#The cases are really flaring up where I live

[jeahreading]

shi-

[chxrryhansen]

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍

Pairing; Dark!Rafe Cameron x Innocent!Reader

Warnings; CNC!!!! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. smut, extremely dark themes, unprotected sex, public sex, choking, drugging? (rafe manipulates reader into snorting a line) degrading terms (slut, whore) loss of virginity, tiny bit of blood, breeding kink, size difference, daddy kink, dumbification, dacryphillia, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Based on x.

authors note; i really thought about never finishing this because i just haven’t had the motivation or wanted to write in quite a while. but i’ve been neglecting you guys! so i tried my best to finish it, however i literally hate this fic so much so please don’t come at me bc i know its shit😛 its around like 1.3k words so… take it or leave it ig.

“Hey, so uh, you come here often?” The boy says, rubbing his nose with his right finger while motioning with his beer filled hand to the party further down the beach.

Your friend had dragged you to one of the weekend bonfires at the beach, kooks only of course. Which is exactly what you were, a sheltered, spoilt, kook. Right down to the core.

Your family had given you everything you ever wanted growing up, paying for homeschooling from the best private tutor on the island, buying you whatever the new pair of heels on the market was, but that never deterred your sweet heart.

You weren’t a prude and even though you were, you didn’t act spoilt, you appreciated everything your family did for you. You didn’t have many friends considering the private life you lived. Your best friend was your neighbour, both of you having grown up together, your father and hers both being in the same business really tied the strings in your friendship.

She was quite the opposite of you, partying every weekend, hanging out with boys and drinking to the point she was incapable of walking. Long story short, she had begged you to come, a promise of a sleepover and movie night afterwards.

Except that wasn’t the case. Within 15 minutes she had found a new man to latch onto, leaving you sitting by yourself on a wooden log infront of a small campfire someone must’ve ditched.

You looked up, a tall muscular boy with a backwards cap staring down at you, his pretty blues lighting up in the reflection of the fire. You didn’t answer him, being too caught up in the flare of his strong presence. His aura was engulfing, your body instantly being drawn to him.

You didn’t know it of course, but Rafe did.

One look at your pretty face and the sweet scent of your purity and he just knew he had to have it. A smirk appeared on the boys face as he took a seat on the log next to you, his eyes never leaving your own.

“Gonna’ answer me, sweetheart?”

“Uhm, n-no not really, it’s my first. My friends around here somewhere… not sure where she went.” You murmured.

Rafes smirk widened, how blessed he was to have stumbled upon a sweet, innocent, little bunny like you.

“S’okay. I can keep you company. Name’s Rafe.”

The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white baggie filled with a powdery substance. Noticing your stare he asks “You want some?”

“What is that stuff?” you mumble, knitting your eyebrows together in confusion.

“This shits the good stuff, s’ like powdered sugar. Gets you feelin’ real good, one line of this and you’ll feel on top of the world, sweetheart.” he smirks moving closer to the point your knees touch, yet his eyes still don’t leave your own.

“C’mere, lay back a little.” and do you do.

Without question.

Which of course stirs Rafe’s dominant instinct, he just cant stop thinking about shoving you onto your knees and fucking your throat til you choke on his fat cock.

But he’ll save that for later.

Rafe proceeds to pour a little powder onto your chest, sitting perfectly above your perky tits. He then reaches into his pocket and picks out a bank card, then using it to create a smooth line on your chest.

He moves in. Snorting the line right off your tits. A tingly feeling appeared in between your thighs. The sensation of his hot breath on your chest making your own increase.

He leans back and looks towards the sky, his curtains framing his face as he does so, lifting a finger and closing a nostril he sniffs deeply, sighing in relief afterwards. “See, easy as that. Your turn, beautiful.”

“M’kay” you shrug.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Rafe shifts on the log, lying down on his back and spreading his lets wide. He repeats the process on his abs, pouring the coke, creating the line and then ushering you forwards.

“Remember. All you gotta’ do is cover one of your nostrils, and use the other to sniff it right up. You got that?”

“Mhm” You nod excitedly.

“Ah ah ah. Use your words.”

“Yes Rafe. I got it.” You whisper, your pretty doe eyes staring up at him.

“Good girl.” He groans as you begin to snort the coke from his abs. His cock is painfully hard which obviously you didn’t notice, his pre cum leaking from his swollen tip, desperate to have your soppy cunt wrapped around it.

Within 5 minutes the drugs had hit you.

Your head was spinning and your control of your own body wavy, your movements restricted.

“I-i feel kinda fuzzy. Don’t like it…think i’m gonna’ go home now.” Rafe debates begging you to stay, but a better plan crosses his mind.

An eery smirk appears across his handsome features. “How about i walk you, s’ not safe for a pretty girl like you to be out in the dark all by yourself.”

The second you’re out of sight from the beach a hand wraps around your mouth, Rafe’s body pressing your own against a tall tree, blocking any escape. Your eyes go wide in fear, tears beginning to well up as you attempt to scream.

Your tears should make him irritated, angry even. But it doesn’t. It only turns him on more. His dick growing harder by the second.

“Shut the fuck up or i-i swear to god i’ll slit your throat. Can’t believe you kept this innocent act up. I can practically smell how soaked you are you fuckin’ slut.”

Before you can even think of screaming you’re cut off by your own wail as Rafe’s cock disappears between your folds. He bottoms out in one harsh thrust, your legs become slack as he grips your hips, holding you upright on his length.

“So fuckin’ tight. Gonna’ fuck you so good you’ll forget your own god damn name.” He growls.

The sound of clapping skin begins to echo, the skin of your ass turning raw due to his brutal thrusts. The tears don’t stop, only beginning to mix with the drool and sweat leaking down your face. Your wails and whimpers turn to moans as your cunt soaks his length.

Rafe knew you were perfect, that’s why he picked you. But this just proved him right.

“Fuckkk. You like that? Who knew you’d be such a dirty whore f’ me.” He chuckles, throwing his head back in ecstasy, yet his thrusts don’t slow. His pace almost animalistic.

The sensation of your pussy clenching tells Rafe what he wanted to know.

Rafe lets out a loud groan. “Jesus. You’re gonna’ fuckin’ cum aren’t you? Getting off on your rapists cock. Ask me. Ask daddy if you can cum.”

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Please can i cum daddy? I need it s-so bad.” You whine, shifting your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his shaft, your back still pinned against the tree.

“Cum. Cum for daddy. Holy shitttt, pussys grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice.”

Your cream coats his cock as you scream, biting your lip harshly to try and muffle your pleasure.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if the whole beach heard that from here you dumb slut.” He groans, lifting a hand to fist your hair, tugging harshly.

His thick cock continues to pummel your insides, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

As Rafe looks down he notices a glint of red at the base of his shaft. The sight of your cream and blood alone brings him closer to the edge.

“Gonna’ cum in this pretty cunt, can’t wait to fill you up, baby. Daddy’s gonna’ cum.”

His release is met with a loud growl, his balls throbbing as his load fills you, thick ropes of his hot cum shoot into your pussy.

“That’s ittttt. fuck. Taking my cum like such a good girl.”

Rafe is slow to pull out, inching you off his cock as he pants trying to catch his breath. His hold however never leaves you, ensuring you don’t fall due to the brutal fucking you just received.

His attention is grabbed at the sound of your sobs, his thumb swiping over your cheek and collecting your tears. His pretty blues stare into your own, almost waiting for you to run.

But you don’t.

“Shh Shh Shh. No more tears. Daddy’s gonna’ take care of you from now on.”

[benevolentbones]

newcomer | spencer reid x fem!reader part 2

part 1

warnings: swearing, v mild dirty thoughts

word count: 1.3k

summary: your dad calls you on your day off

a/n: thank you so so much for all the support on my last few works, it means the world!! i love reading through all the comments! please if you have a fic request please let me know!!

it had been a few days since you dropped in to visit your dad at the bau, but your mind kept wandering back to the hazel eyed man you met.

you found his awkwardness quite adorable, and the way his face flushed when you spoke to him, made you smile.

you had heard a lot about the team over the years, so it was nice to put faces to names after your father had returned home that evening.

today was your day off, and you didn’t really have many plans, maybe you’d go and grab a coffee or take a walk around the park, who knows.

you stretched back against the plush sofa in your living room, flicking through the channels on your tv.

your phone began to chime, blasting out your ringtone. you picked it up on third ring, bringing it to your ear.

“hello?”

“y/n, are you at home?” your father questioned.

“yeah dad- i’m just watching tv at the moment, what’s up?” you sat up, scooting to the edge of the couch.

“can you do me a huge favour?”

you hummed in response “what is it?”

“in my home office, i left the latest case files- would you come to the bureau and drop them off?”

you chewed your bottom lip. on one hand, you didn’t really want to drive thirty minutes to and from your dads work, just to be there for less than five minutes. on the other, those five minutes could be spent talking or spencer reid.

“i’ll be there soon, dad.” you replied, hanging up the phone.

~

you practically raced to the bureau, cutting the usual thirty plus minute drive down to twenty three. a new record.

you clutched the case files to your side, making your way inside the building and making a b line for the bullpen.

morgan, garcia and reid were all sat around spencer’s desk, the younger man rambling on about the book he had just finished reading, which was a recommendation from penelope.

“honestly the plot could have been better- and i didn’t really like the-“ spencer was interrupted with a dig from morgan, whos eyes were glued to the elevator doors of the bullpen.

“why’d you do that ow.” spencer complained, rubbing the aching spot on his forearm. he turned his gaze to where both morgan and garcia were looking.

and there you stood. you had just stepped out of the elevator, you weren’t in the same office attire you had adorned the last time you visited the bau.

you were wearing a tight pair of black jeans that flared slightly at the leg, with a striped button down fitted shirt which rode up slightly, showing off part of your midriff.

“damn little gideon is mad fine.” morgan mumbled earning a quizzical look from spencer.

“little gideon- ew is that what you’re calling her?” penelope’s face contorted into one of disgust.

“i mean, you aren’t wrong..” she added, the blonde woman was practically undressing you with her eyes.

“guys come on- that’s a bit much don’t you think?” spencer mumbled, though his eyes did not once leave your form as you walked across the room towards gideon’s office.

“you’re just saying that because you like her, ain’t that right lover boy?” morgan cracked a smile, smacking spencer on the shoulder.

“shut up man..”

“do you really think gideon would want you dating his daughter?” derek mused.

“i mean anything is better than you..” spencer mumbled jokingly.

you reached your fathers office, balancing the files in one arm while using the other to knock against the oakwood door.

“come in.”

you pushed the door open, to reveal gideon leaning back in his desk chair, case files spread across the table. he had a telephone pressed in between his ear and his shoulder.

“hey dad- i brought the files you needed.” you smiled, shuffling over to his desk and plopping the bundle of papers onto his cluttered work space.

“thanks hon, you want to wait outside? i’ll be done in a few minutes and we can grab a coffee?”

you nodded, allowing gideon to continue his phone call. you backed out of his office, walking down the steps into the main section of the bullpen.

you scanned the room, your eyes landing on the three agents huddled around spencer’s desk.

you plucked up the courage and began to saunter over to them.

“hey reid look.” penelope whispered just loud enough for spencer to hear, immediately his head shot up, his gaze softening when he realised you were making your way over to him.

“good luck tiger.” morgan grinned, both he and garcia leaving the premises upon your arrival, after giving you a small smile.

“hey dr. reid right?” you mumbled once you reached his desk.

his eyes met yours, through his wire-framed glasses, and he nodded.

“yeah- you can call me spencer though- you’re y/n? gideon’s daughter?” he stumbled upon his words, rushing the sentences together.

you hummed in response, perching yourself against the genius’ desk.

“he’s told me a lot about you.”

“all good things i hope-“ spencer began, a slight nervousness to his voice.

this made you chuckle, “yes, all good things, i promise.”

“i hope you don’t mind keeping me company, i’m just waiting for dad to get off of the phone.” you eyed spencer, watching as he frantically neatened his desk.

“no-no not at all, i’m enjoying your company.” he mumbled out.

from the corner of his eye he could see morgan and garcia watching their interaction from the kitchenette, morgan had a cocky grin plastered onto his face and garcia held her thumbs up supportively.

spencer let out a breathy sigh, slumping down into his desk chair. he pondered for a moment, considering being forward. he didn’t want to come across as too needy or awkward, but if he was being honest with himself that’s exactly what he was.

he watched as you sat on the edge of his desk, happily swinging you legs back and forth, glancing around the bullpen.

fuck it.

“y/n?” spencer began, not being able to stop the crimson staining his cheeks.

“spencer.” you giggled.

“would you, i don’t know maybe like to go for dinner sometime- with..me?” you could sense the anxiety in his voice, the brunette avoiding your gaze as he fumbled with a pen on his desk.

you felt your cheeks heat up, and you reached over to place a hand on spencer’s arm. his eyes flickered up to look at you when he felt your touch.

“i would love to, let me give you my number.” you smiled happily, jumping from the desk.

you took the pen from spencer’s grasp, your fingers brushing against his causing a spark from the contact.

you picked up a pad of sticky notes and began scribbling down your number.

as you were doing so, gideon had left his office and was making his way towards the two of you.

“here, i’m free friday if you are.” you mumbled, passing him the paper and pen back.

“o-okay i’ll call you.” spencer’s eyes were now on gideon who had come to an abrupt stop, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“lets get going, kid.”

you nodded, shooting spencer a smile. “i’ll see you soon, dr. reid.”

and with that you had walked on ahead, gideon bringing his arms into a folded position in front of his chest.

spencer swallowed hard, feeling beads of sweat build up on his forehead.

“you want to take my daughter out?”

“uh yes, yes sir-“

agent gideon pondered for a moment, eyeing the younger man. he had worked with him for a few years, he trusted him to be sensible with you, and out of everyone he was probably the best pick.

“better you than morgan.” gideon shrugged, and with that comment he followed you out the door.

