches down before the journalist who grinds his teeth and scowls at him.

"My wife, did you mention? Whether she's my belonging?" He mocks, gently pushing away the strands of hair that obstruct the man's face with a smile. "You must be mistaken. She doesn't belong to me. She's a part of me." He says this with mellow eyes, as he recalls your pretty face. He stands back up.

"The quintessence of my soul, if you will," Sukuna almost lets out a chuckle at the words that spill out of his own mouth. "And I'm sure you're aware of this by now - but I take very good care of myself."

The journalist grows silent, realising that he's being serious. One of the men standing around comes to lift him back up - adjusting him so that he's sitting again.

"I leniently let you run around for quite a bit, as irritating as you were. But getting in contact with my wife was a line you should’ve never crossed." Sukuna heads off to the exit and turns back slightly. 

"Have a good trip to the afterlife!"

And all the journalist hears as a knife gets plunged into his neck - are the echoes of Sukuna's boisterous cackling as he freely walks away.

-

The moment Sukuna gets home - he's met with you, who greets him with an embrace, like every other day.

"You ended a litte later than usual. Did something happen?" You ask him. "I apologise for that, darling. I had to exterminate a rather frustrating problem today," he tells you, resting his hands on your face. "But don't worry. It's all been taken care of."

Sukuna asks to take a bath with you, claiming that he wants to relax this evening. You laugh at his request, but gladly accompany him in the shower, where things lead to a little more than just bathing.

some additional headcanons for this au;

you’re not aware of this, but sukuna always has protection monitoring you - and he hires only the best who are able to blend in with normal everyday people

these secretive bodyguards give him daily reports

its because he has a lot of enemies and/or journalists trying to get in contact with you

but also in general, he just likes knowing what you’re up to everyday when he’s not glued to your side

has cameras around the house too, but this one you’re aware of because he’d told you that they were for security reasons. don’t wanna have intruders around

but what you don’t know is how they basically follow you around most of the time lmao

so when he’s bored at work, he takes breaks by spying on you through the cameras that only he has access to <3

the only places that don’t have these cameras are the bathrooms

also the protection doubles when he has to go on an overseas business trip (if he doesn’t manage to successfully take you along with him)

sukuna will call you, while he’s looking at you making coffee in the kitchen for breakfast

he’s so warmhearted to you despite the coldhearted things he does to everyone else

maybe you will also eventually start a family with him

sukuna rejoices at the idea of putting a baby into you

also its almost uncanny how... you never get into arguments with him?

he knows you so well that he knows what he needs to avoid in order to not get in conflict with you

people dont seem to believe you when you tell them that you simply never get into arguments w him

and when he finds that you disagree with a decision that he wants to make, he uses his little manipulation skills again

it happens so naturally you don’t even notice

every choice of his is in the best interests of you and his children - and if he needs to mold your little mind into thinking the same, he shall do it

and he sees nothing wrong with it - hes not hurting you or anything, is he?

+ sukuna sucking on ur tiddies after u start producing milk for his children

as a “taste test” he says

Its sweet and the fact that its produced by you turns him on

so once he starts he cant stop, even as you’re quivering beneath him and telling him 'no more'

he’s great as a father, and his genes must be powerful because all of his children have a little bit of his traits embedded within them

cunning, intelligent... though you can’t help but feel concerned when they sometimes have a tendency to be a bit manipulative

i wonder which parent that one came from?

just like their father, they all love you very very much.

feel free to ask more questions on this bc i love this au a lot

[hebuiltfive]

WIP I-Don't-Have-A-Name-For-Yet!

I've lost count of the amount of WIPs I'm currently working on. This one has a Christmas themed chapter, so I'm buckling down on it for now. Here is a slightly longer-than-a-snippet snippet, featuring a kind of domestic Scott.

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

The fridge door opened and Scott's stomach grumbled. Had lunch really been the last time he'd eaten something other than a snack of pretzels? Not good. Virgil would have his head if he knew... Scott chuckled to himself.

"What the eyes don't see," he mumbled under his breath. "The heart doesn't grieve over."

His eyes scanned the almost empty fridge, halting their scout on the half eaten pasta bowl he'd placed there a couple of days prior, back when he'd had the time, energy and resources to cook himself something up. In all honesty, he was surprised the cleaner hadn't thrown it out with some of his other days-old supplies.

He slid the bowl out and gave it a cursory whiff — it seemed to smell alright still. A drawer was opened and a fork was retrieved. Scott proceeded to poke at a few of the penne pasta pieces before lifting one up to his lips to take a bite. Cold pasta had never been his favourite dish, but it was edible and it would do. After all, the two alternatives were to either leave the warmth and safety of the hotel to find food or ring up room service — both completely ludicrous to a Scott who was about to fall asleep on his feet.

He left the kitchenette, switching off the neon lights to favour darkness as he returned to the sitting area. He unceremoniously threw himself onto the couch, carefully not to drop any of the pasta onto the cream fabric, and reached for the holo-projector remote.

Wedging one cushion behind him, to support his lower back, and one under his head, Scott setttled back into the comfort of the couch, undoing his smart tie until the two stands were hanging over his shoulders. The channels were flicked through whilst Scott decided on what to watch; a couple of festive films were playing; an animation (though why the programmers thought children would be up this late was a mystery to him); John's favourite show—

Scott almost jumped off the couch. John. He'd promised to call in with his space brother once he'd finished for the day. The bowl of pasta was set to rest on the coffee table in front of him, the holo-projector being left on a news cycle, and Scott ran to fetch his communicator.

He was running through a variety of apologises and excuses by the time John answered, which didn't take him long.

"John, hey! Listen—"

"Did you conveniently forget to call, or was it a genuine mistake this time?" His brother teased with one of his usual smirks.

"Genuine mistake." The communicator was held in on of Scott's palms, allowing his other hand to lift up. "Tracy's honour."

John nodded, the humour in his features remaining. "I owe Virgil twenty bucks."

"... You gambled on how late I was going to call in?"

"No, of course not." John paused. "We gambled on whether you'd purposefully avoid it or not."

"And you bet against me?"

"It's not really betting against you." John tried to reason, though the chuckle was infectious and soon Scott found his offensive fading.

Scott returned himself to the couch, resuming his position but replacing the bowl of pasta with the presence of the communicator. For a moment, he was content to watch John floating above the disc in the light blue shade he was so accustomed to seeing his brother cast in.

"Was it bad?" John eventually asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

More silence followed as John waited for an elaboration.

Scott sighed, sitting himself up into a better position; this may turn into a long call. "Kennedy doesn't want us to buy into Techawear."

"It isn't Kennedy's choice."

"No," Scott reasoned with a tilt of his head. "But he is one of our larger shareholders. What he says matters. We can't afford to just not listen to him."

"Kennedy is an ass."

"Still doesn't change the numbers, bro."

[beenbaanbuun]

Stray Kids’ maknae line’s reaction to accidentally revealing your relationship

Hwang Hyunjin

The moment the word ‘girlfriend’ fell from his lips, the room went silent. The guys knew about you, but the people coordinating the interview had just heard about it for the first time. He’d just revealed you to the world. He had to admit that he was grateful when Chan did his usual job as leader and immediately changed the subject, trying to patch up Hyunjin’s mistake.

But for the rest of the interview, not a single word left your boyfriend’s mouth. He felt so bad, wanting nothing more than to grab his phone and warn you, apologising in great depth about his mistake, but that would have to wait. He was still stuck in an interview and would be for a while.

When he finally escaped, he called you immediately in panic. You let him talk, rambling on with nothing but apologies. As much as you were anxious about your relationship finally being revealed, you felt sorry for him. You could hear the stress in his voice, growing by the second.

“Hyunjin!” You chuckled into the phone, using your most calming tone of voice. “I don't mind. It was probably about time we revealed it anyway.”

Han Jisung

As far as Jisung was aware, no one knew about the two of you. You were just his best friend. A best friend that he flirted with at every opportunity, not to mention the fact that he always had his hands on you in some way. The other members had noticed, taking bets on whether you were already in a relationship or not. Even if you weren’t, there was definitely something going on there.

“So when’s your girlfriend coming over?” Chan was only teasing him, wanting to turn his brother into the usual blushing, bumbling mess he became when someone called you his girlfriend. Nothing happened though. Jisung opened his phone and checked his messages from you, no blushing or bumbling in sight.

“She’ll be over later.” He stopped the moment the words left his mouth, entire body freezing in place. “Wait...” He looked up at Chan, noticing a stupid smirk on his face, “Did I just agree that she’s my girlfriend?” Chan nodded at him.

“Well shit.”

Lee Felix

Everyone knew who you were. You were the pretty new stylist for Stray Kids. The one that Felix couldn’t keep his eyes off of. You were sweet, kind, and most importantly, you were Felix’s girlfriend. That was something only the members were aware of, everyone else thinking that he just had the world’s biggest crush on you, which was also true.

“Your stylist is pretty.” Jisung laughed at the Vlive comment, sending a quick glance in Felix’s direction. The Australian was blushing and trying to conceal his smile. “She joined our team a few weeks ago. She’s been Felix’s friend for ages.” He didn’t reveal too much, but that didn’t guarantee that Felix wouldn’t.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating for a few years now.” His voice was shy as he spoke, not fully realising what he was saying. That was until Jeongin punched his leg underneath the table, bringing him back to reality. “Wait, I didn’t me-”

“Shut up, Hyung.” Jeongin whispered to him before speaking up and changing the subject.

Kim Seungmin

Seungmin felt like a bad boyfriend. You didn’t deserve to be hidden away, he wanted nothing more than to show you off to the world and make you feel loved, but more than all of that, he was scared. He knew what people were like, and he couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hate just because you were dating him.