[majimasleftasscheek]

I've been thinking, about how you would make sea creature kazumaji... do you already have headcannons for that or is it something more new?

a lil mix of both 🤔 I originally drew eeljima for MerMay and was gonna leave it at that but I got really attached to the idea of kiryu and his dumb fish boyfriend so I rolled with it kdlsjfddsf. I got a few ideas tho 👀

majima's an eel - nothing specific but I leaned to electric since the rpg games give him electricity as an element. also, knifefish (what a coincidentally convenient name 👀) have spots that remind me of his snake's spots so that fit well with his overall theme plus they're related to eels so even better >:D saejima's also a fishdude, a grouper specifically because they're huge and chonky but also gentle uwu

kiryu's a silly lil fisherman guy, one of them commercial types that goes out on a boat to get big hauls. nishiki's there too being the saddest wettest little beast. other characters make up part of the crew in similar ways the canon families are set up. so like kazama and kashiwagi for example are captains of the crew

I have thought about if they were fish too if I wanted to do a branching AU of this and kiryu could maybe be a thresher shark - because they got that big slappy tail but also their huge beautiful eyes™. OR a betta fish because I think the colors would really compliment his heat colors. nishiki can be a koi because of course

kiryu and nishiki live in a lil shack on the shore. nishiki hates it but kiryu likes the simplicity and being close to work. nishiki would move closer to the city but frankly all the haircare product he buys is so obscene that he can't afford a place on his own ✌

majima and saejima (+ yasuko) live in some nearby kelp forests/coral reefs. merfolk tend to stay away from humans and live further out in the ocean, deeper underwater but these three take advantage of all commercial fishing going on to get some easy food. but being so close to fishing trawlers, this leads to majima getting caught in a discarded net, being trapped and beached where kiryu finds him 👀

merfolk can breath air and go on land but it is as awkward as you can imagine. when majima hangs out with kiryu, kiryu drags him up the beach to enough dry land where the tide isn't a problem. merfolk do have to be moisturized often so majima's either doused with a bucket of water or gets a big ass lathering of lotion. whether or not that'd actually be realistic doesn't matter to me I just think it'd be funny for nishiki to be very suspect of the comical amount of lotion kiryu suddenly starts buying

majima's fav thing to do with kiryu is have him fry up some fish since he's never had cooked food before and thinks it's the bee's knees. kiryu will often go into town to buy all sorts of things for majima to try or majima will catch some wack fish from who knows where for kiryu to fry up. they pick secluded beaches as not to be disturbed but kiryu is ready to fling majima into the ocean at a moment's notice just in case

majima has a second set of jaws normally not visible unless he's snacking on a fish. sometimes he pops em out for a smooch and kiryu is wary but willing to try anything 😤 nishiki is often very worried about the numerous weird bite marks kiryu comes home with but kiryu chalks it up to clumsily falling face first into some coral. you can tell by now I'm very into the trope of person dating a cretur is very bad at keeping it a secret dsklgjk

majima tends to have electrical flare ups when he's feeling emotional so kiryu ends up getting zapped a lot. it's not enough to be dangerous but kiryu has since avoided touching light switches and makes nishiki use them first

rarely kiryu will take majima out on the town in a wheelbarrow covered in a blanket and everyone's like *squint* but eventually gets used to his funny lil friend who seems fascinated by literally everything

there's defo some tigerfish action at a later point once nishiki eventually decides to follow kiryu to one of his little secret beachside escapades to not only find out kiryu's being a weirdo as usual but now with a weirdo fishguy. on the other side, saejima is eventually convinced that there is not a bunch of people on the shore waiting with harpoons and nets and joins majima for one of kiryu's fish fries and finds out hey maybe humans ain't so bad if they can put up with majima for more than five minutes

[captain-hawks]

THE LINE BETWEEN LUST & CONTEMPT

♡ — kento nanami x f!reader

As you glance down at the skimpy, khaki skirt and blue shirt that’s missing far too many buttons on the top end, topped off with a silky, patterned yellow tie and heels that may actually kill you, you find yourself wondering again who in their right mind let Gojo pitch Secret Santa-style costumes for the Halloween party.

18+ ONLY

wc — 5.5k

content — enemies to lovers speed run, protective Nanami, soft dom!Nanami vibes, "fucking it out", gagged with a tie, oral fixation, spit kink, spitting in mouth, fingering, squirting, handjob, choking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, washing machine sex, wall sex, praise kink, Nanami’s big dick

— AKA what if nobody went to Shibuya and everyone went to a Halloween party instead?

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“You’re joking, right?”

There’s a familiar chuckle that rings out over the phone, one that often signifies nothing good is to come when you’re on the receiving end of it. 

“Does everything fit?” Gojo asks coyly, as if he’s incapable of hearing the thinly-veiled threat in your prior question. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You glare at your phone where it’s perched atop your dresser before returning your gaze to the mirror in front of you, readjusting the blue button down shirt once again in an attempt to keep your chest at least modestly covered—it’s a lost cause. 

“Well, this shirt’s somehow missing half the buttons from the top,” you respond dryly, moving on to fix the silky, yellow tie with black spots that’s secured loosely around your neck. 

This is a disaster waiting to happen. 

“And?”

“And my ass is basically hanging out of this skirt,” you continue, roughly tugging the khaki-coloured material down in vain, as if that will persuade it to extend past its otherwise permanent resting place against your very upper thighs.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Kicking at the precariously tall pair of heels sitting on the floor waiting to wreck your feet, you grumble, “I can’t even walk in heels.”

“Shoko’s house is small. You’ll be fine.”

You walk over to your bed, eyeing the gift bag that Gojo had left sitting on your desk at the school earlier this morning. Something still remains neatly placed at the bottom—a lacy, red lingerie set.

“Should I ask why you bought me lingerie, too? I don’t see how that’s part of the costume. Unless Nanami likes wearing thongs on his days off.”

There’s that fucking chuckle again.

“Nanami-kun loves the color red, don’t you know?”

An unwelcome flash of heat flares white-hot in your gut at the implication behind his words, and you’re mortified. “You’re aware we hate each other, right? Have you been living under a rock? He’ll probably turn around and leave as soon as he walks in and sees me wearing this.”

Gojo’s chuckle turns into an outright laugh, and you can practically hear him shoving his stupid blindfold up to wipe away the tears of amusement prickling at the corners of his ridiculously blue eyes.

“Hate? Yeah, sure. Alright.”

Asshole.

You hang up on him. 

–

You had the (dis)pleasure of becoming acquainted with Kento Nanami just over a year ago, shortly after Gojo roped him back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, despite his best efforts to avoid it during his stint as a salaryman. Given that Jujutsu High isn’t exactly brimming with a large roster of full-fledged sorcerers, the two of you have—naturally—been paired up on your fair share of cases.

To say that you don’t work well together is an understatement. 

Nanami’s straightforward and calculated way of operating in the field is a direct contrast to your fast and loose approach, one that relies heavily on acting on your feelings in the heat of the moment, rather than calculating precise, measured ratios that guarantee a critical hit.

You’re too reckless.

Too emotional.

Too spontaneous.

Too sentimental. 

You grate on him much in the way Gojo does, but whereas there are years of friendship that give Nanami the patience to put up with the strongest sorcerer’s antics, he has no reason to extend that same courtesy to you. 

Needless to say, he’d outright balked when Gojo happily announced that you were a grade 1 sorcerer as well, something that never fails to ruffle his feathers as he watches you flirt with dangerous situations time and time again just for the thrill of it, saving your finishing blow of cursed energy for the last possible moment.

“I can’t work with someone who’s actively trying to get themselves killed,” you’d overheard him snapping at Gojo after your second mission together. “She’s worse than you.”

“She always gets the job done, doesn’t she?”

“At the cost of my sanity, I can’t say it’s worth it.”

Admittedly, you may or may not exacerbate the issue on occasion, exaggerating the aforementioned behavior that you know gets on his nerves just to further get a rise out of him in your attempts to try and dislodge the perpetual stick that’s lodged up his ass. 

–

When Shoko opens the door to her apartment later that evening, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out onto her front step, she takes one look at your costume, eyes wide, and laughs, “Oh, Nanami is going to love this.”

You exhale dramatically through your nose, though the exasperated gesture is thrown off by the way you then proceed to shiver, your meager outfit doing little to protect you from the crisp October air. “Tell me again why we didn’t veto Gojo’s Secret Santa Halloween?”

She shrugs, stepping aside to let you in as she offers you a knowing glance. “I seem to remember you saying how fun it would be to surprise each other with costumes.”

“That was before he picked my name,” you lament, glancing down at the outfit that you’ve now begun to refer to as The Slutty Salaryman. 

“Guess I’m lucky you picked me, then,” she winks, waving a hand to show off the far more modest and fun rendition of Principal Yaga that you’d put together for her, complete with a faux cursed corpse seated on her shoulder with large googly eyes glued to its little bear face. “If it makes you feel any better, someone with a sense of humor clearly got Gojo.”

Careful not to trip and fall to your death in the heels as you head through the entryway to the party beyond, which is bustling with a mixture of familiar faces and strangers alike, you scan the room for a tall head of white hair. True to Shoko’s words, you’re not at all disappointed when you catch sight of Gojo dressed as Gakuganji, looking completely ridiculous with fake facial hair, crudely drawn makeup to add decades to his appearance, and loose-fitting pants that are amusingly unflattering on his lean frame. 

It’s not quite revenge, but it’ll do.

–

Two hours pass without a sign of the man you’re dressed as, and for a moment, you’re relieved at the thought that perhaps you’re off the hook. Every little smug, knowing grin Gojo’s been tossing your way will have been for naught. 

But perhaps just to spite you, the front door swings open the moment you take a celebratory swig from the glass of wine in your hands, leaving Shoko to pound on your back while you start choking on the liquid at the goddamn sight standing before you.

Nanami’s dressed as Gojo.

Sort of.

His blonde hair can’t quite disobey the laws of gravity like the other sorcerer’s stark white locks, so it hangs soft and loose over the white blindfold on his face, which is lifted just enough over one eye so he can actually see. Rather than don Gojo’s typical uniform, Nanami’s in an all-black suit (save for the tie he never goes anywhere without), the well-fitting material leaving little to the imagination as it snugly hugs his muscled arms and thick thighs. 

You’re too distracted to respond to the way Shoko’s snickering in your ear, and when Nanami turns around to talk to someone—thus offering you a view of the outfit from behind—you choke again. 

Naturally, you spend the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Nanami for reasons you’re not quite ready to examine, utilizing an excessive amount of mental gymnastics to justify the way you keep dipping out of conversations every time you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. The confusing mixture of feelings you’re experiencing has sent your fight-or-flight response into overdrive. 

Your concerted efforts take a nosedive when a far-too-observant Gojo manages to wrangle the two of you into a conversation before you can find an excuse to be somewhere else. It’s disastrous at best, Nanami offering a blunt, disinterested list of every poor decision he felt that you made when Gojo asks how your joint assignment the other day went. 

And just when you’re about to lay into Nanami about how difficult he made that mission, Shoko grabs you by the hip, resting her head on your shoulder with a smile as she turns to him and asks in a calculating tone, “Nanami-kun, doesn’t her costume look great?” 

He glances at you with a gaze full of disinterest before turning to Gojo with an unimpressed look. “I’d never wear such a cheap tie.”

Nanami walks away to get another drink before you can think of a good comeback, though admittedly, the tie is a terrible knock off.

—

“Shit, sorry!”

Cold beer splashes across your chest and soaks the front of your shirt as a man trips and stumbles in your direction, and you groan in annoyance at the feeling of the sticky liquid dripping down your skin. Despite the fact that you wave him off, heading toward the kitchen in search of paper towels, he follows you, spilling out a string of apologies as he himself scrambles for a pile of napkins. 

It’s an awkward shuffle of you trying to clean your chest off without flashing him and the man getting entirely too close as he awkwardly makes an attempt to dab your shirt dry. To your relief, he doesn’t make it that far, the fingers now wrapped around his wrist halting his arm midair. 

“She’s fine.”

Nanami.

The blindfold is long gone, leaving behind the rare sight of him with no glasses and soft, tousled hair. Internally, you scramble to rustle up the familiar feeling of annoyance that always weighs heavily in your gut at the sight of him. Instead, it’s all you can do to try and keep the hitch in your breath inaudible as you feel your stupid heart trip over itself. 

“I’m just—”

“Do you need his help?” Nanami interrupts the man’s slightly slurred words, directing his steely gaze to you. 

For all of the endless comebacks you can normally conjure up to hurl back at him between one breath and the next, you’re temporarily rendered speechless in confusion as to why he’s helping you. So instead, you just shake your head. 

“She doesn’t need your help,” he repeats, nothing friendly in the way he says it. 

The man apologizes again as he drops your arm and scurries from the kitchen, and you turn away from Nanami, leaning against the counter as you attempt to catch your breath and school your expression into something that doesn’t scream, “Why the fuck was that so hot?”

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, the tinge of concern in his voice sinking into your bones. 

Hand coming up short from the now-empty paper towel roll, you let out a sound of frustration, though it’s moreso due to the infuriating way your body’s been reacting all night to a man you normally can’t even be in the same room with without arguing about something. 

“Like you said, I’m fine,” you tell him sarcastically, spinning around and pushing past him to grab napkins from the table instead. When all else fails, deflect. 

Unfortunately, spinning in heels is arguably one of your worst decisions of the evening, because you instantly lose your balance on the smooth tile floor. When you try to right yourself mid-step, the room tilts as the heel on one shoe cracks under the pressure. Your hands fly up to break your inevitable fall, but it never comes, a pair of arms wrapping firmly around your body and catching you.

Body momentarily on an angle as Nanami holds you against his warm, solid frame, you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression. If he did this in the field, you’d have jumped out of his hold with a snarky remark about not needing his help. 

But right now?

Right now, you don’t know what you want. 