That’s why all of your dates happened at night time. He’d pick you up when it turned dark and the two of you would walk around the city of Seoul, admiring each other in the light of the moon. He thought you were so beautiful like that, and it broke him to know that he couldn’t share you.

That was until out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a flash. A camera flash. You’d noticed it too, your eyes frantically searching around for wherever it came from. 

“Well,” Seungmin spoke after a few moments, trying to disguise the nerves in his voice with humour. “I guess the cats out of the bag.”

Yang Jeongin

He didn’t even realise he’d revealed your relationship until he saw the article with a picture of the two of you holding hands. He panicked a little but soon calmed himself down. Friends could hold hands, he held hands with his members all the time. For a moment, everything was fine, and then he scrolled down again.

“Oh no,” There was a picture, clear as day, of the two of you standing against a wall, kissing. It was obviously him, his hair and outfit the exact same as in the interview he’d done prior to the kiss. “Hyung!” Jeongin ran out of his room and into Minho’s desperately in need of some advice.

“What?” Minho looked at his maknae with concern laced through his features. The panicked look on Jeongin’s face was justified when he turned his phone around to reveal the article. “Oh shit, Jeongin.” The younger man just nodded, not really knowing what to say at that moment.

“What do I do, hyung?”

[pennycat83]

I don't usually leak my stories until I finish 'em but I am willing to serve up some good shit

(⚠️Following contains mentions of death/graphic violence, as well as a described panic attack and other poor mental health.⚠️)

I fully admit this is another feral moment regarding a shitpost FNaF fan game, but somehow it also works as a relationship study? I don't even know what kind of coincidence went down for this to happen but I digress. I wrote this a bit different too for weird external reasonings (that and this is a shitpost fangame).

I hope these two goofy weirdos keep being friends and possibly killing stuff ! (also I apologise if this makes no sense, I used the Evil Ending from the third game since it makes the best reasoning for them interacting. I refuse to imagine anything outside of the TTS voice used on Dave since the idea of him talkin' like that as a person is brilliant)

Penny Cat

Cold...hell felt so much colder than he had assumed. Wandering aimlessly as those final words pounded through his crushed head, "I...love you". To the person who had abused him, to the person who sided with Him. His heart dropped as the thought festered more, "I love you", nothing in his isolated life had ever even brought him close to saying those words with sincerity, and he blew it. He ruined his one relationship without even realising. He...HE-

"Yoyo!". The sharp, friendly robotic tone made him jolt, shifting his arms and stance into something like a wild animal. "Y'good?", "W-WHO'S THERE?!". He braced, his eyes had already adjusted to the darkness but it was near impossible to make out the voice. "Shi-ni-gami at yer service!", "y-you mean...". His heart dropped, legs starting to buckle slightly as he stumbled back. "P-please...I...I didn't want to...I...I'm sorry...show me SOME kind of mercy Mr-p-please!". His demeanor breaking down with his voice. Slow wheezing started to emanate from the Davetrap suit.

"Yo, hey cool it bud it I ain't gonna fuck with ya!". It sounded softer now...The voice came into better view with the speaker. Short clops broke the silence as they gained less of an echo. The speaker finally gained more of a discernible form. They stood shorter than even Him. The mention added another surge of pain into his already pulsating breathing. The white cloak rippled slightly as they proceeded further, muffled metallic clanking came with each footstep. The 'face', however, was what his eyes couldn't peel away from.

The helmet was the same ghostly white as the cloak, a large black screen covering most of it. A pair of plastic transmitters stuck on top, giving more devilish illusions. That same synthesized voice spoke up. "David Miller", "d-d-don't call me that". He tripped on one mangled foot, stumbling back, hands scrambling with his legs as they etched further and further. The being stopped, crouched down and stared. A pair of comedically large gloved hands emerged from the cloak, supporting the beings non existent cheeks whilst propped up on their knees in an amused pose. A silence wavered out throughout the void, he continued to twitch slightly as he studied their movements. They stayed static, mimicking him slightly as they continued to linger back. "W...w-what are you...", "Shinigami fer duty sir!", "w-what the hell is that?", "I mean technically it can be translated in two ways, God killer or the Grim Reape-".

"S-SO YOU A-ARE GONNA-!". He jolted back once again, falling even harder on his ass as they...stayed. "Ok bud seriously, cool it I'm NOT gonna hurt ya, I have no reason TO hurt you". They raised a large fist to the rim of helmet, mimicking a slightly humoured, thoughtful pose. They watched, then raised one of the hands out for his. He hesitated, curling up slightly as he declined. "A'ight". They remained static, "w-where am I?", "midway", "s-so I can-" "wouldn't, come back as a zombie basically and still end up here". They extended their arm out once again. Their grip wasn't as strong as he assumed, if anything there was a slight warmth in how they slowly lifted him back up. Subtle movements preventing him from his already shaky heart from caving in. "Ya good?", "l-lil bit...", "welp even if ya ain't 100% yer still somethin'!". He stared at the knight (? It felt weird to call them a grim reaper due to the upbeat attitude... although personality didn't always equal your job), it continued to watch him expectantly. "T-thanks?", "no prob". They heaved a slight sigh, their entire facade deflating with their stature as their shoulders sank, "...I'mma be honest I can't do this shit righ' now, jus'".

In a single cape swoop the full armoured figure changed into her casual outfit. A, pin-...cat...girl...thing? His mind was already spinning at the concept of being greeted by a hypothetical  reaper in a poor man's space suit. "I'm sorry, what the hell are you again?", "yes!", "huh?!", "I don't like being a 'Thing', like doin' my own stuff". She shoved a hand in her jacket pocket as her other waved a cut motion to emphasize her point. "Y'could say I'm a cat creature tho", "but cats don't have human hair", "eh, like havin' it", her hand flipped it slightly.

He still felt rigid. "Penny chan". She extended a hand, "right...", "yer fine by the way". He paused, "huh", "ya seem tense... this place ain't gonna hurt ya. Yer safe". He looked around again, the atmosphere remained the same smoky inkiness he had stumbled into. "Y-you sure?", a hint of concern barely managed to line his tone. "Well I mean I'm here, folks tend to say I'm pretty safe t' be 'round", "...". He moved back, arms folded slightly as he moved away.

"...I mean hey, don't blame ya fer a sec! Y'wanna talk fer a bit?", "I...I'm good, thanks". He etched further back, she stayed. "A'ight well I mean I gotta say yer dead so I ain't gonna kill ya, no one can, vice versa...also that's the wrong way". Dave paused, bracing himself, his heart still straining under the soul crushing anxiety...He booked it passed her. "Don'y ya even wanta...i-it's cool!". He didn't stop, pulse revving into full steam as he continued, further and further.

He tripped slightly. Heart physically trying to pump itself up and into his mouth as he heaved. It hurt, it all still hurt. Jack...Henry...all of it. He wanted to let it out, get SOMETHING out of this. Tears began dripping to the floor, glistening against the inky space. He curled up, struggling slightly from the springlocks piercing and digging into his flesh. Heaving, shaking like a damn leaf. "...ey...hey...". She was back, mocking him just like Henry. He barely knew her and yet all he saw was another Him.

"1...2...3...4, hold 1...2...3...4, release 1...2...3...4". Her voice almost seeped softly out, his gaze shot up to her. Just like before she knelt down ahead of him, subtly motioning him to mimick her breathing pattern. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YA WANT FROM ME?!". She raised her hands slightly, "n-nothin' man. Just felt like helpin'", "so you can make me do whatever you need me to?! S-so you can break me!". A slight look of surprise came across her face, the calm energy didn't leave her. "N-no...I jus' wanna help ya", "bullshit!", "eh, fine then...don't believe me if ya want". She sat down cross legged across from him. He stared at her more. "Whad'ya do to calm down then?". He stayed silent, "look bud even if ya don't trust me, least I can do is make ya feel a bit better". Her tone remained the same softness it had before... the heat left his brain slightly as he struggled to even remember."Hug..w-well I did hug my f-friend", "guessin' that ain't so easy to do". He shook his head.

"How 'bout ya hug me!". He seemed to physically recoil at the notion. "What ya think a fully deoderated gal ain't good enough?!", "I don't even frigging know ya", "that's true...then again...". She made another offer to lift him up, continuing her conversation as she gently assisted him back up. "Hugs're the best way to trust som'one, so...", she raised her arms out in antici...

Pation, he falteringly embraced her. The metal pressuring against her arms slightly as he await a response, almost automatically, her arms completed the embrace, finding their ways around the back of his neck and resting gently on his opposite shoulders. His breath hitched at how...safe it felt, melting in her embrace. His breathing steadied out slightly as she began rocking to the sides slightly. "There, there, it's alright...", her voice was like cotton candy by this point, his chin started quivering slightly. Her grip loosened after a while. Eventually dipping back down to her diminutive size. 

"Feelin' better?", "y-yeah...I...I-I think-". His voice broke, in a brief instant he broke into a blubbering fountain of tears. "You good?!", the genuine concern in her voice only drove his tears more as he looked up, piercing white pupils wavering from behind the Davetrap mask. "W-what, I...I, w-why are you...". She offered out her hands once again, feverishly accepting her gentle strokings of his head as she continued to reassure him. "Jus' in my nature bud, ain't that complex...people like ya come my way, I do what I can t' help".

"R-really?", "dude if I wanted to fuck with ya then I'd have a reason", "do you?". She laughed, a warm full chested laugh rang out, barely echoing amidst the void. "HA! nah dude yer fine!". She continued stroking his head until he pulled away. "Yer...nice, heh a-ain't had somethin' like that for a long time", "wan' me to keep going?", "n-no! not now...". She nodded, shoving her hands back into her jackets.