He stares down at you, nonplussed. “You can’t walk in heels,” he observes.

You blink.

“I can’t walk in heels,” you concede, for once not brimming with the fire to argue. 

“And you’re still dripping wet.”

Nanami lifts you back into a standing position, napkins clutched in one hand as he stands on your side with the broken heel and wraps an arm around your waist, helping you to walk. You desperately try to ignore the way it feels to be tucked against him. 

You hate him. 

Right?

He has you facing the short hallway that you know leads to Shoko’s laundry room instead of the living room. “Should I ask where you’re taking me?”

He looks at you, sighing and shaking his head as he walks you toward another door, flicking on the light before he suddenly hoists you up without warning. You yelp at the feeling of something cold touching the backs of your thighs, short skirt and thin tights doing nothing to protect you from the metal surface you’re now sitting on. Glancing down, you realize he’s put you on top of the washer. 

“Here,” he unceremoniously drops the pile of napkins into your lap. “I thought you might want to clean yourself up somewhere more private, given that you seem to be missing most of the buttons on your shirt.”

Is that fucking sarcasm in his voice?

He waves his hand in the direction of the damp blue button down, as if it’s not meant to be an imitation of his trademark outfit. 

“And what are you going to d—”

You’re cut off by your own gasp at the feeling of Nanami’s hand wrapping around your ankle, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the way he’d nearly manhandled the stranger in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, holding up the broken-off heel in his other hand. 

“Can’t have you limping around Shoko’s house the rest of the night, can we? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

You can’t bring yourself to argue, too mesmerized by the way he drags a hand through his blonde hair to push it out of his face, the stubborn locks fighting their way back across his forehead as his brows furrow together in concentration.

You want to card your own hands through it, to see what kind of expression his face will morph into. 

No. 

“I think they’re a lost cause,” you sigh, leaning forward to take them off and admit defeat. You’re sure Shoko has a pair of slippers somewhere. 

You get a face full of Nanami’s hair instead as he beats you to the punch, his long, deft fingers making surprisingly quick work of the tiny buckles as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re now purposely inhaling the scent of his shampoo for whatever fucking reason has compelled your traitorous body to do so. 

This entire night is a write off at this point.

Head elsewhere, you belatedly realize that your legs are spread far too wide for the microscopic length of your skirt, which may be why Nanami’s gaze has remained dutifully trained on your feet, rather than the bright red thong you know is staring him in the face. You try not to make it too obvious as you inch your thighs back together. 

Putting your shoes on top of the dryer, Nanami goes to leave, turning his head to the side once he’s facing the door, “Do you want me to get Shoko?”

You should say yes. 

You should say yes and watch him go back out to the party, letting the door swing shut on this strange, baffling detour in your contemptuous, stormy relationship. 

You’ll go home and sleep off the tightening of your throat and the pressure in your chest, these hazy, confusing feelings sure to fade in the night, long gone after sunrise like the evaporation of morning dew.

But you’ve never been one to make things easy for yourself.   

“So that’s it?”

Nanami turns around fully, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“You’re just going to go back out to the party?” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him.

He takes two slow steps back toward you, hip brushing against your knee when he comes to a stop. “Are you incapable of getting off of the washer without hurting yourself, too?”

There’s an unfamiliar, teasing lilt to the way he says it, and you shift in place, blood prickling hot beneath your skin. What’s wrong with you tonight?

“You really have nothing to say about my costume?” The words are out of your mouth faster than you can take back the idle thought that’s been nagging you since he walked in the door. 

Since you caught him looking at you from across the room several times after his initial biting remark about the tie, his expression unreadable. 

Nanami scoffs quietly, the scent of his cologne licking its way up your nostrils as he leans one hand atop the washer, just beside your thigh. Veins bulge against his forearm, and you find yourself wondering when he rolled his sleeves up. 

Electricity shoots down your spine as a caress of hot breath tickles the shell of your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

You stare straight ahead, not turning to face him. “How much you hate it.” 

The air in the small room is thick with the tension that hangs heavily in the scant space between your bodies. Nanami’s quiet for a moment. 

“I do hate it.”

Why do you feel so disappointed by the response you knew you’d get?

Then, his dress shoes scuff against the floor, his right hand coming to rest on your other side as he slides over and cages you in entirely. 

“I hate how badly it makes me want to fuck you,” he breathes out. 

Suddenly, you feel far too hot and dizzy to be perched atop Shoko’s washer. “What?”

He chuckles darkly. “Don’t act stupid, princess.”

The air feels like it’s rattling in your chest as you inhale, your increased intake of oxygen doing nothing to clear your clouded brain. “You hate me,” you say dumbly.

His thumb twitches, brushing against the outside of your thigh where there’s a small run in your sheer stockings. The contact is so minimal, you barely feel it, but it leaves a burning hot brand echoing through your nervous system all the same.

Despite the fact that he has you caged atop the washing machine, he’s barely touching you, his body arched just enough to avoid the idle sway of your legs. His tie dangles in the space between your bodies, and you have to fight the urge to wrap your fingers around it and tug.

Nanami stares at you, an odd expression on his face. “I hate the way you make me feel,” he corrects you. 

Oh.

“But you—”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well—”

“You’re too fucking smart to be risking your life in jujutsu sorcery.”

“You’re one to tal—”

“Too talented—”

“Well that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever—”

“—you have no regard for your own life in the field.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You infuriate me to no end—”

“Are you hitting on me or trying to hurt my feelings I really can’t te—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps, chest heaving.

You stare at him, blinking slowly. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I can’t stand it.”

You can hardly hear the sounds of the party anymore.

“Then do something about it.”

Nanami’s lips come crashing into yours, and every flickering ember in your body flares to life. 

There’s a dizzying precision to the way Nanami kisses, mouth claiming yours so thoroughly that a moan crawls its way up your throat before he’s even begun to skirt the seam of your lips with his tongue. Your lips part for him, and he deepens the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head as his tongue slides over yours. 

He explores your mouth like he wants to devour you, and you let him, already dangerously addicted to the taste of his saliva mixing with your own, keening when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. 

His hand drifts from your thigh to your shirt, and he grunts as he feels the still-damp material. Without hesitation, you begin to undo the few buttons Gojo hadn’t torn off before giving it to you, overcome with the need to feel the pressure of Nanami’s large, callused hands against your bare skin. He slips the loose tie over your head as you toss the soiled shirt aside, a groan escaping his mouth when he finally takes in the unhindered sight of your bright red bra.

While the straps are lace, the cups are thin and sheer, leaving your peaked nipples on display. You almost hadn’t worn it after realizing how little it left to the imagination.

But now, seeing the way Nanami’s jaw ticks as he stares down at you, fingers twitching where they’re resting against the tops of your thighs, you don’t regret it one bit. 

Your breasts feel heavy and tender under his rapt attention, and the coil nestled in your gut tightens. 

Nanami looks like he’s holding himself back, and you feel a surge of arousal drip between your legs as you watch him teeter at the knife’s edge of his restraint. 

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” you tell him, overcome with the need to feel exactly what it is that he wants to do to you.  

He cradles the side of your face, fingers curling behind your ear as he slots his mouth against yours. The kiss is thorough but brief, and soon he’s dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw, mouth blazing a trail down the side of your neck, tongue exploring the dip of your collarbone.

While you know where he’s headed, your entire body still arches hard into him when he finally cups your breasts with both hands, leaning in to wetly mouth at one of them through the material of your bra. He licks and sucks, the sensation making you tremble, and you throw your head back and moan, one leg hooking around his waist to pull him in as you scoot closer to the edge of the washer. 

You’re about to take off your bra, but Nanami beats you to the punch, fingers easily flicking open the hooks and allowing your supple breasts to spill out before him. He dives back in, groaning as his lips close around your bare nipple, tongue dancing along the sensitive skin that surrounds the hard bud. His mouth is hot, and slick saliva coats your breasts as he goes back and forth between the two, kneading and sucking. 

With both of your legs now wrapped around his waist in the haze of your arousal, you inadvertently begin to rock into him, your short skirt hiked up around your hips and rendered useless. You moan at the feeling of the sizeable shaft that presses hard into the heat between your legs, his erection straining against the zipper of his slacks. Nanami groans as you start shamelessly dry humping him, and your panties dampen further at the feeling of the sound vibrating against your tits. He gazes one of your nipples with his teeth, teasing it a final time before he straightens, hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

Nanami stares at you intently, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, eyes tracking the way your pupils dilate in turn. He does it again, and your tongue darts out, grazing the tip. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he presses the tip of his thumb just past the entrance of your lips, eyes darkening as he watches how easily you welcome the intrusion. He drags his thumb down the side of your chin, pulling down your lower lip with his pointer finger, and your lips part.

A small, eager thrum flares in your gut as you take his finger into your mouth, tongue wrapping around it as you coat it with saliva. Your panties are slick with arousal as you continue to chase the friction of his cock, moaning when he puts another finger in your mouth. You begin to bob your head on the digits, sucking on them so eagerly that you can’t bring yourself to care about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, wiping off the stray saliva with his other thumb and licking his finger clean. 

He’s said the same thing time and time again before, but it’s far more preferable in this context. 

You whimper in relief when he finally slides that hand down your body, bringing it to rest at the apex of your thighs. The sound is muffled by the fingers still shoved in your mouth, and a sound of amusement rumbles in his chest as he watches you desperately keen and writhe for him. 

He drags a finger down the length of your wet pussy, though the contact is muted by your stockings. You begin to shift your hips, a plea for him to tear them off of you, but his impatience wins out as he outright tears them open to gain access to the plush, dripping warmth of your cunt. 

“More red,” he murmurs in approval, running his fingers over the matching sheer material that covers your mound, one digit sliding up to firmly tug at the thick, lace waistband that sits high against your hip bones.

“You like red?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

But he surprises you, still. “I like you in red.”

Nanami uses his thumb to push your thong aside, steadily dragging his finger down your soaking wet slit now exposed to him. The digit slides right through your sensitive folds, and he smirks before sliding one long digit knuckle-deep into your tight hole. 

You gasp, toes curling as you buck into his touch, already greedy for more. Greedy to be filled. 

“More,” you pant out as he slowly pumps the finger in and out of your cunt.

“Open for me,” he tells you, voice low and rough.

You don’t hesitate, lips falling open, and your body radiates with tremors of pleasure as Nanami spits directly into your mouth. Swallowing it down, you moan, drunk on the feeling of submission as he slides in another digit and continues fucking you on his fingers.

“Good girl,” he breathes out heavily. “So pretty like this.”

You shudder under the weight of his praise, something unlocking inside of you as you begin to realize maybe you’ve wanted this from him all along. Needed this from him all along. 

“Fuck me, Nanami. Please.”

“Kento,” he corrects you, hair tickling your neck as he leans in, licking and sucking at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Fuck me,” you moan, loosening his tie as your fingers trail their way down opening each button of his shirt. “Kento.”

He bites down hard at the sound of his first name on your lips, his gravelly voice like fire against your skin, “Come for me first.”

He picks up his pace, fingers squelching lewdly in your cunt. Your mouth falls open as you try to temper down the loud moans of pleasure you want to give him, aware that all that separates you from the partygoers is the closed door a few feet away. 

Kento roughly spits into your mouth again at the same moment that he brings his free hand between your legs to tease your clit, the fingers buried inside of you curling as he strokes your sensitive, spongey wall. A choked out sob leaves you when you come, and he swallows it down with a messy kiss, meeting your muffled cries of pleasure with his own rough moan as he feels you squirt all over him, clear liquid spraying his shirt and pants.

“Fuck,” he groans, the wavering loss of his composure now evident in his voice as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm on his hand. 

Overcome with the desire to feel the large erection tented painfully at the front of his pants, your fingers fumble with the button and zipper, a sigh of pleasure leaving you when you finally wrap your hands around his long, thick cock. Kento kisses you filthily, moaning into your mouth as you begin pumping his cock, thumb sliding over the precum dripping from the head. 

His large hands grasp your thighs, pulling you as close to the edge of the washer as possible. Kento wraps his own hand around his dick, firmly dragging the head down your creamy slit. You rock forward, chest heaving, muscles clenched tight with desire and need, only to be met with a sharp burst of pleasure as he slaps his cock heavily against your pussy. You whimper for him.

Placing a finger over your lips, which have been far from quiet throughout this ordeal, Kento goes to grab the tie left discarded beside you. However, after his fingers close around the material, he raises a brow and shakes his head, letting it drop to the floor as he begins to loosen his own tie instead.

You make no effort to hide the shameless need on your face as he smirks at you, shaking his head before wrapping the tie around your mouth and gagging you with it. 

“I like seeing you desperate,” he murmurs against your ear, before finally sheathing his thick cock inside of you.

His dick is so big, your tight pussy throbs from the stretch while he splits you open, flooding your body with an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Suit jacket already discarded somewhere along the way, your fingers tug off his unbuttoned dress shirt, leaving your hands free to explore the firm expanse of his abdomen.

The washing machine begins to shake loudly with each thrust, and Kento grunts, arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts you, choosing to fuck you up against the wall instead. The continuous push and drag of his fat cock through your slick channel leaves your mind begging for more.

Your lewd moans are quiet and muffled against the gag, but he can still hear it when you beg, “Harder.”

He obliges, the shelf leaning against the wall beside you trembling ever so slightly when he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your cunt. His cock relentless plunges in to the hilt, your pussy greedily taking every long, thick inch as he fucks you deep. One of his hands runs down the side of your neck, and you find yourself leaning into the pressure, whimpering against the wet material blocking your mouth.

“Should have known you’d like this,” he rasps, hand sliding to the front of your throat as he tightens his grip and starts to choke you. “Now come on my cock.”

The pleasure that erupts inside of you swipes every remaining bit of air from your lungs, a choked out sob crawling its way up your throat as you tremble and shake in Kento’s steady grip, cunt squelching wetly around his dick. 