In a quick move, she whipped her fingers back out into finger guns, snapping them as she lent against one leg for extra emphasis. "Oh shit! ya wan' that thing off?!", "y-you can do that?!". She made grabby hands at his head once again "yeyeyeyyeyeyeah", slowly beginning the process of removing the mask, "don't ya need a hand cra-", "yer dead". He struggled to nod a sign of comprehension until it finally came off. "So ya are cute~!", the sudden flirtatious tone caught him slightly off guard. She continued to etch the rest of the suit off him, finally pulling him away by  one free hand before any further springlocks claimed a freebie.

His height was one of the things she was already aware of, alongside his neck cracking as it completed his towering height. But the jarring 2 dimensional, almost, blocky, feel of Dave still caught her off guard, though slight puncture holes and open wounds broke the illusion here and there. He looked down at her properly, pulling a few muscles. "Thanks for that. Didn't think ya'd care enough to be honest", "why the hell wouldn't I give a shit about ya?!". He seemed to have finally had a mental shutdown on that comment. "Y-you...", his laughter rang out as he doubled over. "Eh...I don't really mind if ya believe me 'r not...kinda stuck with me bud", "eh-heh...hah?", "I mean I know this place better than ya so like...". She rolled her hand to conclude her sentence, "so what's to say you ain't doin' this to fuck with me?", "good point...how's this, I make you do horrible shit 'n I blow my-".

She faltered slightly on that proposal, "nah...too intense 'n 'dundent...".  She pondered for a moment until she pounded a fist into an open palm. "NYAH! I don't fuck with ya, ya can be my friend!, "...but...". In a rhythmic pattern, David then started contemplating. "I'm gonna be honest yer makin' my head spin a lil", "Penny chan, hire able as the Shinigami if ya need. Lover of tech, terrified of slugs 'n kids", "why'd you bring up a fear?", "eh, jus' felt like it". He contemplated her words, "Dave, love simple things...I dunno what I really hate to be honest".

"Eh it's fine", "really?". His tone perked up at the notion, "yeah, no pressure dude, go your flow". Her wording kept adding more and more complication to his situation. "Wait, so I don't gotta...". He seemed to falter more. "I mean it ain't that complex, some shit y'just gotta keep to yaself, y'know?". She seemed slightly fixated on his arms, "oh shit, brb". "br-", in a split instant she had disappeared.

Nice enough to help him out the suit like it was nothing, willing to embrace and console him...His head was still pounding from the comment before. "'Sup". She was back, medical kit shoved under her shoulder. "Huh?", "what, some peeps gotta fix up their wounds 'fore they go on 'less they linger". He rubbed his temple slightly, "yer gonna...fix me?", "I mean the wounds yeah", "I-I'm sorry this is just startin' to fuck with me ya know?", "oh no dude totally get it, just gonna bandage up yer wounds 'n let 'em heal so yer body can learn that 'n do it automatically".

Penny chan gestured for him to sit as she began rummaging around. "So, how exactly does this place work?", "I mean not all people end up here, some just kinda get dropped where I am. If ya do tho then ya gotta wander there yourself". Her clawed fingers delicately dabbed antiseptic on the wounds, moving it around to clean up the edges. "As I said before though, some folks ain't lucky 'n end up with permanent deformities from their deaths". She made a subtle flip of the clump of hair covering her right eye, he lifted it. A nearly 10cm gaping hole greeted him, it's fleshy depth seemingly infinite. He shuddered, "eh know some poor bastard who got his upper torso ripped clean off, got a fear of losing his central spine's control now". She continued cleaning up the wounds before pulling out the plasters, "Y'want Hello Kitty 'r My Melody?", "I don't really know those guys", "My Melody it is". She stuck the smaller ones over the minute punctures whilst using regular plasters and  extra bandaging over the gaping holes covering his arms. One done she motioned him to sit up a bit better so she could address the one caving in his chest. "I mean hey, already got the immortality thing goin' for ya". She moved closer, leaning over as she began work on it. His chest physically pulsated under her touch as she worked, politely ignoring it until she grappled around for the bandages, his hand met hers slightly as he brought them up to her, "thanks...", "no prob.

Finally, he looked somewhat better, despite the fact his face was now 10 shades deeper than the rest of his body. "Feelin' better?", "yes'm. He squeaked his response out as she sat back, tidying up the medical kit. "Ya wanna head to my place then?". They had already lingered for what seemed like an eternity, sitting crosslegged as they blathered back and forth. "You have yer own place?", "ye". She nodded her head rapidly, causing her tongue to slip out from the corner of her mouth. It seemed to change in shape and size, from goofily rounded to it's natural state? (he wasn't completely sure if it was supposed to be point and nearly 15cm but-)

She helped him up once again, letting him put some of his weight against her shoulder. "Listen, I know this sounds kinda dumb seein' as I don't even know what ya do or where you're takin' me but...are we, like, friends now?", "I dunno, y'wanna be? I mean I just kinda let people call me whatever", "how's about old Sport". That familiar warm laugh wheezed out of her, "go nuts! dun really care". He beamed, "thanks fer that Sportsy!" "no prob pal!". She gave him a slightly unsettling grin, "sorry, kinda suck at controlling my face", "it's cool", "manage t' convince ya I ain't a threat?". He seemed to contemplate that question. Nice enough to console, get him out the suit and bandage him up and give him weird advice. "Ya I'd say so", neat!". She patted his back gently as they continued past the registration desk.

[mire1li]

Hello sorry if I'm bothering you but I wanted to share one of my ideas with you (this is platonic, didn't want you to get confused) . So what if the reader who is a teenager appeared on the Loufu accidentally causing a small tremor along with a large energy fluctuation so Jing Yuan went to investigate with Fu Xuan going with him and they came across an unconscious person who was not only confused when they awoke but completely exhausted, hungry and with strange markings on some parts of their body and when they got examined by a doctor it was discovered that they had a large amount of strange energy within their body. (This was inspired by the first episode of Aphmau Diaries rebirth, here's the link if you don't know what I'm talking about: https://youtu.be/1Vzq1QZVtuk?si=kyIxOyJTSnTjNaMG) (if you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright and I wish you a good morning/afternoon or goodnight☺️)

This was absolutely no bother and I apologise I took so long to post! I couldn't seem to bring myself to write but I have it done now and I hope you enjoy!

“You could probably coordinate with Bailu-“ Jing Yuan began saying, though paused as he felt the ground begin tremoring.

Both Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan leaned against the nearest wall as it was the most stable object in the room. The two just so happened to be in the middle of a meeting on how to slow down, or stop, the spread of Mara. As impossible as it seemed to them.

“What is the meaning of this?” Fu Xuan asked the General, as if he’d have any clue about the current situation.

“Shouldn’t you know? you’re the master diviner, not me!”

“No such thing was foretold by the Matrix of Prescience!”

“Then how would I know what’s happening?” He asked confused, when suddenly a blinding light came from outside, forcing them to shut their eyes.

“What now?” He sighed, exasperated, shielding his eyes with his hand, as he was facing the window.

Once the light subsided, the room was left in darkness, seemingly alongside the rest of the ship.

With the disappearance of the light, also vanished the shaking, allowing the two of them to finally stand properly.

Jing Yuan made his way over to the window, whilst Fu Xuan dusted off her clothes and fixed her hair.

“It’ll be utter chaos out there.” She sighed, following him to the window.

The entire ship seemed to be having an unexpected blackout at the moment, though the sky remained it’s dark blue hue, it seemed darker than usual.

Jing Yuan looked at Fu Xuan.

“Let’s go” he said, turning around and walking to the door of their meeting room.

“Where exactly?”

“To where that light came from. I’m positive it was in the Exalting Sanctum.”

Fu Xuan sighed and followed him.

“Fine, I will humour your request. Let us head to Exalting Sanctum.”

The Exalting Sanctum is exactly where you woke up.

You opened your eyes, groaning. It wasn’t necessarily bright, especially since you were somewhere in a dark area, certainly hidden away from sight.

You turned your head to the right, all that was visible was an entrance to the alley you’re in, a flickering light and some kind of vase.

Standing up, you felt incredibly lightheaded, forcing you to use the wall for support as you, very slowly, made your way over to the exit.

As you reached the outside of the small alley, you collapsed, your vision slightly blurry as the feeling of starvation and exhaustion overtook you.

You tried to stand up again, though to no avail. You could feel yourself falling unconscious.

“There’s… here! …..” you heard someone shout, though you missed most of the sentence, as you were focusing more on staying awake.

You could hear two sets of footsteps making their way towards you, then more talking and then something soft being wrapped around you.

The two people, whom you could discern to be of opposite genders, talked some more before, seemingly the male, picked you up.

You could feel your consciousness fading further and further, though you forced your eyes open to look at the two people.

You turned your head to the side and saw a short woman with long, pink hair and golden accessories. Though you could only see her back, you could tell that her colour scheme was pretty cosmic.

You groggily tried to sit up, before remembering: you’re being carried.

The man carrying you, glanced at you and smiled rather apologetically. You had no idea who he was.

He had long, white hair adorned with a red hair tie, and golden eyes.

“You must be rather confused, I assume” he spoke, causing the woman to turn around and look at you. You didn’t notice this though, you were too busy feeling those feelings of absolutely exhaustion and starvation.

You lightly shook your head in an attempt to remove these feelings, surprisingly it working a bit!

You sighed and nodded at his assumption as you didn’t feel up to the task of talking.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled, causing you to smile, enjoying the humour.

“Are we taking them to Bailu?” The woman chimed in, slowing down her walking pace to now be beside him.

“I… assumed so. We are headed in that direction, no?”

“You took them from there without a plan?” She gave him a look of disbelief, causing him to grimace, though the both of them didn’t seem too serious about it.

“Now, now, don’t get me wrong. I do have a plan, I simply haven’t… devised … it yet.”

“You are unbelievable” she sighed, glaring up at him.

“Look, I’m sure it’s fine, Fu Xuan. Bailu will most certainly be available to check this person for injuries.“

“I put too much trust in you… fine, let’s go.”

The journey to this ‘Bailu’ felt oddly comforting, resulting in you feeling more drowsy than before. You allowed yourself to drift off to sleep after a few moments.

You woke up, seemingly hours later, on a plush surface. You hugged the soft blanket wrapped around you tighter, slowly opening your eyes.

After a moment of just lying there, you wearily sat up and glanced around the room.

It was really nothing special. A simple hospital room with white walls, blue curtains, and a bunch of beds.

“Oh! Hello! You’re awake now!” A small child came running up to you, though she didn’t seem very human.

Her purple… horns and tail stood out to you the most. You couldn’t quite figure out what exactly she is but she seemed nice enough.

“How are you feeling?!” She asked, climbing onto your bed and sitting next to you.

“Fine… I think. Where am I?… where are those people from before? And… who are you?”

“People from before? Oh! You must mean Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan! I think they’re on their way back here now that they’ve dealt with the power outage!”

“There was a power outage?”

“Oh, yes! It wasn’t very great, but it’s okay now!”

You lightly nodded, no longer feeling any exhaustion or hunger. You assumed that you were given food but since you were so tired, you simply couldn’t remember. You glanced down at the bed, in the process, seeing your arms and legs.

Odd markings were inscribed on your arms, whereas on your legs, there was a marking on your left thigh and on your lower right leg. You weren’t able to tell if you had any more as you were now fully clothed.

“Hey… uh… what are these… markings… on my body?”

“Ah, those… I couldn’t figure them out! They seem to be on your body permanently as they didn’t smudge even a bit!”

The child looked at you, taking hold of your hand and looking over the marking again.

“I forgot to introduce myself!” she exclaimed looking back up at you.

“I’m Bailu! It’s nice to meet you!”

“Oh… that’s right, they were talking about a Bailu…” you said aloud, mostly talking to yourself, though Bailu smiled and looked back at your arm.

“Well, at least you weren’t injured too badly! Just exhaustion and… well, you were hungry! But we got that sorted so it’s okay! So, what happened to you? You were in a pretty bad state…”

“… I have no idea. I just kind of… woke up, and the next thing I knew there were two people who were carrying me here I think.”

“So… uh, do you remember anything from before you woke up?”

“No?” You looked at her slightly confused, to which she slightly panicked.

“No, I mean do you remember anything from before you fell unconscious and then woke up?”

“Still no…”

“Ahh… amnesia? I wonder, did you hit your head when the ship suddenly started shaking?”

“I have no idea what happened…” you looked at a wall, trying to remember anything from before all this, however you just couldn’t.

“Did you say ship?”

“Yes! The Xianzhou Luofu is a ship, just like all the other areas! You really don’t know this? You live here, don’t you?”

“Huh, I wouldn’t have expected this to be a ship…”

Bailu looked at you, as if it was common knowledge. You almost felt guilty not knowing this.

Just then the people from earlier entered the room.

“How’s the patient?” Jing Yuan glanced at you and smiled now that you looked like an actually alive human.

“Very good! Although I think they have amnesia!” Bailu responded, jumping off the bed and standing proudly.

“That’s quite a predicament… they don’t remember anything?” Spoke Fu Xuan, pushing past Jing Yuan as he was, probably unintentionally, blocking the door way.

“No… say, do you know your name and age?” Bailu looked up at you, curious, hoping to get a definitive answer.

“Uh, not… really… but I do feel like I know this… I just… can’t remember.”

“That’s alright! Take your time!”

You sat there for a moment, trying to remember the answer to Bailu’s question, though you didn’t quite know where to start.

You watched as Bailu waddled over to the other two and started talking about medical stuff.

“Well, it’s quite obvious they’re young. Just look at them.” Fu Xuan pointed out the obvious.

“Yes… but it would help to have a definitive age.”

“Jing Yuan’s right! I could provide them with proper dosages of medicine if I knew their exact age!”

You sighed, placing your head in your hands as you continued thinking.

“Oh! I know!” You suddenly shot up, startling the other three, who then looked at you expectantly.

“Well… I think I know…” you chuckled awkwardly as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Um… I’m uh… 15…?” Your voice had a certain tone of uncertainty to it, as you looked at them.

“Wait! Wait! I need to write this down!” Bailu exclaimed, immediately searching for a pen and paper.

“Ok! Continue!”

You chuckled at her as she jumped up on her seat and placed the paper on the desk, now waiting for you to continue talking.

“I’m… still not too sure about my name…”

“Gah!” Bailu exclaimed, lightly pouting.

You smiled, slowly standing up and holding onto the wall, as you could feel some dizziness returning.

“I’m sure I’ll remember eventually…”

“That would be preferable. We can’t exactly refer to you directly if we can’t put a name to the face.” Fu Xuan mumbled, lightly tilting her head to the side as she examined you.

“We’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Maybe we can think of something temporary for them.” Jing Yuan chimed in, leaning his arm on Fu Xuan’s head, which seemed to aggravate her.

“General, I would appreciate if you refrained from doing that!”

“You’ll be fine!” He laughed, though removed his arm from her head.

“Yes, but my hair won’t. It takes far longer than necessary to do it, let alone having to redo it!” She exclaimed flattening the top of her hair, tucking a few loose strands back in to their place.

“Then why make it so complicated?”

“Because I enjoy this hairstyle.”

“And I’m the unbelievable one?!” He exclaimed, feigning hurt, causing Fu Xuan to scoff and walk away from him, towards you.

“You poor soul, you’ll go insane with him around…” she lightly patted your head, barely reaching…

“I… think I’ll be okay…” you laughed and sat back down on the bed.

“Alright, Master Diviner, I’m not that bad!”

“Yes, you’re right. You’re even worse.”

“I am not!” He sighed as he continued speaking.

“Alright, never mind, we have more important matters than petty arguments.”

“Indeed, we do.” Fu Xuan replied, satisfied that she got the final word in said argument. She seemed almost cocky now… though she didn’t let it show much.

After a moment of odd silence you looked around the room again, now noticing that the walls had small doodles on them, undoubtedly the doing of Bailu.

You mumbled something, before your eyes widened.

“[Name]” you repeated, louder this time so that the others could hear.

“Come again?” Jing Yuan asked, looking at you curiously.

“That’s my name!” You exclaimed, standing up, inevitably feeling dizzy again.

“You remembered?” Both Fu Xuan and Bailu asked you in unison.

“Oh! Oh! That’s very good! I need to write that down!” Bailu exclaimed, grabbing her pen and scribbling down your name on the paper, before crossing it out and writing it neater.

“Oh! Wait, wait! I have another method I could use to check your markings… but um… yeah I’m not too confident.” Bailu suddenly spoke, nervously laughing.

“Lady Bailu… is it dangerous?” Asked Jing Yuan, knowing Bailu can be… odd…

“Noooo…t really…” she replied grinning.

“It’ll be fine! Maybe…” she continued.

You looked at Bailu, slightly worried for your safety. She only looked back at you with an innocent smile.

“Can I? Can I?” She asked you, jumping down from her chair and climbing back on the bed you were in. She looked oddly excited…

“Let’s… not make any irrational decisions, alright?” Jing Yuan looked at you, with his arms crossed. He seemed to trust Bailu but… he also didn’t.

“Ahh… I think it’ll be fine? She is a doctor isn’t she?”

“Yes… but she’s also a child.”

“I am older than you!”

You looked at the two of them utterly confused, unable to fathom how Bailu could be older than him. He’s a grown adult. She is a child. It just didn’t add up!

“Oh, right… you don’t know anything!” Bailu sighed but eventually explained everything to you, very poorly… so then Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan had to reexplain it all.

“That’s… very odd…”

“Yeah… that’s on our ancestors for wanting immortality” Jing Yuan laughed and leaned on the wall, sighing.

“We should probably show [name] around the Luofu.” Fu Xuan crossed her arms and glanced at him.

“That would be a good idea.”

“Can I get a response on my method please?” Bailu intervened, standing up on the bed.

“Uh-“

“I’ll do it! I wanna know more about these… marks…” you spoke before someone could answer for you.

He looked at you sceptically, though understanding your reason.

“Yay!” Bailu exclaimed and jumped down, getting a bunch of things set up for whatever she was about to do.

“What exactly are you gonna do?”

“It’s complicated! But I’ll need a blood sample!”

“What for?”

“Because I just do!”

You sighed, contemplating if it was a good idea to agree to her shenanigans.

“Alright…” you held your arm out for her to take your blood.

You looked around the room once again, whilst she did that, not wanting to focus on the fact that she was doing this right now.

“Ok, done!” She exclaimed, injecting your blood into some machine… thing…

“And now, the part I’m not too sure about but it’ll be fine!” She used purple lightning to electrically charge your blood… for some reason and used to syringe to pick it back up.

“Well… that’s not very dangerous to me, at least…”

“Aha… yeah… so you see, now I have to inject it back into you!”

“What?”

“It’s not like you’ll die! Probably…”

You chuckled nervously, now unsure of this, yet you still put your arm out and looked away.