He looks down between your bodies, the sight of the creamy ring you’ve left around the base of his shaft drawing a rough, aroused noise of appreciation from him. 

Kento goes to pull out, but you shake your head, a small whine slipping past the tie, and he groans heavily, forehead falling against yours as he slams his cock back in to the hilt. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, too, shaft pulsing and throbbing within the tight grip of your slick cunt as he dumps rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

When you’re finished, Kento sets you down carefully, his fingers tender as he undoes the gag and leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, tongue swiping along your lower lip.

“Are you alright?” He asks, thumb stroking your neck.

You don’t answer him for a beat, and his mouth curls downward in concern, meeting your gaze only to find the deceivingly innocent pout of your lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” you say. 

You should be exhausted from how thoroughly he just fucked you, but instead, you’re already thinking about feeling the thick stretch of his cock inside of you again, and your cunt flutters and aches with a need that’s yet to be sated.

Kento laughs, the sound deep and rich, and you think you could get used to hearing it.

He pulls up your underwear, along with your now-ruined tights, lowering himself down on one knee before you as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt while his thick, sticky cum begins to soak into your panties. You exhale shakily, already far too close to undone just from the sight before you alone, and he smirks, standing back up.

Kento takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing your bottom lip. “We’re not done, we’re just going to go somewhere where I don’t need to cover your pretty lips next time.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[theaceace]

I know that canonically (show-wise, at least) St Hilarion's worked to cover up Charles' death, and nothing was ever really done about the disappearance of Edwin and the other boys, but even so, do you think the school has a reputation for being haunted??

I'm imagining Niko following various ghost-hunter groups online, especially when the agency doesn't have many cases going on, and occasionally the boys will mirror hop over to an interesting-sounding location, and they'll even get a real case as a result

So when she tells them that one of the teams is planning to investigate St Hilarion's (either it's been closed for a while or they have special permission to go during the summer holidays), Edwin and Charles steel themselves and decide to go, in case there are other ghosts there that need help ('can't imagine a worse place to be trapped for the rest of my afterlife' says Charles, who has been to literal hell. Edwin, who spent 70 years in literal hell, agrees)

So they go, with Niko and Crystal as moral/emotional support, except when they get there they realise they've fucked up and are there on the same day/night as the ghost hunters. They could come back some other time, but what if there really are ghosts here that are suffering? No one wants to take that chance, so Crystal uses her powers to convince them that she and Niko are there for work experience, or are friends of a friend, or are here to replace one of the tech guys who called in sick

Both Charles and Edwin are tense and uncomfortable returning to the place they died - Edwin had gone there after he escaped Hell because he didn't know where else to go, but they've built themselves a home now with the agency. This isn't like before, when it was the closest place to familiar he could find. Charles, meanwhile, feels colder and colder the longer they're there - his hair is wet, there are bruises flaring and spreading, and a faint rattle in his chest that would have become pneumonia if he'd lived long enough

But they need to be sure there aren't any other lost ghosts stuck here that need their help crossing over, so they keep going

(maybe, as a consequence of a door to hell being opened in the school, there are unusual happenings, maybe there's still a place where the line between earth and hell is very thin, maybe there's some fragment of a demon left behind, and they can do something about it)

Anyway, the most important thing is that Charles, either accidentally or in a fit of pique at the whole situation, knocks something over just as one of the paranormal investigators is asking for spirits to make their presence known. In fact, this happens repeatedly - the boys move things, change things around, their presence is detected somehow with the equipment. Crystal and Niko are doing their best to distract the team and ruin as much of the footage as possible, and at least once the boys do something on purpose, maybe because someone is being a creep to the girls (and yes, they both know that Crystal and Niko are more than capable of taking care of themselves, but this way scares the asshole more and is also funnier), and then also to fuck with their readings

Anyway, it's coming to the end of the night, the problem has been identified, and whaddaya knows, of course it's in the attic where they both died. This is fine, why wouldn't it be fine. They get started, draw some (invisible, ghostly) runes and start working their magic when, of course, the paranormal investigators turn up, because this is thought to be the most 'active' area of the school, and the body of a schoolboy was found here in the 80s

Yeah, they try to contact 'any of the boys who disappeared in 1916' and Charles. It would be fine if they weren't so irritatingly loud, Edwin's trying to concentrate, and Charles is now shivering and dripping wet, but they managed to ignore the team right up until they start speculating that Charles was killed by one of the angry spirits from 1916

At which point, Charles - half visible, clearly enraged, looking very much like the half-drowned and frozen kid he was, like a proper ghost - tells them to fuck off already before they get hurt, they don't understand anything, and how dare they give a shit now when it's too late

Which is, of course, the exact moment Edwin finishes the spell, and causes some sort of a magical rebound that fritzes the cameras for a second, throws furniture around, and knocks them all flying. When the cameras start up again, they catch Edwin kneeling by Charles, holding his hand, and softly telling him that it's ok, it's over, they can go now. Charles sniffs and smiles and knocks their foreheads together and says yeah, let's get out of here, and together they fade from view

The investigators think this means gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day that now that the truth of their story is known the ghosts have moved on, and it's all thanks to them! How beautiful, how wonderful, how affirming! Perhaps one of the boys from 1916 tried to help Charles, and when that didn't work, they both stayed to try and protect other people from these violent spirits, and now their unfinished business is finished! It's so tragic and touching story

Charles and Edwin, who are putting their tools back in the backpack, roll their eyes and smile at each other

On the way out, Charles swipes the memory cards from the cameras, Edwin inscribes a couple of sneaky runes on various pieces of equipment to fuck with it, and Crystal uses her powers to make sure they all remember a couple of details differently, so later they won't be able to agree on a bunch of stuff

The episode they were trying to make can't be released, their social media posts about the experience are full of details that don't match up, and fans are bitterly disappointed

Crystal and Niko watch the footage Charles stole with Jenny and the Night Nurse back at the agency. Jenny turns it into a drinking game. Charles does a dramatic reading of the posts with added commentary while Edwin pretends he's not laughing. They buy t-shirts of the paranormal investigators and wear them ironically. They leave anonymous comments

Just. The dead boy detectives having to work around ghost hunters, in a world where ghosts definitely, tangibly exist

[icallhimjoey]

Lost & Found

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader     Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase.     CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though!     Author’s note: I asked for requests and then used 0 of them – sorry – this is one of those things that started in a whatsapp chat and started living its own life fairly quickly. Wasn't meant to become a five-parter but, big sigh, here we are... I hope you enjoy this first part!    Wordcount: 3.4K  

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Of course. Of fucking course.  

Something always had to go fucking wrong, didn’t it? Couldn’t just be smooth fucking sailing for once, could it?    

Jesus fucking Christ.  

Joe massaged his temples as he let his breath escape through flared nostrils.   

Typical.  

He’s just flung his suitcase onto the bed, ready to charge what needed charging and to change what needed changing. The heavy bounce of it should’ve told him something was off.  

That wasn’t his. 

It wasn't his suitcase that he'd just flung onto his hotel bed.   

It looked enough like it, but his three-digit code didn't unlock it, and upon closer inspection, this one had a lot of marks on it that suggested it had been used a lot more and for a lot longer.    

Not his suitcase.  

Same brand. Same colour. Same model. Not his.  

He'd taken the wrong suitcase. Like the day hadn't been long enough already.  

The warm breeze had felt glorious when he'd stepped off the plane, the temperature balmy enough to really make him feel the difference when walked down the stairs onto the tarmac. The sun had been out, and he'd felt how it immediately relaxed his shoulders. It was exactly what he needed, why he even booked the trip in the first place, he thought, slipping his sunglasses down from the top of his head onto his nose.  

Sun. Warmth from up above that clung in the air that surrounded him.  

Was nice.

Lovely.

He'd gotten what he'd thought was his suitcase from the conveyer belt no problem, finding it quickly. Then it only took a minute to wait for a taxi that took him to his hotel. He'd booked a room in the kind of place you didn't need to leave at all if you didn't really want to – nice hotel restaurant downstairs, nice hotel rooftop bar upstairs, big pool surrounded by sun loungers outside and a view of the beach just behind it. Not quite a resort, but, kind of a resort, if you asked his mum. 

It was exactly what he'd needed. A few days away from the hustle and bustle of daily-life-sludge Joe felt he'd had a hard time wading through. Just a quick break to get his sun-starved skin some much needed vitamin D. Make the freckles that hid underneath his skin show up. It was the time of year when temperatures dropped fairly quickly once the sun went down, but the days were gorgeous still. The type of hot where you could sit in direct sunlight in the middle of the day without feeling like you were melting but still get tanned all over.  

Joe should've felt lucky, because that was what he'd been announcing to the world a lot lately. "I feel very lucky," over and over until it caught up with him.  

"Quick few days away will sort you out," his mum had told him over the phone, and mother's always knew best, didn't they?

So he'd just gone and booked it. Went, fuck it, this looks nice, I want to go there.

And now he was here.

He had five full days all to himself, travel days not included, in which he’d get to truly switch off a second. Enough time to listen to his favourite podcast for however long he wanted without being interrupted halfway through an episode. Enough time to finally get past page five of this book he’d started reading three times already. Enough time to work through his inbox at a leisurely pace. Have whichever drink whenever.   

Joe was meant to feel all lucky.   

It was just that... he'd just flung a suitcase onto his hotel bed that wasn't his, and... now what? The good bits felt all fucked up, the positive twisted, leaving him with just the negative frustrating shit. 

Trip fucking ruined already, and he'd not even been there two hours. 

All he had on him were his passport, his phone, a pair of wireless headphones that were running low on battery and his bank cards. He'd foregone bringing a backpack as carry-on, checking in his suitcase, and feeling very free as he'd walked through the TSA screening with barely anything on him.   

Now he regretted every single decision he'd made that lead up to this moment.   

Unbeknownst to him, you were just two floors up, in the same hotel, in a room that looked identical, also stood by your hotel bed. Difference was, you'd just opened what you thought was your suitcase, only to be met by a bunch of stuff that wasn't yours.   

You didn't own anything pinstriped. Or, um, Dior.  

You checked the code that you hadn't changed to open it – that wasn't what you'd set it as.   

That wasn't your suitcase.   

“Um, what the fuck?”  

Whoever the suitcase belonged to had shut it but then hadn't run a thumb over the numbered wheels to make sure anyone without the right combination couldn't open it – an idiot, you thought.   

And idiot with... very expensive clothes. Men's clothes.   

For a moment far too long, you just looked at what was in front of you and processed what this meant.

You didn’t have your things.

Your stuff.

No dress to slip into. No bikini to wear underneath.

Shit.

You'd have to phone the airline, let them know you'd taken the wrong suitcase. Yours had probably been brought over to lost and found, the owner of this one probably hoping his would be there too. Except it wasn't. It was a 40-minute taxi ride removed from lost and found, up on the 11th floor of a nice beach hotel. With you.  

Shit.   

You looked down at your own top, the stains from the bottle of coke that had sprayed everywhere upon the first cap-twist still evident.   

Fuck.  

This first evening you'd booked a table downstairs for dinner, and then were planning on having drinks upstairs to really make sure you'd knock yourself out cold until at least 10.30am the next morning.   

You threw an arm up and smelled an armpit.  

Rank.

Yea, no way you were going to do those things in the outfit you currently had on.   

"Hi, I have a question regarding baggage claim? Is there a service agent I can talk to? It appears I have taken the wrong suitcase by accident."  

Joe sighed as he got put on hold for a minute, only to be told later to please return the suitcase to baggage claim. He hoped they'd be able to give him any other information that didn't involve him traveling back there. Also, maybe a little info on whether or not his suitcase had been left behind and was now in lost and found, or if someone else had taken it.   

"Please find the baggage claim customer service desk, and we'll be able to help you locate your luggage from there."   

All right. Fine.   

Was he going to do that tonight? After just getting to the hotel, now hungry and tired and in need of some good food and a good night's sleep?  

No.  

Probably not the nicest thing, since, you know, someone else was likely also trying to track down what he was storing in his hotel room right now, but Joe had a dinner reservation for one he wanted to get to. Had scanned the menu online beforehand and was craving the steak tartare now. It just sucked he was going to have that in the same outfit he'd worn traveling there, as well as the rest of the night and the next morning.   

Deep breaths, Joe. Big gulps of air. Take a step back. Zoom out a little.

In the grand scheme of things... this was just annoying. Not the end of the world.

He'd fetch a spare charger for his phone from the front desk, have his meal, have a nice drink, and do his very best not to think about all the things that frustrated him for the rest of the night.  

But, that was easier said that done.  

Especially when, halfway through dinner, a pretty girl walked in wearing what looked suspiciously similar to one of his shirts.

Nah.   

Couldn't be.  

He was probably just seeing things. Was just looking because she was pretty. Was too tired. Had one drink too many.

Was grumpy about the fact that the only charger the hotel had for him didn't fit the outlets here, and they didn't have a plug adapter for him to make it work.   

Was more grumpy about the fact that you'd sat down in his direct line of sight. You know, since he couldn't just burrow himself into his phone for fear of the battery dying on him.   

Was most grumpy that the shirt looked better on you than it did on him.  

For fuck's sake.  

And he wasn't even sure if he even packed that shirt at all! 

For his own sanity, he convinced himself he didn’t pack it.  

Lots of people had shirts like it. Faded orangey colour. Striped. The one he owned probably wasn't quite as pink as this one. Or maybe it was... but, even so, it could be the exact same one, still didn’t need to be his. 

It was a little more difficult however, when upstairs at the bar, after the first sip of his gin martini, he saw you walk out in a jacket that he knew for a fact he’d packed.  

That was his jacket.

Stop it, Joe thought. You've gone mad.

Just a coincidence.

Big coincidence, though... wasn't it?

“you’ve overworked me, i should get another week” he texted his agent, blaming the fact that he was seeing things on that, and received a “lol no” in return.  

Joe was still annoyed the next morning when he climbed into a taxi, phone about to die any second now.