You glanced at Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan who… definitely didn’t look convinced by Bailu. They began whispering stuff amongst themselves, though you couldn’t make out anything they said.

“And done!” Bailu stood proudly as she placed the syringe on a metal tray and looked intently at your markings.

For the next few minutes, nothing seemed to happen, nor did you feel any different.

More time passed and nothing seemed to happen… Bailu looked utterly dejected, when suddenly you began feeling dizzy again.

“Yeah uh… there’s something wrong… I think…” you mumbled as you covered your eyes from the light, suddenly feeling incredibly light-sensitive.

“Huh? Oh… that’s not normal!” Bailu exclaimed almost screeching.

“Don’t shout!” You sighed as some of the lights got turned off by Jing Yuan.

“Thanks…” you looked up, noticing an odd glow.

“Why are you glowing?!” Bailu asked in a strained, yet excited voice. You looked at yourself, and indeed, it seemed as though the markings were glowing for some odd reason.

“I have no idea but it’s making me feel pretty terrible!”

“Is that… safe?” Fu Xuan asked, narrowing her eyes at you as she took a step back.

“Well… nothing’s happening right?” Bailu retaliated, though your marks slowly started returning to normal, you starting to feel a bit better too.

After a few minutes, they completely stopped glowing and you felt just fine, as if nothing had just happened. Jing Yuan turned the lights back on.

“So… how about that tour?” You asked, trying to avert the subject for the time being.

“Sure, let’s go” Jing Yuan replied, exiting the room and waiting for you outside.

You were glad they were willing to skip this subject for now. Although, you had a hunch that Bailu would probably wanna experiment…

You and Fu Xuan waved to Bailu, who waved back, and the two of you followed Jing Yuan out the room.

“Where are we going first?”

“Why not the Exalting Sanctum? That’s where we found you!”

“Oh, alright!”

[suugrbunz]

Hellooooo I love your writing so much and would like to do a BoB ship request if you’re still up for those ! Please take your time, I have a bunch of stuff down so it could be hard to get through <33

My pronouns are she/her. I have straight, dark black hair that grows a little over my shoulder and dark brown eyes that only shines under really bright light.

I’m an INFP 9w1– though on topics of interest I could become analytical and slightly more willing to engage in debates.

Initially when talking to new people I’ll usually express curiosity and be soft-spoken to the extreme level, cuz I sorta have anxiety 😭

I pretty much have a (chaotic) golden retriever energy and am really fond of joking around once I get to know someone, though. My sense of humour is beyond repair: a mix of dad jokes, bad puns, and sometimes lighthearted sarcasm. I also ramble about things I’m interested in sometimes.

If someone is able to put up with my weird I’m also really supportive + try my best to help them in any ways I can, since I enjoy helping people.

Sometimes I get closed off after getting to know someone mainly because I have a lot of self-doubt and scared of getting hurt esp if I find them likeable? It’s a weird thing.

My love language are words of affirmation and physical touch mainly, the lateral only reserved for people whom I’m really close to. It takes a while to get close to me but once I love you I am an absolute mess, completely smitten.

My hobbies are drawing, watching films, and listening to relaxing music! My favourite season is probably autumn. I’m bilingual (English + Vietnamese) and am learning French and German fundamentals.

Currently I am gearing towards biochemistry/chemical engineering in general.

Thank you for your patience! I sort of went off on my own there for a bit there, sorry about that…

oh don't worry about how much you put. The more information the better. I hope you love it!!

꒰ I ship you with . . . Joseph Liebgott ৎ୭ ꒱

You two meet by accident. He runs into you and immediately apologises. However, he decides to continue speaking to you and getting to the point of asking for your number. Smooth.

He is pretty forward with his feelings and when he is smitten with you; He will tell you. Probably in person whilst hanging out.

I think you two would end up planning a first date together. A picnic seems lovely and fitting for the both of you.

He definitely drops food during the picnic but then plays it off as, “I am trying to make you laugh”

After a date, he's dropping you off and just decides to kiss you because, why not? You looked beautiful, so did your lips. He was staring at them all night. It was only right that he finally gave them a kiss.

he's very gentle especially since he assumes the kiss will catch you a bit offguard.

I think for a song, I'm giving you two; ps I love you by the Beatles !!

Joe makes it clear if he does or doesn't like someone. That's the great thing about him. So you needn't worry about if he likes you or not.

He brags about you... A lot

it's just how he is, he brags about you and treats you like a queen

He plans movie nights at the end of each week.

Joe isn't artistic... However, he is highly impressed by your artistic talents. He is the type of person to be baffled by people's talents. Even if he doesn't outwardly express his shock.

[fandommissingmoments]

Another Full Moon (Caleb Hackett)

Caleb had never been afraid of the dark before. Even as a child, there was something intoxicating about the mystery surrounding the unknown that darkness presented. Danger or excitement could be hiding in the shadows, both existing at the same time. Like Schrodinger’s cat; that was one of the only things he’d ever taken away from science lessons, and he loved it. Now, however, darkness terrified him. Even when there was no moon at all, even when darkness only lasted a few hours at most, the reminder of what would happen worried him.

He heaved a breath, trying to focus on the fact that right now he was himself. The full moon wasn’t for another few days. Things were safe. The island was his sanctuary, far away from the other horrors that loomed in the forest; memories he’d much rather forget. The water was calm, a mirror beneath the darkened sky; somehow it looked like it wasn’t there at all. That the lake was simply a cavernous space; another unknown that had the possibility of anything.

‘I thought I’d find you here.’ His grandfather’s voice was soft, and yet still it startled Caleb enough that he almost tumbled from the bench. When he glanced at the old man, he didn’t see a trace of humour on his expression.

‘Can’t I stay here this month?’ Caleb asked. The thought of being locked in the cage again, even if it was to protect his family while they searched for Silas, set his teeth on edge. He’d rather be anywhere but there. Waking up on the cold floor, the red lights casting everything in a dim glow that felt like blood always made him feel worse. It reminded him of the fire. Of that night when all he’d wanted to do was help his sister protect someone. Save them from a life that was confined to a cage. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

His grandfather was silent as he settled on the bench beside him. Caleb averted his eyes, unable to watch the old man’s movements, to see the shift of his expression. There’d been a time when his grandfather had terrified him, but things had become easier between the two of them over time. All that hard work, however, had gone out the window the moment he brought the werewolf curse to them.

‘We need to test it. No point changing it so close to the summer,’ was all his grandfather said on the matter.

‘What if I can help by being out there?’ Caleb heard the note of desperation behind his voice, and hoped that his grandfather had missed it.

A gentle hand on his back assured him that he wasn’t that lucky.

‘It’s too dangerous,’ his grandfather admitted softly. ‘What if Silas killed you?’

‘What if I killed him?’

Caleb looked towards his grandfather. There was a slight frown on his face, but his attention was out across the water. ‘The risk’s too high.’

‘But you, Bobby and Travis can go out there?’

Slowly, his grandfather looked towards him. Caleb wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. The bitterness behind his voice was meant to be masked, and yet the comment had tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. He opened his mouth to apologise, but his grandfather waved him silent.

‘We have silver, and are in our right minds, Cal,’ he said, voice far more gentle than Caleb had heard it before. He sounded almost resigned; he sounded more like the old man he was than the terrifying patriarch Caleb usually saw him as. He gently clasped Caleb’s shoulder. ‘We will kill Silas and end this one day. I promise.’

Caleb nodded, not trusting himself to speak; asking about the island again would be useless. So instead, he nodded, and tried to hold onto that promise. Tried to let the hope it ignited scare away the fear of darkness that was growing inside him.

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[sunball]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS I MADE WHILE I WAS AT WORK

these observations are based on my own personal experiences with these placements and also research. please do not reword, copy, repost without asking. I apologise if some of these observations have already been said, I do not keep track.

🦷 AQUARIUS/LEO VENUS or AQUARIUS/LEO IN 2ND HOUSE at one point made their own clothes or customized/painted on their clothes.

🦴 kinda related to the previous one, CANCER/CAPRICORN RISINGS I know have such unique styles, own unique objects and are icons for their fashion and that's because of aquarius/leo in 2nd house. they need more attention for their style FR.

🕷️ MERCURY IN 2ND OR 10TH HOUSE are more prone to have their ideas stolen and words copied. the sign it's in can tell you who are likely to steal your ideas and what type of ideas are likely to get stolen.

ex: aquarius = friends, people online/theories

🕸️ to me, 2ND HOUSE PLACEMENTS are most likely to get copied in whatever planet or sign sits there (more than Scorpio or 8th house placements). 2nd house placements look like they OWN whatever sign/planet it's in, they make things seem 'legit' and good on them that other people may want to have. but too bad, if you ever steal something from them, most people will probably know who it belongs to. 2nd house placements people have their shit trademarked.

🌲 wherever VIRGO/GEMINI is in your chart, it tells you what you worry and overthink about the most.

6th house - you may worry a lot about your health. whenever you get sick, you may overthink it a lot.

10th house - you may worry about your career and your reputation and whether people like you or not.

1st house - you may worry about yourself and think everything you do looks stupid. self conscious.

🪐 wherever SAGITTARIUS is in your chart, it tells you what you find funny and what makes you laugh. this generation has pluto in sagittarius which is why many people have dark humour.

3rd or 11th house - you most likely find memes and vine references funny.

mars or sun/5th house - you most likely find actions more funny than words. so like, when someone falls or acts something out.

1st house - you find people's facial expressions funny, you most likely find yourself funny too. maybe self depreciating jokes.

☕ SCORPIO MOON IN 2ND OR 7TH HOUSE mothers usually spoil them a lot, too much maybe. their mothers give them a lot of money and probably already bought land, cars, houses for them. that's that combination for ya (ofc it depends on the rest of the chart).

🎞️ TAURUS/LIBRA RISINGS I know are obsessed with power or want to be seen as more powerful/intimidating than they really are. this is because of Aries/Scorpio descendant, these people have attracted powerful people in the past who may have taken control of them in a way which is why they want to have control and power.

🎥 AQUARIUS PLACEMENTS/URANUS DOMS often bicker with older people because they're too 'old-minded'.

☠️ SATURN IN 3RD as we know, can have problems with their speech. I've noticed these people feel like there is a limit of how much they should say and feel like their throats are restricting (especially if it's a Taurus rising) when they speak which makes them choke on their words a lot and because of this, they may not want to communicate much at all because of embarrassment.

��� 6TH HOUSE RULER IN 4TH/5TH/11TH HOUSE may want to rescue animals or have rescued animals at one point. also SOUTHNODE IN 6TH HOUSE most likely rescued/healed animals in their childhood.

🍄 8TH HOUSE VENUS/VENUS-PLUTO/PLUTO IN 7TH OR 8TH HOUSE can be very clingy with their partners. as we know, 8th house is associated with death so these people probably think about their partner dying a lot which scares them and makes them want to always be with their partner. these people are constantly reminded of death whenever they feel love.

🏚 FIXED PLACEMENTS absolutely hate their stuff being touched. If you ever think about tidying a fixed dom's room as a love language without being asked to or whatever, don't. trust me, I hate that shit.

⚰️ AQUARIUS DOMINANT these people are confusing. they're living oxymorons. they say one thing and do the opposite. they can also be the biggest hypocrites because of their contradictory nature. I mean, are you kidding? the name 'aquarius' literally made almost everyone think it was a water sign. again, they're so confusing and even the name says it.

📼 SATURN IN 5TH HOUSE individuals that I know are so talented. they came out of the womb with artistic skills Istg.

🦇 If you have a BUCKET SHAPED CHART, the planet at the handle is the energy you have to tap into this lifetime. You find it offensive when people say you don't give off the planet's energy.

🦷I know this is obvious but I want to make this post longer, those with SCORPIO OR 8TH HOUSE MOON have mothers that are associated with death in a way. either they died or nearly killed someone or something else.

🦴 SATURN IN 3RD HOUSE can give the individual very crooked teeth, their jaw can be uneven and they can have an overbite/underbite.

🕷️ CAPRICORN OR 10TH HOUSE VENUS can be very attracted to teeth, they either like clean bright teeth and smiles, want to be a dentist or like teeth as part of their aesthetic *cough* me.

🕸️ AQUARIUS OR LIBRA MARS can bruise very easily.

my mum has aquarius mars and she wakes up with 4 new bruises.

🌲 a lot of people I know who have LEO IN 6TH HOUSE have back problems.. bro y'all good??/

🪐 all my friends who have AQUARIUS MOON WITH VIRGO VENUS OR MARS find seggs so repulsive.

☕ LEO MARS IN 6TH HOUSE culture is entirely taking control of something once someone makes a little mistake.

my dad has this placement and he's exactly like this, he makes me sit in a corner and does it for me even tho he keeps telling me I should do things myself.

🎞️ AQUARIUS NEPTUNE people are so awkward in front of the camera wth stop with the peace signs and thumbs up (ofc it depends on the house and aspects).

🎥 those with 1ST HOUSE RULER IN 3RD/9TH/11TH HOUSE or in those signs usually have very 'meme-able' facial expressions, literally living memes.

© sunball 2021

[anna1306]

Hey there!!

I'd like to request some poly lost boys with maybe a female mate who's funny-

Like in the beginning they're rather shy, but after a while that funny side comes out more? Like having a witty comeback or just being naturally entertaining-

(it's a bit self-indulgent- I probably sound arrogant bruh, but it's just something my friends told me? 😭 I'm rambling I apologise)

have a great day yes? and stay hot.

... hope this is alright--

<33

Poly!Lost Boys x Funny Reader

When they first met you, you were silent for the most part. You were shy and didn't really answered or entered the conversation with the boys. You let them talk and just listened, answering only straight questions to you.

Dwayne related to that, so he was almost a shield between you and guys for some time. He talked with them, let them speak with him, but not really included you, letting you be comfortable in your silence.

That doesn't mean that they forget about you, oh no, on the contrary. They listened very carefully and shut up the moment you started speaking. Even Paul, yes.

With time you grew comfortable with them, even went as far as dating all four of them, which wasn't very "shy" thing to do. But you weren't talking much, still quiet and very polite when talking with them. Not afraid, or timid, more like calm and never said anything wrong type of quiet.

It was one night when it started. Paul was high and active. He ran around, danced to the music and screamed lyrics and nonsence. And then he started nagging Marko about him having parrots hidden in the cave. Other blonde only laughed at him, while you watched from afar, waiting for him to calm down. You managed to get to your car, back and he still was at it. Putting snacks from the car on the table, you went around the cave, as if searching around and walked to Dwayne looking around him for something. He looked at you questionably.

Did you see Paul's marbles? I think he lost all of them, - you asked him seriously. Dwayne looked at you dumbfounded, while Marko snickered loudly. - Oh well, I guess we'll never know, probably parrots took them away forever, - you shrugged like nothing had happened, you sat on the couch, opening the magazine you also brought from the car, making Paul turn his attention to you.

That night was only the beginning. You had group date at some cafe the boys weren't banned before, so you tried to keep everyone at bay. You didn't want to lose another place to go to. The boys were still obnoxious and loud, well... Half of them. But you tried your best.

I'm surprised actually, - you mentioned. - I have slept at your place several times already, you blasted music, screamed like now, howled. How am I not deaf? Or I just imagine hearing you?! - you tapped your chin as if in thoughtful process. Marko laughed, leaning back on the back of the booth, while David raised his brow questionable. He wasn't witness of other interaction, so it was new to him - seeing more sarcastic side of you. He didn't mind, it was hot to him.

When he approached you, sitting on the beach, couple of nights later, he was surprised when you shoo him away. He furrowed his brows and bent to you.

You are interrupting me and David-junior, - you said. David froze for a second and only then noticed a kitten. Small, white with blue eyes. The animal looked him up and down, sneezed and turned his ass to him, as in disgust. - See? One face and character, I'm shocked, you got separated in childhood.

Dwayne is your favourite. He is calm, he can understand the usual silence of yours. He was the understanding one. But still he had some dark traits you couldn't help but notice, like some dark humour in him.

I guess what would his funerals look like, - he mumbled under his breath, looking at the back of the surf nazi, who insulted you and spilled milkshake on Marko.

Like Marko's decision to jump from the cliff onto the rocks. Alone, stupid, quick, painful and sad, - you answered nonchalantly, not even worried for your own confidence. - Or like his life. Pathetic.

Somehow you weren't even surprised, when this punk disappeared couple of days later.

When they tell you the truth about who they are, that they want you to be with them longer than forever, you need time. You walk away, asking for a couple of days to think about the situation. Of course they are nervous, they love you and they are afraid to lose you. But they give you time and space

She is gonna leave and never go back, - Paul sighed on the third evening without you. - She has probably ran away already.

You are panicking, and that is not helpful, dude, - Marko punched him in the shoulder. The atmosphere was grim and they all thought they had to check up on you. What if you really tried to run away?

You really think of me so low? - they turned to see you in the entrance, slowly climbing down. You weren't in the mood for jumping down like crazy. Dwayne helped you and hugged you, smiling a little bit.

We... We thought... - Paul stummered.

It's good you doing that, maybe you'll find these god damn marbles, - you giggled nervously. You looked at David, who watched you attentively. - What? I still love you and... I guess I should have get it earlier.

We have perfect cover, - David rejected. You shrugged.

You go out at night, don't necessarily eat, always looking good... - you made pause. - And you are best in sucking, you lost in that arcade like five times to me, and I was newbie, - Dwayne laughed at this, ignoring David's shocked and angry face.

They wouldn't have you any other way. Your humour got the best of them, even if it's rare.

The Lost Boys Taglist: @minafromasgard @starmullet @iloveslasher @twistedharper

[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.

[pingutats]

wake up in some promised land

despite his best efforts to keep their relationship out of the public eye, harry & y/n are photographed together as they leave a party one night —and harry has an interview the very next morning.

warnings: a little bit of angst about trying to navigate fame and a relationship. harry has a foul mouth. but there’s a happy ending!

word count: 2.2k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

Harry was decidedly not in a good mood. 

It had been a late night. He’d had a few more drinks than he usually did. In his defence it was earned—he’d just released an album, it was soaring to great heights on iTunes charts all over the world and already receiving overwhelmingly positive reviews—so sue him if he indulged in some expensive champagne, a couple fancy cocktails, too many rounds of shots for him to remember clearly… It was a good night all around. 

The headache he has right now though, brought on by the sudden blare of his alarm (far earlier than he would have preferred), threatens to tarnish the memory. He even considers swearing off drinking forever so he’ll never suffer like this again. 

When he voices this intention to a dozing Y/N as he pulls a shirt on, his only feedback is a pillow-muffled, “You’re such an old man, H.”

He leans over the bed and kisses the small part of her forehead that’s exposed between the pillow and the blanket. “Come on, love. Time to get up.”

“You can get up. I don’t have a radio appearance to make.” She jerks the blanket up to cover her head entirely. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”

He manages to drag her downstairs with him anyway, with promises of making her coffee and a hot breakfast. In the kitchen she yawns and stretches, the over-sized sleep shirt opening like bat wings as she raises her arms above her head. He has to force his fond gaze away to concentrate on turning the coffee machine on and pulling eggs out of the fridge. 