Had you been out the door about twenty seconds earlier, you'd have run into him.

Somehow, traffic turned the twenty seconds into over ten minutes. Joe was already standing by the baggage claim service desk, your suitcase on the floor next to him, patiently waiting as the lady behind the computer typed away with eyes stuck to a computer screen Joe couldn't see. 

You walked up, eyes on your phone, occasionally looking up for signs that pointed you in the right direction. You didn't even notice Joe, or your suitcase on the floor next to him. 

"At airport now, fingers crossed" you texted a friend, and got a quick, "it's there, it's GOT TO BE there" from her in response. It wasn't until the guy in front of you turned around, gave you a polite smile, and then did a double take for you to see it. 

Your suitcase.

"My suitcase!" 

"My jacket."

Oh.

Oh, fuck. 

You were standing in front of the guy whose suitcase you'd gone through the night before. Whose suitcase you did your best to pack so it didn't look like you'd gone through every single thing that was in there. Whose pinstriped jacket you'd thrown on because it was the morning still, a little chilly for... just his T-shirt that you wore underneath. 

You immediately forgot how to function as a normal humanbeing. 

Error 404: cognitive function not found.

"Um, I–I..." you faltered, blood heating your cheeks, and you saw how the brow of stranger in front of you slowly furrowed as his eyes scanned down your body. 

Fuck. 

Now, you see, in your defence... you were left to your own devices, just, all alone in a hotel room, unsupervised, with a suitcase that was full of special, unknown things. Lots of treasures and, expensive designer clothing... how was anyone to expect you to be sensible and not snoop? 

Of course you were going to be snooping.

You snooped.

Were a tried-and-true snooper.

It was just that... you hadn't just snooped, had you? 

Hadn't just let your eyes roam. 

You'd gotten your hands in there almost instantly. 

You'd called a friend, and explained your situation, and had then switched the regular call to Facetime to go through the whole thing together. Toiletry bag and all. Every single item had passed your grip, and you'd tried on more items than you dared admitting to anyone – the boyfriend-fit of every single item had made you consider maybe just... keeping a shirt.

"Fuck me, that looks good on you. Keep it." your friend only egged you on.

"I can't keep it," you said, checking yourself in the mirror before asking your friend to google for prices, wanting to know how much this had cost the owner of the suitcase.

When she told you, you took a moment to let that sink in before you said, "Yea, maybe I should keep it."

That jacket, or perhaps the one pair of jeans. Claim you'd just found the suitcase like that. He'd left it unlocked, anyway.

"Look at this, this... this is clearly someone on a business trip, there's suits, but then, look, he's got two-in-one shampoo and conditioner in his toiletry bag," you held up the bottle close enough to your perched up phone to show it properly. 

"Who takes shampoo on a business trip? Surely you just use whatever they have at the hotel?" your friend made a good point. 

"Especially two-in-fucking-one," you tossed the bottle onto your bed, next to all the other shit you were fishing out. Razor, nail clippers, a moisturizer of which you didn't even recognise the brand - very fancy.

"Men are insane,"

"Even the rich ones, apparently," 

"Especially the rich ones."

It'd been a good half hour of giggles before you'd decided you were just going to wear one of his shirts to dinner. Why not? You could fold it up nicer than the way you'd found it in there. You'd be fine.

He just... he wasn't meant to actually see you in his clothes. You were wearing literal proof of what you were desperately wanting to hide.

How were you going to talk yourself out of this? 

Were you just going to be honest? 

Look at him.

Of course you weren't going to be honest. This man would've made you nervous even if you hadn't shown up in his literal clothes, revealing you'd not just opened the suitcase to see it wasn't yours - you'd gone through it and were now wearing what was his.  

"Oh, excellent!" the lady behind the desk stood up and peered over the desk at the floor, at the two similar suitcases. "This will be a lot easier now," she stepped around with a little scanning device, scanned both labels that you, thank God, both hadn't touched. Imagine if you'd have ripped that off. You'd no idea what that would've meant, but surely it would have made the whole situation a lot more complicated. 

You were contemplating pretending to be crazy. Or stupid. Just really, really, really stupid. 

Shut the fuck up why did he not stop staring at you? Could he look away for just a second, maybe? 

"I didn't mean to– I only opened it this morning, I didn't have anything to we–" you rambled, stumbled through little white lies and stopped when you saw the faintest little hint of amusement on Joe's face.

"Are you going to sue me?" you winced.

"No," his smile grew, but he held out a hand. For the jacket, you presumed. 

"There, all settled." the baggage claim service agent smiled. "This one is yours, and this one is yours." 

"Thank you," Joe smiled at her – she'd done her job. You saw it was just him being polite before his attention turned back to you.

"Um, I won't sue you. But I would like my clothes back..." his hand was still there and you realised that you fully understood the body language, but hadn't actually moved to take it off yet. 

"Yes, of course! Sorry, I was– the plan was that I'd fetch my own suitcase from lost and found and then would change into my own stuff, and–" you squeezed your eyes shut, letting the jacket slide from your shoulders, knowing that you sounded absolutely insane. "You weren't meant to find out." you huffed a laugh, hoping that finding humour in the situation would make him copy it.

"Not exactly a water proof plan," Joe gave you a nod and looked at you a little apprehensively, head tilted down, as you handed over the jacket that he folded over his forearm.

"Well, had you not been here yet, I would've gotten off scot-free," you joked lightly, confidence creeping in a little as you raised your eyebrows at him just before kneeling down next to your suitcase and tipping it onto its side to open it.

"Ah," Joe nodded, all understanding, but his face quickly twisted in exaggerated confusion. "So... that wasn't you in my shirt last night?" 

Your neck cracked with how fast it snapped to look back up at him. Deer in headlights, eyes wide in shock, blush deepening. Had you ever felt sweat prickling in your pits before? 

"I–"

"And red jacket?"

Fucking fuck shit. You were such a fucking idiot.

"Red?" you focussed entirely on the wrong thing, but, what else was there to do in a panic? "No, t'was more of a brownish sort of–"

"Burgundy." Joe cut you off.

You looked at each other for a long moment where it took you a smidge too long to close the mouth you'd left hanging open.

My God.

You'd really worked yourself into a corner here, hadn't you?

"Is that... is that my T-shirt?" 

It got worse fast, though.

You looked down to see for yourself, eyes still huge, and for what? To check if you were still wearing the black T-shirt? You knew you were wearing his T-shirt. It was why you'd opened your suitcase in the first place, to fetch something of your own to change into. To take into a toilet stall so you could give him back what belonged to him, and if you were quick, give it back without pit stains. 

When you looked back up, you felt how the blush was now making your neck and chest break out in hives. There really wasn't a way out of this. Caught red-handed, you had no other choice but to surrender and admit to every single wrong choice you'd made. Not willing to speak the actual confession into existence, you let your arms move on their own accord and just... moved to take the T-shirt off. One of your arms disappeared into the T-shirt, out of the sleeve, and you were about to pull the whole thing over your head when you were stopped.

"No– no, stop, don't–" he laughed. Planted a hand on your shoulder – the one of which the arm was stuck inside the T-shirt now.  

You stopped, listening to his instructions from your kneeled position on the floor. 

Joe wasn't going to let you undress into just your bra in the middle of an airport. This was a weird beginning to his trip but, was it really that bad? He'd gotten his suitcase back. That was what he'd wished for ever since finding out he'd taken the wrong one, and now, it had been returned to him.

He'd gotten what he'd wished for.

So what if a pretty girl borrowed some of his clothes for a second? It probably only meant that some of it smelled nicer now. She looked like she felt bad enough about it, too.

No big deal.

"Are we staying at the same hotel?"

"I... I think so?" you sat unmoved.

"If you could leave that at the front desk, I'll just... it's fine, I'll pick it up there," the frown that graced this man's features earlier seemingly had been sarcastic. Or, he'd just turned friendly. Either way, everything about his face told you not to worry about it.

Well, tough. Fuck him. You were worrying. This was so awkward. 

You very slowly moved your arm back into the sleeve of the T-shirt and then moved to close your suitcase. 

"Okay," your voice had never sounded thicker with hesitation.

"Okay?" Joe laughed.

"Yea," you sighed. "Yea, all right. I'm sorry." you winced as you clicked your suitcase shut and got back up onto your feet.

"It's fine." Joe waved a hand, dismissing the whole thing. You thought that was just to make you feel more comfortable, because you were very clearly going through it. For good reason. Had you been in his shoes, you would've told yourself off for the shit you'd pulled.

"Looks better on you, anyway," 

And like you weren't red in the face enough already, the snort laugh that escaped you turned you purple whilst simultaneously breaking any and all tension.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (4)

last next

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, stalking?

word count: 1.4K

note: I thought I had the rest of this planned out but my brain keeps finding new ways to change it on me. Next chapter though, we got some tea coming! Hope you enjoy!

You had felt like you were going to throw up.

Once you had left the party you had headed home and downed at least half a bottle of tequila. To say the hangover this morning was a difficult one was an understatement. You pulled yourself out of bed, grabbed your phone that you had discarded somewhere on the floor in your drunken haze and looked through the messages from Baela and Rhaena who were asking where you went.

It seems your drunk self was responsible enough to text back something that resembled that you had made it home.

You moved across the room, barely missing stepping on your shoes as you headed to the kitchen. You needed something to eat that you wouldn’t regurgitate right away. .

“There’s nothing to eat.”

You turned to see Baela lounging on the couch, a rag shielding her eyes from the light.

“We need to go to the grocery store.”

“No shit.” She sat up taking the rag from her face, she looked like she also got hit by a bus. “Glad you drank my tequila, if it was here when I got back I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.”

You frowned, joining her on the couch. “I take it you didn’t enjoy the party either.”

“I take it the talk with Aemond didn’t go well.”

“He was drunk and an asshole.”

She tilted her head. “Aemond doesn’t drink… he is an asshole though.”

“But he was never an asshole to me.”

She smirked. “Then I guess you’ve officially joined ‘Aemond’s an asshole club,’ I’ll get you one of our t-shirts-”

“Baela I’m being serious.”

“So am I, we meet every Tuesday to talk about the new assholey thing he’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, a headache starting to form. “I really thought that there might’ve been something left, but he’s changed since the last time I saw him.”

She shrugged. “He’s gone through a lot. Aegon’s death, Otto being locked up, and now you coming back. There’s been a lot of change happening.”

You rolled your eyes. “So because of all that he’s marrying Alys? I mean he couldn’t have picked someone with a little bit of, I don’t know, humanity?”

Baela chuckled. “I know this won’t be easy but things will get better, I promise. Besides, you’ve got your first encounter down which means you never have to talk to him again.”

“We live in the same city, I doubt I will never talk to him again.”

“Yeah but this time you don’t have to be so civil.”

You smirked, pride flaring in your chest a bit. “I was civil, wasn't I? 

Baela wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “I thought you were going to burn the place down, but you didn’t.”

You let out a long breath. “I need food and I need something to take my mind off all this shit.”

Baela smiled. “Shopping?”

You nodded in agreement. “Shopping.”

********

You and Baela had managed to stomach a little bit of breakfast at a cafe before making your way to the East side of the city. You decided on going to a well known store that was big for its unique couture.

You scavenged the racks trying to find some good purchases that matched your style. Baela had managed to find a few and had left you to go try them on in the fitting rooms. You had offered to go with her in case she wanted some feedback but had declined on the premise of not wanting to hog the fitting room.

You were currently looking through some sweaters when you heard an all too familiar voice.

“Well, look who's back in town.”

You stiffened, casting a glance over your shoulder to see Daemon Targaryen. He had his hands in his pockets and a sly smirk on his face.

“Daemon.” Was all you said before turning yourself back to the rack. You pushed yourself closer to the clothes, concealing your hand going into your bag to pull out your mace. You made sure to put it in your pocket so that it was easily accessible. 

“A cold greeting is not meant for family, sweetheart.” He moved around the rack so that he was in your line of sight. 

“We aren’t family.”

He sighed. “I have to say I was disappointed when I heard about the failed engagement. Aemy was so excited, nearly killed him to see you go.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I thought the Targaryens no longer accepted you in the family, after your little coup with Rhaenyra.”

“A misunderstanding, Rhaenyra and I have been welcomed back. My lovely nephew saw to that.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’ve missed a lot since you left.”He leaned against the rack. “You shouldn’t have come back, (Y/N).”

You straightened. “I’m not involved in whatever shit you have going on. So leave me alone.”

He frowned. “I’m just reminding you that despite your disagreements with Aemond you are still seen as part of this family.”

You glared at him. “Aemond never told me anything about the family business. He never wanted me involved.”

“I was talking more in the literal sense.” He held his hands up. “I like you, (Y/N), which is why you should leave town.”

You raised a brow. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, I would never threaten you, I’m just giving you some advice. There are still bad people wandering around and I would hate for something bad to happen like last time.”

You crossed your arms. “That sure seems like a threat, Daemon.”

“If you don’t want to take my word for it, why don’t you ask the man who's been watching you since you and Baela left the cafe.”

You looked to where he gestured with his head to see the man in question. He wore a red baseball cap with a plain t-shirt and jeans and was staring very intently at a pair of tailored pants. 

He looked up briefly, catching your eye. He noted that you and Daemon were staring at him. He set the pants down and wandered towards the front of the store out of sight. 

“Who was that?” 

Daemon shrugged. “Ghosts of Aemond’s it seems, but I guess yours too since you shot their boss.”

You stared at him, unflinching. “That wasn’t me.”

He grinned, pointing a finger at you. “You are a good liar, I’ll give you that.”

Your hand drifted to your pocket with the pepper spray.

“Don’t worry too much,” Daemon said, taking a step back. “Aemonds gave his instructions in regards to you.”

“And what instructions are those?”

“Don’t let you die.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “So he’ll assign a protection detail but he’ll treat me like a mistress.”

He took a step back. “I’ll be watching you, (y/n).”

“Creepy.”