“This is a really ungodly hour,” she comments, watching him rummage around in a cupboard for a frying pan. 

“No such thing as a good night’s sleep when you’re as successful as I am,” he tells her wisely. 

She doesn’t even indulge him with a laugh, which tells him exactly how tired she is. 

The coffee’s done quickly—Harry is so addicted to the stuff he could probably make it in his sleep with all the practise he’s had—and she grabs the cup from him with greedy fingers, closing her eyes and sipping as she’s perched up on the counter. 

Harry nearly lets out a moan when the caffeine hits his lips. It surely can’t work that quickly, but already he’s starting to feel alive again. He turns to the stovetop and cracks the eggs in the frypan with one hand, using his other hand to cling to his cup for dear life. 

His phone starts ringing and the sound pierces through his head. His manager’s name is displayed, which is a good thing because if it was anyone else calling right now Harry would probably be tempted to kill them, and even if no publicity is bad publicity, he’s not sure a murder charge would be good for his album sales. He slides his finger across the screen to answer it and tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he adjusts the heat on the stove. 

“Hey, Jeff,” he says. 

Jeff laughs on the other end. “You sound fucked.”

“Big night,” Harry grumbles. “You don’t sound to pretty yourself.”

“All I’m saying is you better get yourself set in the next half hour, ‘cause a voice like that on the radio isn’t going to help you sell records.”

“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Harry retorts. “Got a coffee, I’ll be fine—oh, shit—fuck!” He’s mixed up his hands as he tried to flip the eggs, and poured coffee in the frypan. “Give me a second.”

He sets his coffee down on the counter and unsticks his phone from his cheek, turning it on speaker and placing it next to his cup. He stares at mess in the frypan and decides he’s going to have to try drain the liquid into the sink, without losing the eggs. He accepts this challenge with humility and grace, because he knows it’s his own stupid fault.

Y/N is cackling behind him. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but her laughter this morning just means that she’s in a better mood than earlier. He’d give anything to keep her happy, so if it takes fucking up their breakfast to have her smiling—so be it. 

“Okay,” Harry says to Jeff once he’s secured the situation. 

“Is everything okay over there?” Jeff’s voice is slightly tinny through the phone speaker, but his stress is evident in his tone. 

“Yeah, we’re just—“ he looks at the eggs, dyed brown by the coffee, and glances over his shoulder apologetically at Y/N. “We’re having caffeinated eggs. You’re on speaker. Y/N’s here too. Say hi, baby.”

“Hey, Jeff,” Y/N chirps. 

Jeff sighs. “Hi. Listen, it‘s probably good that you both hear this anyway. There are a couple of photos of the two of you from last night that are doing the rounds on Twitter this morning.”

Harry stiffens. “What?”

Here’s the thing: Harry and Y/N are definitely an item. It’s happened pretty quickly. They’ve been dating for a few months and now whenever they’re in the same city they’re practically living together. They’ve said “I love you” to each other often enough that its utterance isn’t a special occasion anymore. So, sure, they’re boyfriend-girlfriend, and if all goes to Harry’s plan, they’ll be more than that soon enough.

But in the meantime, she’s also his best-kept secret. There have been rumours, of course. They’ve been spotted having lunch together or going on walks. Anyone paying attention knows they’re good friends, but Harry has been careful not to let the other dimension of their relationship slip out into public yet. He conducts himself on public outings (secretly dates) like a Victorian gentleman, constantly vigilant that his affection never goes beyond what’s appropriate between friends. 

“They’re not bad,” Jeff says quickly. “It’s just pretty obvious what’s going on. I’ll send them to you, hang on.”

Y/N slides off the bench and comes to stand right behind Harry, leaning around him to stare at the phone. The minute of waiting for the photos to come through feels like forever. Y/N must sense his tension, because she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes. 

A notification pops up at the top of his screen: from Jeff, 8 images attached. He taps it quickly and frowns at the photos. 

They must have been taken as they were leaving the bar that the album release party was at. He notices Jeff and others also crowded on the pavement outside, lit by the orange glow of streetlights. The focus, however, is of course on Harry and Y/N, who were putting on something of a show for all their friends—and, apparently, the rest of the world. 

The first couple are okay. There Harry is, his arm slung around Y/N, clearly not sober as he bellows something up to the sky with a massive grin on his face and closed eyes. They were singing, he vaguely remembers, the karaoke they were doing inside the bar spilling over the rest of their night. Y/N is laughing at him, clapping her hands together.

Harry drags his finger up the screen to scroll to the next photos in Jeff’s chain. These ones start to reveal the two of them as much more than just friends. The arm around her dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. And then he was bending his head down. And then he was kissing her. 

He scrolls down even further. 

In this one, he’s groping her ass in full view of the camera. 

“Harry, you lecher!” Y/N scolds, smacking his arm in good humour.

He just shakes his head, staring at the photo. “There’s no plausible deniability, is there?”

“There isn’t,” Jeff says over the phone. He laughs weakly. “You two put on a real show.” He must sense the panic that Harry’s feeling, because he adds, “Listen, Harry, I can blacklist questions about it if you want. Just tell me what you want to do.”

Harry looks at Y/N, chewing on his lip. He feels like a teenager again, out of control of his narrative and at the mercy of the media. He’s meticulously developed his skills of privacy for years, now, and one night of insobriety and bad luck undid it all. 

Jeff clears his throat. “The thing with blacklisting is that it might raise more questions. And even if you don’t talk about it, you’ve gotta remember that everyone else will be.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Look—“

Y/N puts her hand on his cheek, patting him. “Hey,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and holds it in for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally with a sigh. 

She scoffs. “You’re not the only one in these photos.”

He frowns. She doesn’t get that he’s apologising for more than just the photos. It’s the fact that they have to deal with this at all, that it’s such a big deal for them to simply act like a normal couple. It’s the fact that it’s him, and he is who he is. 

“H,” she presses further. “It’s up to you. Your decision. But I want you to know that I’m happy whichever way you choose.”

He searches her eyes for any hint of doubt. She didn’t manage to clean off all her make-up last night, and there’s a smear of glitter on her temple and dark smudges of mascara underneath her eyes. She looks tired, but she’s definitely serious about what she’s saying. 

“You get what it means to be public with me, though,” he says at last. He hesitates. “It’s… intense.”

She shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” She’s holding his head in her hands, her fingers smoothing his unruly curls off his face. “It’s just a few photos. It isn’t everything.”

It isn’t everything. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down to kiss her gently. It’s just an innocent peck, but the feel of her soft lips against his is enough to ground him.

Jeff clears his throat awkwardly. 

They break apart with embarrassed smiles. “Sorry,” Harry says, but he isn’t really.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sounding uncomfortable. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because we’re really cutting it fine.”

Harry looks at Y/N, who nods. 

He turns back to the phone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry says. “Let them ask the questions.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asks. “Okay then, that saves me a load of trouble. Good luck, man. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hanging up with a sharp tap on the screen. He turns around to Y/N with a grin on his face. “Where were we…”

Y/N giggles as he gathers her into his arms, pulling her in close for a kiss that no one else can see or hear, a kiss just for them. When she pulls back to breath, he peppers his lips all over her face until she’s squirming away—“Harry, that tickles!”

He lands one last kiss on her cheek before his gaze lands on the time display on the oven behind her, which tells him he has ten minutes before he needs to be on the Zoom call for the interview. 

She notices the sudden shift in his demeanour and glances behind her to see what caused it. She turns back around. “I’ll sit with you.”

He nods. “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”

“It’s Harry Styles!” the presenter cries. 

“It’s me! Hello, hello,” he says, waving at the screen. The laptop is set on the coffee table and he’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he grins at the screen. “How are ya?”

“Oh, we’re wonderful,” the presenter replies. “More importantly, how are you? Looks like you had a big night last night, judging by these photos we’re seeing!”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Big night,” he echoes, dragging out the word. 

The presenter laughs. “Sounds like a great time. Well deserved after this masterpiece of an album. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re quite close with somebody there. Would you explain what’s going on here, Harry?”

Harry peers at the photo displayed on his computer screen, even though he knows exactly what it will be. The one they chose is a sweet one, with Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck and kiss that he seems to be melting into. He can’t suppress his smile at that. “Oh, well,” he says. “That’s my friend Y/N.”

The presenter raises his eyebrows at that. “Good friend, is she?”

Harry glances up over the laptop to look at Y/N, sitting on the other couch, her cheeks pink and round from her smile. Harry surreptitiously reaches his arm towards her, out of frame, and she leans forward to hold his hand. 

“She is. She’s a lovely girl.” He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we’re very good friends.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

thank you so much for reading! this fic is based on a request from @kissmyaxe140 — i really intended this to be a shorter blurb of a few hundred words, but i’m incapable of brevity. apparently. this grew into a little monster but i rlly had fun writing it!! the title is a lyric from secret life by bleachers.

if you liked this fic, a reblog and/or any kind of feedback would be very much appreciated. my masterlist can be found here and you can send me messages here. have a gorgeous day!

[jaedreaminn]

Office Wars

Pairings: fem!reader x Jaemin

Theme: Fluff, Mild Jealousy, playful arguments, light crack, humour, protective.

Word count:2.2k

Gist: You were always at each others throats at work and everyone knew that and was used to that but maybe there was more than just the arguments on the surface.

"Ms. Y/l/n you're typing too loudly" Na Jaemin said with his infamous smirk plastered on his face.

A collective sigh was heard across the office. Your colleagues were all used to the usual banter that took place between you and Jaemin, easily being able to tune the noise that followed.