He turned away, heading towards the front of the shop no doubt in hunt of the man in the red baseball cap.

“Was that Daemon?”

You jumped at Baela’s voice, nearly knocking down the rack of clothes you had spent too much time at. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “Just coming by to tell me he’s watching me.”

Baela shook her head “The family guard dog is back at it again.”

“Tell me about it.”

Baela had seemed to find some clothes she wanted to buy so you two headed to the registers. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked before Baela could check out.

“Yeah?”

“Daemon mentioned that he was part of the family again. Is that true?”

“Yeah, I don’t know the specifics but about a year after you left Aemond had announced that he and Rhaenyra were no longer enemies of the family.”

You shook your head. “You’re kidding me, even after they killed Aegon?” 

Baela shrugged. “Jace said Aemond never does anything without a plan and I guess he needed them back in the family.”

You shook your head, watching as Baela put her clothes on the counter. It didn’t make sense, Aemond’s own brother being poisoned at the hands of those two. The Aemond you knew would never have sided with the people who murdered his big brother. Sure, Aegon and him had their differences and Aegon got on Aemond’s every nerve but he would never disrespect his brother like that.

And now you were being followed by some mystery guy and Daemon.

What the hell happened since you were gone?

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines

[andy-wm]

Andy, I dont think JM is queer, coz in WHO he is singing about a her, not a they.

She/her pronouns leave no scope for ambiguity.

Anon, that's like me saying 'Anonymous' must be your real name because that's who the ask came from.

Makes sense?

No.

No it does not.

If the pronouns were THEY, Jimin would be

a) slammed for being woke

and

b) not clearly telling you that he lives in a society that makes him think his love MUST be a she/her. And he can't find love, he can't find it anywhere.

If he had grown up thinking he could find love with (he/she/they... any pronouns) don't you think he would have found it by now? I mean, look at him, he's so beautiful and kind and smart. How could he not find someone?

Would he be singing songs about how he can't find love?

The way he specifically says HER tells you THAT'S WHERE THE PROBLEM LIES.

Please, Anon (not your real name, yeah?)

Please, for your future self, for you to navigate the information you encounter every day, don't just grab the first thing you see and run with it. Sure, consider your immediate reaction, but also consider what else might be happening.

Because theres always more than one way to look at a situation.

(Thats why we have a jury of 12 and courts of law, and we don't just let people claim revenge for perceived wrongs by vigilante justice. Because there's two sides to a story, and you need different perspecives to see all the angles.)

Critical thinking skills are important because often messages are hidden.

Sometimes it's because the author wants you to misunderstand at first, because their real meaning will have more impact when you discover it later.

Sometimes there are two different messages directed at two different types of audience (like kids movies with adult jokes hidden in them)

Sometimes it's because they actually cannot say what they really want to say because they aren't allowed to or because it'snot safe or because they simply don't want to be upfront.

In the case of this song, it's all three of those reasons.

Context clues tell us that this album is very queer themed. There are rainbows and smeraldo flowers everywhere.

Smeraldo flowers LITERALLY mean a hidden truth/ truth untold/ I couldn’t tell the truth.

The original posts about Smeraldo flowers are translated here:

You'll find this here: https://cafearmy.wordpress.com/category/flower-smeraldo-blog-post-translations/page/2

There are also clues in the WHO music video - the extended metaphor of the weather, and the rainbows and colour flares. These tell us THERE'S MORE GOING ON HERE.

Read the lyrics and also watch the mv and think about what you are hearing and seeing.

Follow the story and think about WHY everything is happening the way it happens.

The director didn't just randomly yell "ok dance! Now run a bit, now look at the camera, now sing!"

There's a plan. The plan is based on a story they're telling. The story has an ending that THEY ALREADY KNOW, but that we don't.

Until we've seen the whole thing and thought about it, and then gone back to see what we missed the first time around, we dont know.

Like Spring Day isn’t REALLY about the seasons, and Bapsae isnt about birds, and The Truth Untold isn't about growing flowers.

Go back and watch the MV with the audio muted and think about the story thr MV tells without the music.

Read the lyrics as though you are reading a poem.

Genuinely, i care about this (i am a school librarian Anon, i wouldn’t be one if i didn't care about how people interact with information) so listen and think about it.

Then come back and tell me if you still think he's not queer because the pronouns in this song are she.

Borahae 💜

[a-box-of-stupid-ideas]

Some fop University au thing (because i'm a uni student and i need an outlet to project my pains)

Peri

he does a double degree in godparenting/dentistry

He signed himself up cause he's an overachiever and thought he could do it (he could not) but he's too prideful to drop it and he didn't want to disappoint his aunt (toothfairy)

Gifted kid burnout

he's best buddies with Goldie and Goldie teaches him how to actually study

In this au of mine he finished spellementary school then went to highschool for a year but he felt extremely isolated and switched to homeschooling with private tutors

University is humbling man

The earring was from a dare from Irep

moved into a dorm at the uni

he's very anxious about keeping up his grades

whenever he's stressed he goes to his maternal family side the most for advice while cosmo and wanda are on holiday

the sauve persona is at its strongest here, its basically always on unless he's at home or irep is bothering him and struggles with dropping it with Goldie

Goldie

hybrid: Gnome (mummy) and Fairy (daddy, godparent)

special loophole, after Peri was wished up the baby ban was added into Da Rules but it didn't include hybrids

something something godkid wished for his godparent who was in a relationship with a gnome to have kid with said gnome

After she was born jorgen added that in the Da Rules

Headcanon-y biology thing: she had both the fagiggly gland and the magic sac but she relies on the magic sac more and eventually her fagiggly gland failed on her in highschool and was removed permanently

like it exploded in class like an appendix but more painful

the fagiggly was small and made only enough to keep her body running (though theoretically could've been used to make excess but that depends on the hybrid)

When it was removed (she doesn't have anti fairy counterpart to replace the organ because she never produced enough energy to make one) she needed to be on a special magic respiratory device that assists her respiratory system to distribute the magic throughout her body as her respiratory system never learnt to do it relying on the fagiggly gland to provide the magic for her body

She no longer needs to wear her device 24/7 only when she's sleeping and she has like a asthma puffer in case of any flare ups

Double Degree too Art/Science (specialising in theatre and maths)

she really likes geometry, because she loves triangles

in anw time she would be working on her masters/phd

Went to a multi species highschool (she was more similar to gnomes then fairies to warrant homeschooling like Peri and Irep)

big big Lesbian, only dated peri as a baby cause he looked like a girl back then

her parents did divorce :C but they left on good terms, she currently lives at her dad's place but spends her uni breaks with her mum

where's irep? well he's not in uni cause he dropped out :] and i didn't design anything for him

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part III

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

You’re watching Jake so grimly that he almost wants to give you a hug. But, the next moment, you let out a heated sigh and shake your head irritably. “God, Jake, nothing happened,” you say, as if he’s the one who’s shown up at your doorstep unannounced in the dead of night.

He gives you a stony look that, unfortunately, you don’t see because you’re no longer watching him, so his efforts go completely unnoticed. “If nothing happened, then why are you here? Past midnight. Crying.” To his chagrin, the tone of his voice is far too vexed to emulate the indifferent attitude he means to preserve.

You lick your lips and sniffle. “We had a fight,” you say.

Jake stares at you impatiently, waiting for you to look back up. When you don’t, he says, “You fight with everybody.”

This makes you look. He’s dreadfully satisfied with peeving you – the only satisfaction you’ll likely ever give him. “It was a big one, obviously.”

Jake studies the expression on your face, trying to gauge whether or not you’re hiding something. “Where is he?” he asks, feeling like he needs to punch something. And soon.

You take a long time to respond – so long that Jake almost poses the question for a second time. “I don’t know,” you finally say.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

You shrug, your lips beginning to tremble anew. “He just left.”

What Jake experiences at the sight of the fresh tears filling your eyes is abhorrent. The simultaneous desire to alleviate your pain and beat the living shit out of Mustang offsets his entire world in a way that puts your well-being at the top of his priority list. Hell, he doesn’t even have a priority list. You are it. And with this absurd notion weighing on the ever-growing vortex of his newly discovered emotions, he resolves to tell you just what he thinks of your idiotic boyfriend. “Well, he’s obviously a moron,” he says curtly.

You glance up at him again, less angry than before. “He’s a lot like you in that respect,” you say with a hint of a smile.

Jake scoffs and, before he can stop himself, says, “I would never walk out on you.”

You stare at him for a moment before lowering your gaze awkwardly.

Jake cringes, realizing that he could have said just about anything else and it would have been better. Moreover, in his attempt to rectify the situation, he blurts out this obnoxious tidbit: “You’d never let me hear the end of it.”

You roll your eyes but then you bite into your bottom lip and your eyebrows lift inward. You glance up at him woefully and say, “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Jake watches you carefully, wondering why you’d care what he might have to say on the matter. He tries to determine what his response might be before deciding if he’s going to be honest. On the one hand, you are that bad. On the other, when it comes to you, bad takes on an entirely different connotation. “You could be worse,” he responds vaguely.

You stare at him miserably. “You can’t stand me,” you remind him.

Jake nearly laughs; that’s how absurd he finds your statement. “Well, that’s more or less mutual, is it not?”

You nod slowly.

“In any case, it’s hardly relevant since I’m not your boyfriend.”

“But what does that say about me?” you ask. “I piss off everyone around me. You said it yourself, I just can’t shut up.”

“Why should you?” he says, his anger flaring despite his every effort to control it. His response seems to catch you off-guard because you blink up at him sharply. “I just mean, who cares if you piss someone off? That’s not a you problem,” he reasons, although he’s painfully aware of just how much he’s contradicting his every complaint where you’ve been concerned.

“Well, it’s kind of my problem if my boyfriend hates me,” you say, your mouth finally relaxing into the beginnings of a smile.

Jake cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sounds like you just need a new boyfriend.”

You scoff and turn away. The moment your back is to him, Jake shuts his eyes and passes a hand over his face with a silent sigh. He watches you travel the length of his living room and unplug a fan that isn’t turned on. “You shouldn’t keep your electric appliances plugged in when they aren’t in use,” you mutter absently. “You’re wasting energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How much energy does a table fan waste when it isn’t even on?”

You shrug, glancing over your shoulder. “How many electrical devices do you currently have plugged in that aren’t ‘even on’?” you ask, using air quotes to emphasize the final two words. “It adds up, thereby increasing your carbon footprint. Imagine everybody lived as carelessly as you do?”

Jake grins broadly. “The horror.”

You nod without the tiniest bit of amusement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jake watches you resignedly, not at all surprised that you’ve found yet another reason to reproach him. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

You eye him suspiciously, as if you don’t quite trust that he won’t poison your food.

“We’ve got some leftovers,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen through the corridor. “Have you eaten?” You consider his offer at length as though he’s proposed a shotgun wedding rather than a pot roast. “Come on,” he says, waving you over as he makes his way into the hallway. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about my cooking.”

…

“This is surprisingly good,” you comment as Jake pours you a glass of wine.

Jake chuckles. “That might be the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You lick your lips and smile up at him as he takes a seat across from you at the table, popping the cap off a beer. “Your turn,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Jake sneers and then guzzles half his bottle in one gulp. He sets the beer down to find you watching him expectantly.

“You can’t think of anything?” you ask incredulously.

Jake runs a hand across his chin, watching your smile widen at the thought of him having nothing decent to say about you. Ironically, he can’t think of a single thing that isn’t nice, which is truly agitating him. He racks his brain trying to come up with at least one negative quality because something about you drives him absolutely crazy.

You sigh, returning your attention to your plate. “It’s fine, Seresin,” you say. “Don’t think so hard, I know you aren’t accustomed to it.”

“That,” Jake says, leaning into the table as he points a finger in your direction. “That sharp sense of humor.”

You raise your eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” You tilt your head sympathetically, but your smile remains.

Jake meets your gaze with an affectionate smirk, silently listing off every other ‘nice’ thing about you, including, but not limited to, the sound of your laughter. He swallows uncomfortably when you don’t look away, unsettled by the unrest in the pit of his stomach that churns every time your eyes meet. He tries to regulate his breathing before it becomes apparent that you’re actively rattling him.

The creak of the front door interrupts the obscenely prolonged period of mutual eye fucking contact. You glance toward the corridor while Jake disconcertedly rubs his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bradley says, walking into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” You sigh, setting down your fork and reverting to your previously dejected state.

“Don’t tell me you guys had another fight,” Bradley says jadedly. He glances over at Jake with a grave expression which Jake means to completely ignore.

“He stormed out,” you say, sighing into your half-eaten plate. “I think I really ticked him off this time.”

Jake gives Bradley an unimpressed look when the latter starts thrusting his head around to indicate that Jake should add something to the conversation. Jake takes another gulp of his beer.

“He shouldn’t be taking off,” Bradley says when Jake remains silent. “I don’t care how angry he is.” He looks to Jake for approval.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Why are we still talking about this dumbass?”

Bradley eyes him pointedly. “Didn’t realize you’ve already discussed him,” he says, glancing between you and Jake.

You pick your fork back up and start stabbing at the meat on your plate.

“How was the rest of your evening, Rooster?” Jake asks, avoiding looking directly at him.

“Pretty good,” Bradley responds, and Jake can hear the glee in his tone without even seeing his ridiculous grin. “Yours?”

Jake aims a disdainful scowl in his direction. “Bradshaw,” he says. “You look tired.”

Bradley holds back a laugh and then turns to you. “Y/N, do you want to talk?”

You look up at your best friend with a weary smile. Your gaze slips to briefly glance at Jake before you shake your head at Bradley. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

Bradley gives you a hug and heads for the stairs, pausing momentarily to throw Jake a final, cautionary look before heading to bed.

“I should go,” you say once Bradley leaves.

“You sure?” Jake asks. “You haven’t criticized my dishwashing skills yet. I bet I use too much water.”

You give him an amused look as you rise from your chair. “Recognizing the problem is the first step.”