You however found it particularly difficult to avoid the banter when Jaemin picked at you for the most ridiculous of things.

"Oh I'm sorry Supervisor Na I didn't realise your hearing aid was on" You replied, the snark to your tone didn't go unnoticed as Jaemin scoffed but you couldn't be bothered to look away from your work.

"I don't need hearing aid to hear your keyboard being murdered, the poor thing has to recieve the brunt of your anger caused by Writer Kim"

You slammed your hands onto your table and angrily spun your swirling chair in the direction in which Na Jaemin sat.

Your anger doubled as you saw him proudly smirking from his position, knowing you just gave into his taunts but you couldn't care enough since he was the one that made the low blow.

"Don't you ever get tired idoling around and causing your co-workers headaches?" You said to the smug looking boy before getting on your feet and waking to the pantry.

Jaemin smiled as he watched you dissapeare behind the wall that separates the office and the pantry.

You made two cups of coffee, calming yourself before you walked out placing one on Jaemins table and carried the other to yours and got back to your work. At this point the office was slightly accustomed to your dynamics but it still baffled them. No one understood how the two of you worked, one minute you were at eachother throats the next second you were on the same team. And they didn't even try to understand, they just went along with it.

Like right now,

"You're going to be late for the briefing if you don't hurry your pretty little fingers up" you mocked, the cheeky grin plastered on your face clearly showed how amused you were by the fact that Na Jaemin had FORGOTTEN to prepare for today's briefing as your teams supervisors in this small publishing company.

The furiously typying man let go of his lip that was trapped between his teeth to grind them together, eyes wavering for a second to glare at you before focusing on his task at hand.

You cheerily walked away, a skip in your step as you reached the meeting room waiting for your supervisor and CEO to enter, happily chattering with your colleague Joy about the small queer owned business the two of you came across on instagram because of this month.

Soon the CEO stepped in and the room fell quite, Jaemin was still not on his seat but a minute later he walked in apologising for the delay.

A rather short and surprisingly sucessful briefing later you walked back to your desk to finish of what little work you had left before you streched, slightly pushing your chair away from your desk.

"Ready to go y/n?" Joy asked coming upto you and you grinned at her, nodding.

"Don't waste time then c'mon" you heard the annoying voice of Na Jaemin say from behind you and then saw the man in question walk past you. You glared holes into his back and Joy chuckled.

You and Joy continued to chater as you made your way to the restaurant your team always eats at, to find that your entire team was already sitting there.

"I ordered what you asked me to" Your colleague Suho said to Joy who thanked him.

You took your seat inbetween Crystal and Yangyang, which also happened to be directly opposite Jaemin.

"I ordered (insert dosh of your choice) for you" Jaemin told you and the two of your stared at eachother for a few seconds and then you smiled at him thanking him.

Everyone let out a breath they didn't know they were holding at that, expecting you to get mad at him for ordering for you without you asking him to.

The wait for the food to arrive was peaceful, except for the few snark remarks you and Jaemin exchanged but it wasn't something that people weren't used to.

Upon the arrival of your food your eyes lit up. Ever since you were a kid you loved to eat, in fact you were the biggest foodie in your family.

You excitedly picked up your chop sticks ready to dig in before a voice interrupted you.

"Your food isn't going anywhere slow down or you'll burn your tongue." Jaemin said nonchalantly and you ignored him poking out your tongue at him and immediately digging in for a big bite.

As soon as the food touched your tongue you're eyes widened at the sharp sensation caused by the heat immediately dropping the serving back onto your plate as you started to pant like a dog because of the heat.

Yangyang who was next to you noticed, placing a hand on your shoulder and picking up your glass of water with his other hand.

"Careful Y/n" he warend rather uselessly after the deed was done, bringing the cup of water to your lips so that you could wash down the heat with the cooling water.

You drank the water, hands reaching out the hold the cup on your own. Once the burning sensation cooled down, you turned to Yangyang offering him a smile while thanking him.

You're attention then turned to Jaemin who sat infront of you glaring at no one in particular, expecting him to be looking smug.

You shrugged at the change in attitude as you continued your mean, this time blowing on your food before you took a bite.

Not even fifteen minutes later you felt a kick on you shin and then looked up to see Jaemin leaving, you sighed rolled your eyes and finished the food on your plate as fast as you could before dashing out back to the office. No you didn't forget to pay, the meals were handeled by the company.

You reached the office only to find Jaemin sitting on his seat pouting angrily as he typed away. You chuckled, deciding to not indulge him as you walked back to your seat and got on with your work and ignored the way Jaemin looked at you even poutier than before.

Ignoring him was a bad choice since after that he got even more annoying, dropping more files on your desk for you to deal with, making random comments about your corrections, complaining about anything and everything and you just ignored the fussy manchild with an eye roll.

"Y/n we have to go for the mandatory company diner now." Joy said to you and you looked out the window at the end of the office to see the sky becoming a dark orange hue, it was late evening.

"I still have so much to do" you whined, letting your head fall onto your desk with a thud and Joy winced, not knowing what to say.

"Stop whining y/n and just come back and get it done. I have work to do to so I can walk with you back to the office after dinner." Jaemin said walking upto your desk.

You lifted your head sligtly to look at the tall male who was looking at you, waiting for a reply to his question and you sighed head falling between your arms again.

"We have to leave now we don't have forever y/n make a choice" Jaemin said impatiently tapping his foot on the floor.

"Okay let's go!" You said suddenly jumping up and marching towards the exit. Jaemin chuckled and Joy looked at you as if you had grown two heads but then the two of them immediately followed behind you.

The company diner was uneventful. Mr. Choi on of your clients was making what he though to be flirtatious eyes at you again but you only saw it as creepy. But you were still able to enjoy you meal, sitting between Jaemin and Joy, happily chattering away.

After everyone was done eating you knew you couldn't stay to chat and you lifted you phone off the table checking the time and signalling Jaemin who nodded and the two of you bid your goodbyes.

"I can walk you if you want y/n-shi" a rosy cheek and very drunk Mr.Choi said and you gagged.

"It's Ms.y/l/n to you Mr.Choi and there's no need I'm walking her there, making sure our employee feels safe by making sure you're not around them." Jaemin said, eyes glaring daggers and the now offended drunk man.

"You" Mr.Choi yelled pointing his finger and an unimpressed Jaemin "How dare you talk to me like that! Don't you know how important I am to this company" the angry drunk man yelled.

"Mr Choil please stay professional because it isn't that hard to find good writers, especially on to replace you." Your CEO spoke up and you had to hold back a chuckle at Mr.Chois flustered face as his mouth opened and closed not able to form any words.

"If that all we'll be taking out leave." Jaemin said grabbing onto you hand and bowing at your CEO who nodded and quickly dragged you away. You quickly bowed in respects to you CEO too before you were dragged away by Jaemin.

"I felt like punching him" Jaemin said on your walk to the office, hand still holding yours.

"Me too" you chuckled at the fuming male as you walked the rest of the way in silence, hand in hand.

You immediately rushed to you desk upon reaching your office and started typing away and Jaemin lazily strolled to his seat, doing whatever he had to do.

Half an hour later and all you had to do was send out two mails and save the document you were working on, so you let yourself relax alittle slumping back onto your chair. You peaked at what jaemin was doing and smiled. "That's a good score, must have been alot of WORK" you teased and Jaemin looked embarrassed at getting caught.

"I-i was bored okay" he said avoiding your gaze and you smiled.

"Okay"

You crossed one leg over the other, leaning over your desk to send the last two e-mails and save the document you were busy correcting.

Just as you finished with your work and sat up straight Jaemin spoke "You know when a person sits with crossed legs and their legs are pointing towards you that means they like you" he said pointing at your position and you looked down to see your leg was indeed pointing at him.

"That means you like me y/n." Jaemin said cheekily wiggling his eyebrows.

And you looked at him eyes screwed as if you were judging his entire existence, which you were "Jaemin" he hummed in reply still grining, "We're engaged it would be really weird if I didn't like you" You said and Jaemins grin grew even wider and you sighed chuckling at your happy fiance.

"Yea it would be weird" he said sliding his chair towards you, crashing into you slightly and you steadied him.

"Ahh your so cute my y/n" he said pulling you into his arms and plukering his his lips trying to kiss you but you leaned away from him just to annoy him.

"Don't avoid my kisses" he huffed pouting as he tried again but you teased him again avoiding him.

"Yah! You brat give me a kiss!" he yelled and you chuckled turning you head to give him a small peck on his nose but he had other plans immediately moving his face and his lips met yours in a sweet kiss in which you felt yourself melting into. Kissing Jaemin was always calming and he always tasted sweet even thought he drank that disgustingly bitter coffee.

You slowly felt his hands snake behind your head pulling you closer lips moving in sync as he deepend the kiss, your breaths mingled as both of you felt lightweight. You got lost in eachother for a second before you slowly pulled away resting your forehead against his. He smiled at you eyes sparkling in the dim lit room.

"If someone walked in on us right now they'd have a heart attack" Jaemin joked and you chuckled. It was an unspoken rule between the two of you to keep your relationship a secret in the office and you did that by bickering. "We should tell them now though shouldn't we?" You asked and Jaemin pecked you cheek sitting up staright, "Yea and hand them the wedding invites" and you grinned, heat rushing to your cheeks, you never got used to the fact that you were to get married to Na Jaemin, your soulmate.

Needless to say when the two of you told everyone at the office the next day you were pretty sure some of them were this close to having a heart attack. But most of them Congratulated you as you stood hand in hand with Jaemin, grinning like an idiot.