He recognizes the problem alright; it’s standing right before him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” you say musingly. “In this case, I would say action.”

Jake nods, getting out of his seat. “I could use some of that, for sure.”

Your gaze lingers on him as you let out a soft laugh. You’re an entire table length away and yet he can feel the force of your presence as though you were pressed up against him.

“You could stick around,” he offers casually. “We could watch a movie or something.”

You continue studying him brazenly. “I’d probably ruin it for you.”

He laughs. “We could watch something I already don’t like.”

You smile back at him. “Haven’t you done that enough for one evening?”

Jake doesn’t altogether know how to respond without making it painfully obvious just how much he doesn’t not like you. “Yeah,” he says finally. “So, what’s another couple of hours?”

You’re watching him thoughtfully which makes him almost hopeful that you might agree to stay, but then you respond with, “Maybe another time.”

He nods, keeping his eyes trained on yours. “Another time,” he agrees. But as you head for the door, he decides to try another tactic. “Should you be driving after having that wine?” he asks.

You give him a flat look. “I had half a glass. If that.”

Jake shrugs slightly. “It was a big glass.”

You roll your eyes. “It’ll be fine, Seresin.” You reach for the doorknob.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if, for once, he came home, and you weren’t there?” he asks.

You look at him sharply. “He won’t be home for hours.”

Jake gestures at the open living room. “We have several fine couches. Take your pick.”

You sigh, evaluating his pitch. “No,” you say finally. “He’s already so mad at me. If I stay here, that’ll be the end of our relationship.”

This outcome sounds just dandy to Jake, but he can see the worry in your expression, so he pulls on the door and holds it open for you, following you out onto the porch to walk you to your car.

“Drive carefully,” he says once you’re seated, leaning down to peer into the car as you buckle your seatbelt.

You nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for the company,” he responds.

You chuckle. “Yeah, about that… sorry I imposed on your evening.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees with a smirk. “That was kind of rude of you.” When you laugh, he adds. “No, but really, I don’t mind. Come over anytime.”

You gasp at him to simulate shock. “And subject you to my numerous opinions?”

Jake’s grin widens. “I’m getting used to tuning you out.”

“So, what exactly is it that you gain out of my company?” you ask with raised eyebrows as you start your engine.

Jake raps on the hood of your car a couple of times before responding. “I just don’t want to deprive you of my company.”

You snort. “That would be a tragedy.”

Jake lets himself admire your laugh for several seconds before straightening his back. “Have a good night, Y/N,” he says, and then he shuts your door.

You pull out of the driveway and stop your car on the side of the road. Jake watches curiously as you step out of the car. He approaches you slowly, his eyes drifting up and down your figure involuntarily. He blinks to reorient himself, exhaling sharply as he comes to stand before you. He slips his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of using them to pin you to your car and then running them along the curves of your body. You’re looking up at him with a sheepish expression, completely unaware of the turmoil he’s up against in this very moment. “What’s up?” he says sternly; employing exaggerated masculinity to help assuage his crippling desire to kiss you.

Instead of responding, however, you stretch up onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck. In his shock, it takes a second for Jake to loosen his rigid stance; to remember that his hands are still safely tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He draws them out slowly, holding them cautiously on either side of your body, wondering just how catastrophic it would be if he were to reciprocate the hug. “You really helped me tonight,” you say softly, your breath warming the crook of his neck.

He lets out a weak chuckle that dies the second it leaves his lips because, at that moment, you press your cheek into his shoulder. His hands close gingerly around you. He’s barely holding on, but you feel just right in his embrace. Like the dip in your waist belongs between the palms of his hands. “Glad to be of service,” he mutters, his voice a little rough as he attempts to process this turn of events.

You detach yourself from his grasp and give him a friendly smile. So friendly, it nearly kills him. “Maybe I can return the favor someday,” you say.

Jake stares at you, trying to come up with at least one favor you could do for him that isn’t sexual in nature and drawing a complete blank. “Maybe,” he says uneasily.

“Anyway,” you say. “Sleep well.”

You flash him one last smile before climbing back into your car while Jake takes several steps back, wondering how the fuck he’s going to sleep at all after having experienced that.

Read Part 4

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[capcavan]

🗣️ (also sorry this got long, turns out i have thoughts) so like riko is one of the weirdest fandom cases i've ever seen. i've been in fandoms where characters who commit actual war crimes and genocide are badass babes or uwu soft bois, and even spoiled mafia brats who commit terrible crimes against the heroes for daddy's attention that get love and redemption. it's so weird to see just how isolated from all that riko is to me.

i do think it's partly how aftg is written, and that's also partly because niel's pov is not at all forgiving of riko, while is entirely forgiving of people like andrew. but i also think it's because of how riko himself is written. he's one of these characters that's better on paper than he is in the book to me. because he's never presented as smart enough to fall into the magnificent bastard trope where everyone applauds how devious his plans are, but he's not outright hammy enough to just be a fun read, he doesn't even get the same stupidly dramatic flare as andrew. and while we're told he's powerful and doing dangerous stuff, he's presented on page, more often than not, as a petulant child that neil is just done with or a guy who likes to torture people who neil is also done with. neil is never actually scared of riko, or even particularly threatened by him, and i think that hurts him and makes his position in the narrative weaker. especially when nora is trying to play him as a villain and a threat in a mafia story rather than a good old fashioned rival in a sports drama. for example, his first impression on the kathy show should live up to the hype of this imposing charismatic villain who broke kevin's hand, but instead loses him temper, forgets all of his media training and lets a nobody like neil goad him into losing control of the interview, and then his payback, things like shoving neil around and seth's death, are basically brushed off because neil doesn't really care that much. it's not given the weight to be a seriously omg this guys a threat first impression. and this isn't uncommon, lots of media hamstrings their villains at the start by making sure we know the main character is too sassy for them and can humiliate them, without thinking about how weak that can make the villain seem. it feels sometimes like nora wanted riko to be this chess master villain or tragic child who's lashing out at the world, without committing to it fully to either, or was just not an experienced enough writer to have known how to write either of those things in the pov of someone who hates riko's guts, which is understandable, writing is hard and that sort of nuance takes practice, especially if you just go by the books and not the extra content, and i do wonder how differently nora would have portrayed riko if she rewrote the main trilogy now with presumably a lot more practice under her belt. in the end riko ends up in this weird grey area to me where i understand why he's not popular, given he has none of the usual obvious traits that fans like to latch onto when redeeming a villainous character, and even the ones that are there are glossed over pretty quickly because of neil's pov, and a lot of his more interesting pieces are on paper not actively presented in the book, and not everyone reads super deep, but i also don't understand the amount of hate. i have literally never seen a character in any other fandom i've been in have this much fandom wide hatred.

See I have nothing to add here because you single handedly dropped the best analysis of Riko's character in the series I had pleasure to read so far and summed up all my feelings about why and what of the fandom. If the goal was to write a character that is impactful yet easy to hate then that goal was achieved but for me it real takes away form the magnitude of feelings Riko could evoke in reader and questions he could provoke in narrative if he was given bit different presentation that woudl still align with the lore we already have.

[mypoisonedvine]

hey jd, how do we feel about aemond finding out that aegon put his hands on you? granted, you’re just a servant girl and it’s not the first time he’s harassed the help, but what would happen? huh? 👀 -@pluvialpoet

word count: 2.2k

warnings: implied/vaguely described smut, implied SA of some kind, hurt/comfort, brief suicidal ideation, heavy angst, friends to lovers, way too much wholesomeness, not exactly breeding kink but mentions of pregnancy/babies

"I'll fucking kill him," Aemond decided. "I finally will, I'll do it."

"No, you won't," you sighed as you rested your hands on his shoulders. "That wouldn't do anyone any good."

"It would do me some fucking good," he insisted, nostrils flaring and uncovered eye wide with fire, "knowing that no man who has touched you lives."

"He did it to anger you, Aemond," you explained flatly, holding on tighter to him and trying not to notice the way it made your broken heart race. "Don't give in to him— you'd only be giving him what he wants." Just as I did... but I had no choice.

He looked away quickly, so you couldn't see his eye at all, and for a second you thought he might be getting choked up. "So it is my fault, then," he realised.

"No!" you yelped. "No, I didn't mean—"

"He knows that I care for you," Aemond whispered shakily. "Better than I do, he knows, and he wants to use you to hurt me. It's why I never..."

He swallowed, turning away from you, and you reached up to his shoulder. "I thought you would tell me anything, Aemond. Tell me."

It was a promise you'd made well over a decade ago, when you were just children. That was when it all started: this bizarre, impossible friendship. Back then, it didn't seem so strange to you that a servant girl and the prince could be friends, but the longer it went on, the more you both became aware of how forbidden it all really was. It never stopped you, though. Yes, it made you more cautious— only meeting in dark, quiet places, or secluded corners of the gardens— but it never made you any less close. He shared with you the fears, the dreams, the prayers he could not tell his own family; and you, just the same, though you had no family left after your mother succumbed to illness. Even the other servants didn't approve of your friendship with the prince, so you had to hide it from them at well— if they suspected he favoured you in any way, they would exploit you at best, or take some kind of revenge at worst. Still, he snuck into the kitchens when you were cooking to steal bites of fruit and cheese while he talked to you; still, you scrubbed the floors by his chambers in the morning just in case he wanted to come out and sit down nearby, leaning against the wall and giving you advice on the latest dilemma of your life (of which you had several, often one after the other if not overlapping).

That promise to tell each other anything, and everything, you made it in a tree in the gardens. He loved to climb as a boy, and you couldn't keep up but he always held your hand when you were afraid to fall. That was your tree, and it was where you found him, crying, after he'd seen the scar over his eye for the first time. He'd kept a brave face about it all— about the bullying, about his fear he'd never have a dragon of his own, about how angry and terrified he was about what had happened to his face— from the beginning. He didn't even let his mother in on the truth of his feelings, telling her not to be upset about his eye because he wasn't, either. But the lie of indifference that he'd so carefully constructed fell apart in a moment when the healers showed him the barely-healed scar. He climbed your tree alone, to the highest branch, and sobbed— which, by the way, was excruciating with his wound— as he wondered if he should pitch himself from his height and hope it was enough to end everything.

But when he looked down at the ground again, you were standing in the middle of the green grass, staring up at him. "I'm cross with you!" you informed him plainly, balling up your little fists and shouting.

He sniffled and wiped his eye quickly, covering the other with the patch the healers had given him— he didn't want you to see him like this, he didn't want anyone to see him like this. "With me?" he repeated with a shaky voice. "What... what did I do?"

"You climbed our tree by yourself!"

He laughed a little, even through the tears. "I found this tree first," he reminded you proudly, "I showed it to you! I said, look at this tree I found."

"Yes, but it's our tree now," you explained, "and you shouldn't be in it by yourself. I can't get up there without your help!"

Rolling his eye to feign irritation with your ineptitude, he navigated himself down a bit until he could reach out for your hand and help pull you up. When you were sitting together among the branches, you eventually coaxed the truth out of him, about everything he'd been afraid to admit to anyone. He seemed to think he would be fearless if he simply told no one what he was really afraid of; but that hadn't worked, had it? The boys still taunted him for having no dragon, and he still lost his eye. The only thing that had changed was that he had to go it all alone. Until now.

"You have to promise not to hide anything from me again," you decided. "We have to tell each other everything. Even the things we're scared to tell anybody... that's the stuff that matters most, anyway."

"Okay," he agreed. "How are we going to swear on it?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"We have to swear on something," he decided, "or it's just something we're saying."

"I'll swear on my life," you decided. "I'll die before I ever hide something from you, or tell you a lie."

He seemed hesitant. "Can I hide one thing from you, at least?"

"No!"

He frowned. "At least let me wait to show you."

He reached up to the patch shakily, and you realised what it was he wanted to hide. "Okay... that can wait, until it's healed better. But you need to swear on your life!"

"All right! I will!" he groaned, frustrated by your insistence. "I swear, on my life, I'll tell you everything from now on. And never lie to you."

"Or you'll die," you added, smiling with a grin that was missing a tooth or two that had fallen out recently.

"Or I'll die," he agreed. For the first time since he saw that scar, he didn't want to die.

But even then, you couldn't have known how much more complicated things would become. Now you were grown— faster than you should've been— and Aegon, jealous of the affection you shared, had tried to spoil it all. It was the first time since you made that promise that you really considered hiding something from Aemond, being both ashamed of what had occurred and terrified of how your best friend would react.

"Please, tell me," you begged him as your hand held tighter onto his shoulder.

He almost scared you with how fast he turned around, how he clutched your arms and yet couldn't look you in the face. "I never told anyone," he whispered harshly, "how I felt about you. I never wanted to break our promise— it was just to keep you safe, I need you to be safe, do you understand?"

Though you had to bite your lip to keep it from quivering, you nodded.

"But if he knows..."

Your eyes welled with tears, trying not to see Aegon's face in your mind, the horrible way he'd looked at you.

"I should tell you," Aemond decided. "I should tell you that I've fallen in love with you."

Before you could properly react to that, his hands clutched your face and wiped the tear that had begun to run down your cheek.

"He hates me for it," Aemond continued. "He hates that I'm in love with a servant girl and he can't even love his own wife. He hates us because he'll never know what we share. And he must have thought that if he forced himself on you, that he would understand, that he could know what kind of love we have. But he can't imagine that it's your mind I love, not your body. He can't imagine the beauty of your heart."

Crying harder, you reached up to hold onto his wrists. "Aemond..." you whispered.

"If you don't love me, don't tell me yet," he pleaded. "You can break our promise, just this once. Let me imagine for a night that I haven't ruined everything."

You pulled your hands away and plunged forward, slamming your lips onto his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He widened his eyes for a second before kissing you back, delicately holding your waist to keep you close. It was tender and sweet, even as you struggled to stop crying from the overwhelming emotion of the moment.

When you broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours, and you both shut your eyes. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you," he added, and you smiled.

"Weren't you afraid to die?" you joked.

"It felt like dying," he replied, opening his eyes again and examining you. "Having you so close, but not in the way I wanted... being able to keep you near but never hold you... it was worse than death, at times. I never wanted anyone to touch you but me."

Sighing shakily, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears louder than your own voice when you spoke. "Then touch me," you breathed. "I want you to."

His grip tightened on your waist, thumb petting your back, and you looked up at him expectantly. "My brother..." he trailed off. "I don't want to be like him. I don't want it to... be like that."

"It won't," you promised, "you're nothing like him. I want you to touch me, Aemond, please— I want to forget. Make me forget any touch but yours."

Pulling your body into his, guiding your head to tilt back, he kissed you again— deeper, hungrier, still slow but with this growing sense of desperation between the both of you.

He took you to the garden that night, pressed you up against your tree, and claimed you in the way you'd dreamed he would for years. He did more than make you forget Aegon, he made you forget everything that wasn't this moment; he held onto you so tightly and promised to never let you go, told you how beautiful you'd become, admitted how many years he'd spent longing for you but hiding his true feelings. You had so many things you wanted to say in return, but you were entirely lost for words the whole night— all you could do was cling to him and whine his name and run your fingers through his silky silver hair.

You spent the whole night in his arms; even when the sun was beginning to rise over the garden, he brought you to his chambers and took you once again there. Needless to say, he was exhausted after that, and passed out beside you on the mattress when he finally decided he couldn't go again. You were tired, too, but you couldn't sleep— you were so full of joy and excitement that you stayed awake and laid beside him, petting his hair and scratching his head and back as he slept. You didn't mean to wake him when you kissed his arm, but he turned and looked at you with a small smile. "Good morning," he mumbled in a deep, scratchy voice.

"It's well into the afternoon," you reminded him with a giggle. "You've slept all day."

He gave you a mischievous smirk as he pulled you closer, scooping you up into his arms and pressing your back to his chest. "Well, when you make love all night, that's the consequence, it seems," he explained.

His hand that held your chest moved down to your stomach, just under your belly button, and held you there as he leaned in closer to kiss your ear softly.

"There could be other consequences," he noticed.

You swallowed nervously. "Yes," you agreed, "but I could drink—"

"No," he interrupted, though he softened a second later. "I wish you wouldn't, at least not every time... I want it to take."

Your heart swelled. "But Aemond, you're a prince," you blurted out, looking over your shoulder at him, "and I'm only—"

"And you're my beloved," he whispered back, caressing your cheek with his hand and smiling at you. "And our child would be beautiful."

You smiled shyly, turning your body completely so you could hide your face in his neck. "Our child would be a bastard," you warned him.

"Our child would be a prince," he corrected, "our child would be made in love. Would you like that?"

You nodded against him, and he smiled as he kissed the top of your head. Finally, the need to sleep caught up with you after being up for so long; you ached inside and out, and with your head on his chest your eyes started to get heavier. You slept like you never had before, not because of the exhaustion— but because you'd never felt so safe.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hey there!!

Im being hella self indulgent with this ask but could you do some Task Force 141 + König headcanons for a reader dealing with stomach issues? (like the nausea, being cold and having headaches all the time, stomach pain, etc). If you could I would really appreciate it!! If this makes you uncomfortable feel free not to do it :))

Oof ouchie ouch

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He’s unsure what to do with himself at first so he kinda does everything he can? He’s cleaning up the house while you’re resting in bed, he’s got peppermint tea going, he’s running out to the pharmacy for meds to help your nausea and headaches

He’s setting up the heating pad to gently rest it on your stomach, he’s making lemon water and sitting on the bed, gently tilting your head and instructing you to take small sips

If you ask him to, he’ll rub your stomach with the softest touch

If your nausea reaches the point where you’re throwing up, he’s holding your hair or rubbing soothing patterns in your back with moderate pressure

He makes sure to take some meds with him just in case your headaches or your stomach pain flares up, he watches you intently to be able to catch it before it gets bad

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s so comforting, if it’s a chronic issue he’s got everything you need when you get a flare up

If it’s something that happens on occasion, he’s still ready for you, he’s got pretzels, applesauce in the fridge, Dramamine for your nausea and headaches

He’s got a heated water bottle ready for your stomach aches

If nothing else, he is prepared and doting. He’s insisting you rest, he’s happy to do everything around the house for however long you need, he refuses to let you do anything

He’s at your beck and call and he makes it known, if you don’t have the energy to shout you can shoot him a text but you probably won’t have to because he’ll be right there at your side

John Price:

King of home remedies lmao

He’s got tips and tricks he’s picked up when he was younger and when he was in his academy days

Ginger tea with honey, large glass of water with lemon juice, peppermint tea or peppermint candies, bitters and club soda, tablespoon of apple cider vinegar

If your nausea reaches a point where you’re throwing up, he’s standing behind you, holding your hair back and pressing a hand against your forehead (trust me it helps)

Once you’ve cleaned up, he’s giving you some ginger tea with a little honey in it, and gently rubbing your back as you take a few slow sips

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’s not quite sure what to do outside of things his parents might’ve done for him when he was younger, so he looks it up on his phone when he’s sitting on the bed at your side, gently rubbing your tummy

He’s listing off the different things he’s finding to see which of them seems most appealing to you

As soon as you pick something, he goes with it, he heads out to the grocery store to grab the things he needs to help you feel better

He’s grabbing the chicken soup, applesauce, jello, pretzels, ginger ale, popsicles? (In his mind cold = soothing)

When he comes back, he’s giving you a little bit of everything, sitting beside you on the couch with you all bundled up and wrapped in blankets, and he’s got himself a small bowl of the pretzels he got for you, your favorite show playing on the tv

König:

I feel like he’d call his mom for advice or home remedies, but when some things aren’t available for purchase where you live, he asks you what you’ve normally done and what you’d like him to do

He’s following what you say to the letter, he’s quick about getting what you need from the super market, and he’s quick about coming back

He makes you some homemade chicken noodle soup and gives you a glass of ginger ale and some ice to chew on when you’re done with the drink

He’s rubbing soothing circles on your tummy, his hand warm and calming as you lean against him

He’s got the lights dimmed so it doesn’t make your headache any worse, he’s given you some medicine already to help it go away quicker, he’s softly humming, gently rubbing your arms and your back

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 2, Wave 3, Poll 1

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Gobber-How To Train Your Dragon

Qualifications:

He has a prosthetic arm and a prosthetic leg. And is confirmed to be gay (in an admittedly really weird way :/)

Propaganda:

He's gay. He's disabled. He's a viking. He's good at his job. He has a stone tooth. He uses his arm prosthetic like a toolbelt. He knows a lot about dragons. Idk man. He's cool

Zhou Zishu-Faraway Wanderers / Tian Ya Ke

Qualifications:

He is mlm, though there's no consensus in fandom whether he's bi or gay. (He had slept with women prior to meeting his male love interest, but the way he speaks of that kinda doesn't make it sound like he enjoyed it? So there's room for interpretation. Maybe hes bi who just happened to settle with a man, maybe hes a late bloomer gay.) Either way, the novel's main romance is his relationship with another man, and they are in a committed relationship by the end! Now, for the disability part. He has a physical disability that's a result of, how do I put it, non-realistic circumstances (stabbing poisoned nails into his acupoints non-realistic), but I think it qualifies for how it affects him.

To start with, he is a martial artist, but the nails thing limits him to about half of his normal ability. Which is still pretty significant given he used to be one of the top talents of his generation, but there are many instances throughout the book where he finds himself frustrated, inconvenienced, or endangered by being unable to do what he *used to* be able to do, which I think tracks with acquired disability experience. Next, the nails also give him chronic pain issues with daily (or rather, nightly) flare ups, and additional ones when he strains himself. That usually last for several hours. (Fandom also theorizes that this leaves him chronically sleep deprived, but it's more conjecture than textual.)

Then, his biggest issue is that the nails are slowly killing him, and he has like 2-3 years to live... but uh given it's a happy ending novel his friend gives him an experimental surgery and it works out. But! Gotta note that I don't think it counts as a case of 'magically cured disability' trope. It is plainly stated that he will still have some issues post-surgery - just, y'know, no longer life-ending ones. The tl;dr here is that while his situation is not something possible in the real world, it still affects him in a way an acquired physical disability may: limits things he can do compared to his pre-injury state, results in chronic pain issues, and requires difficult medical intervention to stymie the negative effects.

Propaganda:

Zhou Zishu, how do I explain him... He is a spymaster and an assassin. He put the current Emperor on the throne. He committed atrocities. He lost the person he saw as his little brother as a result. He still thinks he did what was right, in the grand scheme of things. He decides to start his retirement at age 28 by stabbing a bunch of poisoned nails into his chest, disguising himself as a beggar, and vanishing into jianghu to daydrink and sightsee. He is living his best life, all 3 remaining years of it. He is in pain every night. He meets a man who, unexpectedly, understands him with a glance... and then begins to annoy him ceaselessly, insisting he has fallen for Zishu at first sight.

Cue Zhou Zishu's horrified realization that he's not only into men, but into this clown in particular. Zishu falls in love the way a cat falls into a bath - hes trying to get out but keeps slipping back, and hes hissing all the while. (We love to bully him for his clownsexual ways.) (Also, if this makes anybody want to check out the novel, remember: Zhou Zishu is an unreliable narrator and Will lie to you. Pay attention to his actions and reactions, not just what he *says* he thinks!) Now, I could spend hours gushing about how WenZhou (the couple's ship name, and yes they are canon and the main romantic storyline) gave me unrealistic standards for romance, but I'm gonna hold myself back from writing a 6k essay and focus on the theme of the tournament. I consider Zhou Zishu a disabled protagonist because: while his situation itself is non-realistic (aforementioned 'stabbing a bunch of poisoned nails into his chest'), the way it affects him is actually pretty similar, and in some ways really the same, to how an acquired physical disability may affect a person. First, it limits what he can do, physical activity-wise, to about half of his pre-injury state. (Which is still rather a lot, given he used to be a top dog martial artist, but it's still noticeable to him.) Second, it gives him chronic pain issues, with nightly flare-ups. (And additional ones when he strains himself.) (Also, at a certain point in the book his love interest starts holding him through his flare ups. Which doesn't lessen the pain but does help Zishu cope with it better. It's very important to me that it doesn't magically help but it does Mentally help and thats enough. The "stay with him morning and night, holding his hand" of it all (; v ;) yes thats a quote from the book.) And third, it requires a difficult surgery to stymie its negative effects (him dying in three years ones). (Yeah btw its not the case of magic surgery perfectly 'fixing' (bleugh) the character; he still need physical-therapy-analogue after it, and his uh medical professional also states he will likely still have some issues post-op.)

[goldenharmony]

Ruby and Akane: Parallels

In chapter 77, Ruby reveals her dark secret to Akane, similar to how Aqua revealed his dark secret in chapter 52. In both situations, Akane enables their obsessions, thinking that she is doing them a favor when she shouldn't be encouraging them.

In Ruby's case, Akane is unaware that Gorou would be nearing his 50s if he was still alive, which makes me wonder how she would've reacted if she knew the truth.

In my opinion, she would've still encouraged Ruby. Akane's already cool with murdering for Aqua's sake so I don't think ethics is a high priority for her.

Unhealthy Obsessions ≠ Genuine Love

The way Ruby feels about Gorou is how Akane feels about Aqua, being obsessed to an unhealthy and obsessive degree to the person they think they might be in love with. Their unhealthy feelings are targeted towards the same soul but different incarnations. Akane's yandere tendencies flare up whenever the situation involves Aqua.

And while Ruby also wanted revenge for Ai's murder, the main trigger for her to fall into darkness was seeing Gorou's corpse.

Gorou/Aqua - Providing the Will to Live

When describing Gorou, Ruby focuses on how he gave her the will to live, saving her from having self-destructive/suicidal thoughts during her lowest moments.

This is further supported by how Ruby was having suicidal thoughts in chapters 115 & 121 but the realization that Gorou = Aqua had saved her.

How does Akane understand? Because she went through the same experience in LoveNow. When she was at her limit and about to kill herself, Aqua saved her and worked with the other LoveNow members to save her image.

Thanks to Aqua, she got the strength to return to LoveNow and move forward. That moment had a significant impact on her, similar to how Ruby describes Gorou's impact on her.

Returning to Original Location

Ruby and Akane return to the places where their relationships began, reaffirming their feelings. Its a callback but could be seen as them trying to hold onto those relationships when they should just let go.

Delusional Era

Both Akane and Ruby go through a period where they think they will get what they want. Aqua and Akane started dating but Aqua only loves Kana. Akane knows this but she's convinced that as Aqua continuous to lie to himself about loving her, those lies will become the truth - which they never did.

She also believed that the 2 of them had an equal relationship, and that she was saving Aqua - both immediately proven false in the subsequent chapter.

For Ruby, she thinks that now that she has reunited with Gorou, they will get married, not realizing that:

A) Gorou never promised marriage. He said he'd think about it which was letting Sarina down easy because she was a dying child at the time.

b) She no longer sees Aqua as just himself, but is projecting Gorou onto him considering she keeps emphasizing "Sensei" unlike Aqua with Sarina-Ruby.

c) Ruby in a stable and healthy mindset thinks incest is gross lol

Plus Ruby's sus manga panels being over-the-top hammers down the point that she is being really delusional right now.

Conclusion

In the end, the 2 girls are really similar to where I'm sure that Akane would've still encouraged Ruby to pursue Gorou even after knowing he was way too old for her because she can relate to Ruby's feelings, believing that he couldn't be bad for Ruby if she believes he is a good person.

Meanwhile Kana's reaction if Ruby confided in her instead:

And if Mem-Cho tried to argue about the age gap, Ruby would probably say that its basically the same as Mem-Cho hanging out with the rest of them - killing Mem-Cho in an instant: