#and hes the only one at his current workplace that knows what to do with a child

[ninjasmudge]

my beloved oc, lǐ díshī, he sees dead people and has visions of the future but hes also practically a compulsive liar about it. being a prophet doesnt pay the bills though, so instead hes a demolitions expert and overseer. he has a  fucked up cat, and collects small animal bones and skulls. he purble i love him

[faeriekit]

#i'm very pro danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of talons previous installments

*

The next day, the body was back.

The green was gone from its eyes, but the awareness wasn't; it spent about an hour watching people go around outside Danny's apartment, which was new behavior. None of the corpses that shadowed him had shown any interest in garden-variety humans before. Now it sat at the window and watched families come home from school or head to their afternoon shifts.

That went into Danny's notes.

After that hour, it taught itself to flush the toilet repeatedly, rearranged the contents of Danny's half-assed linen closet (again) and then stood hovering over the safe where Danny had stashed the ectoplasm.

"...Okay," said Danny.

The dead body croaked. It was a new sound, but there was no context for it. Danny just kind of...wrote it down and hoped for the best.

The day after, Danny woke up at a very reasonable ten forty eight in the morning to find stray corpses feeding each other spoonfuls of ectoplasm in the kitchen.

At that point he kind of had to throw out the notes on how much each one was dosed with, because what the fuck.

"Really?!" Danny shouted, spooking the bodies into fleeing behind chairs and doors and back into his closet again. The only one that didn't flee was Danny's ringmaster corpse of the hour, of course. "You really couldn't wait??"

It stuck out a withered black tongue out at the mortician, who was, really, the victim in all of this. A victim to his parents' whims and a victim to the dead people who followed him around all the time.

This was how Danny found out that, when it doubt, the corpses could just tear through solid steel if they were motivated enough. The finger-marks were so deep and so embedded that they actually looked more like rough claws in the metal.

Great.

Danny ordered a new locking cage for the fridge on Prime and darted off to work. One of his regulars was on the table, though, so Danny just ended up doing what he would have at home— sewing up a gash in its neck and reattaching dead fingers back onto dead stumps.

On the third day, in which four of Danny's frequent fliers had learned from the first how to flush the toilet (and therefore raise the water bill immensely) Danny got a ring from a dark voice he (almost) recognized.

"Is he here?"

Danny squinted, jerking the phone further under his ear as he whipped up some scrambled eggs. The dead girl leaning over his shoulder leaned a little closer to watch the egg froth up. "Is who here? Who is this?"

"This is Batman. Is— the body requisitioned from your facility currently at your place of residence?"

Danny fully let go of the whisk. It landed haphazardly in the glass bowl he'd been stirring in. "What on Earth is a Batman?" he asked, incredulous.

"I visited your workplace previously."

Oh! "Yeah, the cop's friend. I remember now." Danny pulled the whisk out of the liquid eggs and held it out to the body. The unusually animate cadaver mostly prodded the whisk wires and paid no attention to him. "No one's here but me, though. Not that it's your business...?"

"And there are no non-living bodies currently in your apartment?"

Danny ignored the flushing noise in the other room. "I don't know, dude. They practically live in the walls at this point. Don't come over unless you have a warrant."

The call ended with a click.

His omelette turned out amazing, by the way. In case you were wondering.

On the fourth day, the ectoplasm was gone, because the corpses had apparently all taught each other how to lockpick the container in the fridge.

"Okay, some of that was meant to be my dinner. No more lotion at the funeral home now, okay? Now you all can be ashy forever. I'm so serious," Danny complained to the only visible dead person in the room.

The dead person held up a cracked egg. It was probably a gesture of peace, but now there was egg on his vinyl flooring to deal with. And. It wasn't exactly all that comforting in the end.

On the fifth day, Danny awoke to the sensation of a hand jamming itself through his neck until it punched into the mattress beneath him.

Fuck.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

friction

words: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, semi public sex, server!reader, p in v sex, unprotected sex, workplace romance

“alright.” you clap your hands together. “where is my trainee?”

“hey.” your eyes widen as you take rafe in, his arms crossed over his wide chest, biceps bulging against the sleeves of the uniform polo.

“wh-what?” you take a staggering step back. 

“won't be here long.” rafe says quickly. “just… got in trouble with my dad.” his voice turns softer, but not for your sake, simply for his pride as he looks around.

“and so you had to get a job here of all places?” you question.

“most fitting for punishment. he said if i last two months then he knows i can commit to something.”

“so you're going to be working here… for two months. great.” you try to add some cheer to your voice, but it certainly fails. it was hard enough when rafe would come in to dine at the country club, having to serve alongside him will certainly be hell.

not that he does anything to intentionally upset you, his very presence gets you frustrated. from the second he walked in and you saw him for the first time, your face got hot and flushed and you had to hide in the walk in freezer to cool yourself down.

“so, where do we start?” rafe asks.

you snap out of whatever thoughts you were having. “your section.” you state, the unofficial leader of the servers, having worked at the country club for by far the longest of all the staff, even outranking your current manager in seniority.

--

“rafe, you're at a month and a half, you're so close.” josh says, eyes glancing between the two of you from the other side of the managers desk. “and y/n, you know better than to argue in front of customers.”

josh stands, hands on his hips. “sasha and i are going to take over your sections while you two… work out whatever is going on. just talk it out then get back on the floor.”

he walks out without another word, leaving you in the office alone with rafe.

“you made me look so fucking stupid in front of my regulars.” you grumble. you asked for something very simple. for rafe to bring your table sparkling waters, and he took them tap instead.

“i didn't know.” rafe huffs back, not turning to fully look at you. “sorry, but you still got your fucking tip.”

“just pay attention next time. i know you don't give a shit about this job but some of us need this paycheck to fucking live.”

“alright, i said fucking sorry.”

“alright.”

you both sit in silence, the time stretching out between the two of you. 

“you're still mad.” rafe states.

“im just… frustrated.” you sigh, wishing you could pinpoint why your stomach always tightens when you're around rafe, why no matter how many shifts you work with him he puts you on edge, makes you act different.

“sounds like you could-” rafe cuts himself off.

you snap your head towards him. “some what?”

“i was gonna say some dick.” rafe turns his eyes back forward, even though there's nothing to look at but an empty wall.

“some dick couldn't satisfy me, you guys never make me cum.” you say it to upset rafe, hopefully dig into some insecurity he holds, but rafe just smirks.

“i could make you cum. and then we'd both be less frustrated.”

“both?” you question.

“yeah ‘cause you'd get your o and id finally get to fuck you.”

“i guess the only thing stopping us is locking the office door.” 

you both move rapidly, hands meeting at the same time your lips do as you turn the lock and hear the satisfying click of confirmation. rafe instantly presses you against the door, his mouth devouring yours as his body presses in close.

all rational thoughts go out the window. if you were in your right mind, if rafe didn't drive you so crazy, you would never do something so brazen.

rafe reaches down, one hand delving under your assigned polo shirt while the other grips your ass.

you moan against his lips as his hand covers your bra, fingers quickly pushing the material out of the way to get at your nipple, his palm rubbing against you so perfectly you have no doubt in your mind of how skilled rafe is.

“fuck.” you gasp when his hand gripping your bum moves, somehow managing to get your belt off as he pulls it away, undoing your slacks to reach into your underwear.

he finds your clit and taps at it, teasingly, but with just enough constant stimulation to keep you from crying out as you kiss him, pulling back only to look at his face, the way his eyes have dropped and darkened with pleasure, his mouth pink and wet from your kisses.

“don't stop.” his voice is grisly as he begs, and you lean in and continue to kiss, tongue pushing into rafes mouth and taking dominance, but it's all for naught as his finger on your clit so effortlessly controls your entire body, reading your reactions and what you like most as he rubs and touches.

“need you shirtless.” you tell rafe, tugging at his collar. “take it off.”

rafe doesn't want to pull away, it doesn't seem worth it, but instead of continuing to kiss him, you pull his collar more until he has no choice but to unmold himself from your body and take a step back to toss off his shirt, watching as you do the same, revealing one cup of your bra pushed down to reveal your pert nipple.

rafe moves quick to press his lips against your breast, hands working to undo your bra before he's back inside your pants, circling around your entrance and spreading your wetness up to your clit before continuing to rub, hearing your soft moans and whimpers as he switches to your other breast.

“need your cock.” you beg, but rafe isn't ready yet. he knows it will be the ultimate end to your mutual suffering that was just used to hide your bodies attraction, sexual frustration boiling over.

as much as rafe likes sucking your nipple into his mouth and feeling how warm and soft your skin is, he's desperate to move back to your mouth and swallow more of your moans, not so they don't get heard by your coworkers, but so they can become his and his alone.

“on the desk.” rafe pulls away, and a devious smile comes to your lips, knowing you're about to get what you want.

you push your pants and underwear down your hips in one go as you sit on the desk, glad josh keeps everything clear and clean as you spread your legs, rafes eyes dropping to your pussy.

you chuckle as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, but he doesn't have time for a taste as his hands begin to work on his own clothing until rafe is just as naked as you.

he pauses for a moment, standing a foot away from the desk, his cock standing up, calling out for your pussy. he gives you a look, and you know it's a question. a question you would have raged at fifteen minutes ago but you now know is what you've needed this whole time.

“yes.” you tell rafe. simple. one word. one syllable for rafe to surge forward, his arms around your body as he captures you in another kiss and pushes his cock forward against your entrance, burying himself in one smooth motion.

your head tips back, but rafe follows, hips snapping forward and instantly picking up pace, feeling how wet and warm you are, so good that he can't help his loose tongue.

“feels so good.” rafe grumbles. “can't believe we took so fucking long to do this.”

“maybe if you weren't such a-” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust, your sassy comeback stopping halfway through and quickly leaving your mind all together.

“mhm, that's what i thought.” rafe chuckles, but he's barely handling himself better than you, forcing himself to stay somewhat quiet when really he wants to shout your name for everyone to hear, to know he's claiming you.

“t-touch me again.” you tell rafe, and he knows what you mean, yet he's not ready yet, not ready for this to end, so instead one of his hands moves to your breast while he continues to thrust.

you let out a little growl, tempted to reach down yourself and rub your own clit if rafe is taking so damn long to do it, but both your hands are certainly needed to stabilize yourself against the desk.

“perfect pussy.” rafe says, stating it like it's a fact. it almost makes you laugh, but there's not a hit of humor in his voice, his eyes completely glazed over at this point.

he finally reaches down to your clit, beginning his motions from earlier this time with his thumb, remembering exactly what you like and what gets the biggest moan out of you.

you pussy clenches around rafe and he can tell you won't last long, his own speed increasing as his thumb runs so vigorously he's worried only for a second that he's being too rough before remembering who he's with.

“f-fuck!” you squeal. “rafe!”

your back arches as you cum, entire body shaking as your arms collapse underneath you, falling back against the desk as rafe continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

the feeling of your pussy constricting around him sends him over the edge, filling you up with a grunt and a mumble of your name.

“shit.” you gasp, sitting up as you regain some control of your body. “josh is going to be pissed.”

“hey, he told us to work out our frustrations.”

--

“happy six months.” you poke rafes side, making him flinch and then frown at you as he drops a fork in a clatter back onto the table.

“can't believe i could have gotten away with just two.” rafe sighs dramatically.

“hm, part of me thinks that you purposely got in trouble again so you had to stay working here.” 

“now why would i do that?” rafe smirks, very obviously checking you out, looking past your gleaming name tag declaring your newly promoted position as manager to the cleavage peeking from underneath your top.

“meet me in my office when you're done rolling silverware.” you take a look around the country club restaurant, it's certainly not busy and your other staff can handle it as the night is coming to a close anyways.

“am i getting written up?” rafe questions, smile still on his face.

“no… but if you're quick you will get ridden.”

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Secretly Mine

Summary: Spencer and Reader have been seeing each other for a while without the team's knowledge

Category: Fluff

Couple: Spencer/BAU Fem!Reader

Content warnings: None

Word count: 1.5k

Eight months have passed since your arrival at the BAU. You’re an integral part of the team. Hotch has been sure to let you know. You’ve stood out with your eye for detail at certain crime scenes, outshining even some of the team’s more seasoned members. Luckily, the academy’s rumors about the Quantico team’s bond have rang true time and time again, so competition and jealousy never became an issue. It only made them respect you and even open up to you.

One person who has particularly opened up to you is the genius of the group, Spencer Reid. The secret you learned: he’s a gentle kisser. Almost childishly chaste, but nothing seemed more fitting for his personality. What was surprising was the setting of your first kiss.

New York City police invited the team to investigate the terrorist cell killing random people across the city. Their attacks grew more volatile by the time you all arrived, placing bombs on government vehicles. One of these bombs hurt Hotch, and SSA Joyner did not survive the same blast. The results could have been worse, considering.

Your team faced the problem of uncertainty regarding who (if anyone) had been injured at that moment. Spencer was with Rossi at the police station while the rest of you were on the ground. That damn terrorist organization interfered with signals and transmissions all the time, and this was no different. You, by your luck, were the most difficult to get in contact with, despite being safe at Federal Plaza. You met with the team when it was safe to do so and all targeted areas were cleared. Most of you sighed in relief. Garcia even held your face, as if to make sure you were real, alive and, breathing.

Spencer held your face too, but not in the same way. You both took refuge by the water cooler, surprisingly where no one was present in a once-crowded New York City police station. You talked about what happened, Hotch’s current condition, and how long to expect these nerves to last. Your nerves didn’t settle, though, when Spencer’s knuckles brushed your cheek as he said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You didn’t blame these nerves, though, when you leaned into the touch, looking up at him with a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Spencer was cute, obviously, but workplace relationships are highly unprofessional and even a liability, if the case they just survived wasn’t enough proof of that. You’d think (well, you knew actually) Spencer of all people would know this. He knows everything. When you had a case in Baltimore involving the Ravens, he told you their name came from Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous poem. Then he explained the detailed theories surrounding his untimely death. Spencer believes it has something to do with cooping, whatever that means, you dared not to ask. There’s nothing he doesn’t consider.

So, Spencer must have considered all the odds of professional behavior in that moment by the water cooler since his lips delicately brushed yours. It was barely a kiss at first, until he leaned in for another, to where you could feel the warmth of his mouth and felt that he could do with some lip exfoliant. The last part you didn’t care about because it was practically over before it began. Neither of you said anything about it. Instead, you stayed there for a while, not touching or talking. Then Morgan told the team to pack up and get ready to go home.

Throughout the past month, you and Spencer have shared many kissing sessions. Not at work, though, because you both still have some sense. Kissing Spencer, though, tends to not leave you with much sense. His gentleness is not a front. His touches are tender and he’s never pushed you beyond your limits. It’s a good thing then that he’s a gentleman, so he earned kisses through dinners, movies, and day trips. It was something to look forward to in between grueling cases.

And it wasn’t even off work when Spencer would bring joy to you. There was a case recently in North Carolina that shook you more than you cared to admit. You didn’t want to mention what specifically, as it’s something you haven’t spoken about in a long time, but the team picked up on it quickly. They checked on you and even asked if you needed to sit out. You powered through and came to a satisfactory (for lack of a better word) conclusion. Afterward, Spencer invited you to ice cream. It was a welcoming change of scenery, despite the ice cream place being called Jack the Dipper. It was hilariously fitting, so it really wasn’t an issue. Spencer didn’t ask about what happened or what made you feel so disturbed. Throughout the night, he just made sure to ask if you were okay.

You haven’t been okay for a while. Not because of that case, but because it’s been three months now and you are still running around with Spencer without the team’s knowledge. The team might feel cheated (and Hotch might be pissed) because they are not aware of this information, but the uneasiness of all this was starting to settle in. The fear, the worry that this might just be all for nothing. Outside of the office, he shows that he cares. He knows things about you that you haven't revealed in some time. And apparently he has done the same. Bruises from harsh kisses around your bodies linger under work clothes from a weekend in, and the team has been none the wiser. And you’re not sure if you’re as okay with it as you thought you were.

The team went out to the bar on a Thursday, celebrating a government holiday the night before (i.e. a three-day weekend). The team took shots, bet money, threw darts, and Emily ended up with the most by closing. You would’ve coughed up more cash throughout the night if you were confident in your bets.

Spencer barely looked at you. Didn’t brush your hand or even stand near you for too long, like you had the plague or whatever Poe died from. It didn’t help the feeling in your core, and neither did the walk home. Morgan drove Garcia home, Hotch with Rossi, and J.J. with Emily. And of course, Spencer with you. When J.J. drove away after boasting about avoiding a ticket on an expired meter, Spencer didn’t hesitate to reach for your hand. It was nice, and as the weather grew colder, it was a welcomed warmth. But how could it not feel at least a little sour?

His apartment wasn’t far from here, so you walked. Your hands were laced the entire time, but he didn’t breathe a word and you couldn’t tell if that should make you feel better or worse.

It wasn’t until you climbed the steps to his door that he asked, “Are you staying the night?”

You swallowed. Unlike Emily, Garcia, and Rossi, you were on the side of tipsy rather than in dire need of a toilet to bury your head into. “Sure.” You said. “If you want me to.”

“Yeah,” He said, fiddling with his key and lock. “Of course I want you to.”

He finally opens the door and turns on the living room light. You barely had time to put your purse down before his lips were on yours. They were still chapped like the first time, except you could forgive that because of the growing cold outside. His hands hold your waist, they creep to your back. You couldn’t help but lean in, away from the door he pressed you into. It was when Spencer moaned in your mouth that you broke away. Catching your breath, you try putting together a sentence. But breathing is difficult right now for both of you. Spencer’s eyes are lazy and his breath still lingers with a scent of the mint gum he spit out when he showed up to the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you think it’s the start to an actual apology. “I was trying to stay patient.” He kisses you again, softly. And you kiss him back still. He moans again. “I want you.”

You swallow again. Your throat is so dry. “Spencer, I—”

“I want to tell them.” He interrupts.

You blink, it quickens as you take in the words. “What?”

His hands cup your face. He brushes the messy bangs from your forehead. “I want to tell them. About this. About us. I just…” He trails off. That is not something you’re used to seeing. “I want more time with you.”

As Spencer’s words sank in, you felt a mix of apprehension and longing, wondering just what could go wrong. A lot, in fact. But you have to believe he’s being honest. Why wouldn’t he be?

And with a soft smile, you reached for his hand and met his gaze. “I want that too,” you said, feeling the weight of it finally being lifted off your chest. “I’ve wanted that for a while.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about it earlier. I was being selfish.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But I would. Because it’s true. But that changes now.” The look on his face, the fully sober look on his face. He’s all in. “I will tell them you’re my girlfriend.”

[kyseya]

Once upon a time

‘Prince’ Yandere x reader

Imagine a reader in modern day society. She lives in a normal little town, went to your average school, lives in a normal house and has your everyday friendly neighbours. Like I said, her life is nothing out of the ordinary.

She feels lucky to have so many kind people in her life. Everyone knows everyone and isn’t afraid of lending a helping hand whenever someone is in trouble. The town is on the smaller side but very cozy. They have their own traditions like the annual Christmas market or the summer fundraiser. Nice stuff like that.

Everything is simply perfect! Or…well it would be if not for one tiny detail.

Unfortunately there’s one guy who just can’t seem to take a hint. Reader feels kinda mean thinking of him as a stain on the idyllic life she’s built. She doesn’t understand why he can’t take a ‘no’ for an answer. Everyday this hunk of a man walks right into her workplace like he owns the place and demands reader’s attention. With the way he’s acting you would think he’s dying and reader’s attention is the one and only cure.

It’s not like he’s ugly or anything, but a guy who doesn’t listen is just a 🚩

That’s not even the worst part. Another big issue is his…delusions.

Like, one time when reader was walking home she decided to stop by the market square since she needed some groceries. And guess who was in the middle of the square, somehow managed to climb onto the water fountain and proudly shouting at the top of his lungs? Part of reader’s soul disintegrated that day. What in the world was he doing!? He didn’t seem to be embarrassed either. No, with his nose pointed upwards he said he was going to reveal a big secret about the whole town. Silence filled he air, everyone was curious about what he was about to say.

What was this secret? Had someone committed a grave crime and was about to be exposed? Thoughts like that circled in everyone’s mind. Their imagination came to life and dreamt up various scenarios to what the deal was. People anticipated something foul, raw and sinful only to be met with grave disappointment.

You see, the man had suddenly declared himself as royalty in front of an entire audience. He claimed that the whole town was under a spell and had forgotten about their origins; being fairytale characters. And right now, only he was able to remember the truth. Alright, what the hell? That was ridiculous. What made it worse was the fact that he appointed himself as the towns prince and leader. Yikes. He said most- if not all- of the citizens where peasants and therefore his subjects. That’s why the had to listen to him from now on.

Reader wanted to peel off her skin and scream in that moment. The secondhand embarrassment was too much.

Bringing down shame upon yourself and your ancestors was one thing, but did he have to drag reader into it?? He claimed she was also royalty and should be treated with outmost respect. Why? Because he’s her husband! Of course his spouse need the 5-star treatment as well.

After the painful incident he’s always stopped by her workplace to talk her ear off. No matter what she said or did(or how much others complained) he never left. At least not permanently. In rare instances he did go with a downcast expression but he’d always be back full force the next day.

The man tells reader about the wonderful life they were going to have. If only the curse wouldn’t have been placed and they’d all been transported to the world they currently live in. It pains him so to know she’s forgotten all about him and the great love they shared. But it’ll be alright. After all, they found each other again and he refuses to let go.

Reader only half listens(he will throw a tantrum if he realises she’s not paying attention to him) as he drones on about how they first met in the forest. Of course he found her by hearing a wonderful song travel through the woods, he followed it all the way to her. They danced together and met every sundown from then on. It was so romantic. It’s impossible not to roll your eyes at the cliche imagery, it’s just so corny.

Yandere ‘prince’ also demands reader to refer to him by his royal, ‘real’ name. It’s not his real one, it’s something else. Everyone knows that- except him, apparently, since he refuses to respond to it. If you do use it, he’ll ignore you and pretend you didn’t speak at all. It’s very tiring, more so since he tries to enforce this delusion onto reader. He also won’t use her actual name and instead settles for this medieval one. Apart from that, he calls her ‘love,’ ‘darling’, ‘my heart’ and other cutesy nicknames that are far from appreciated.

It doesn’t matter what reader says, he won’t stop.

He insists he wants to be her saviour again. Sadly for him there is nothing to protect you from except the occasional spider that makes its way inside your house.

‘Well, it’s better than nothing.’ He would say before smacking and tossing it out.

He is willing to do anything for his lover. And that really does means anything. Nothing is off the table. It wasn’t before and it definitively isn’t now simply because of some lame curse. It can’t keep him form his soulmate.

He was your prince before, he’ll show you that he still is.

———————————

[This is kinda based of Once Upon A Time, though it’s been ages since I watched it. ]

[martian-astro]

D9/ Navamsa chart observations - Part 3

Jupiter in 9th is a great placement, even better if it's the 7th lord or darakaraka in d1. Your spouse will be intelligent. there's also a chance that you may do your master's or PhD after marriage. Your spouse can also have a job related to spirituality (one of my mom's friends has this placement and his wife is a reiki healer and also teaches meditation and hypnosis)

Jupiter in 10th is another really good placement. You and your spouse could start a business together, or you may meet them in your workplace. This is one of the placements that indicate that you'll earn more after marriage or once you start working WITH them (okay, so this example is interesting, i dont know how many of you know this, but there's an Indian company, dabur, and one of my relatives got married to the daughter of the brother of the guy who currently owns the company and let me tell you something, they are RICH RICH RICH, and like they helped my relative set up his own company and whenever we visit them, they give us such expensive gifts, you won't even find them anywhere, like custom made stuff) so if other factors support this, then you can get married into a super rich household

Venus conjunct ketu in 4th is a super common placement but I've noticed that it gives different results depending on what the ascendant is. A common prediction would be, that you guys will not get along with your spouse's family, you're gonna think that they waste too much money when they already have less of it. This is especially true for mother in law (I know a girl with this placement whose mother in law spends a lot on shopping and then asks for money from her, and she has to give in because divorce is not an option) i would recommend you guys to marry someone who doesn't have a mother 🥲

I KNOW SO MANY PEOPLE WITH MERCURY IN 8TH and it's so fascinating how it has the same exact effect on everyone. Okay, so this placement gives you 2 things, first, you'll gain a lot of money through joint accounts with your spouse, this could also be a marriage where you guys stay together just for money, a lot of celebrities have this placement. Second, your spouse is gonna hide things from you, like their salary (i know a woman with this placement and her husband was promoted and he told his wife that he was still doing the low pay job and he opened another account where he saved that extra money, while their family was having financial difficulties and stuff, it was a BIG deal)

Mercury in 11th is a nice placement, this could indicate a friends to lover type of story with your spouse. They could also be an extrovert, especially if mercury is in gemini. You guys will be focused on earning money but your whole focus won't be on money, like in 2nd or 8th house, it's gonna be more like "oh, this looks like a good idea, should we invest in this" kinda thing, i would say this is more like, both practical and romantic relationship

Moon in 8th..... Not exactly the best placement. Almost all the people that i know with this placement have been cheated on by their spouse, and again your spouse could hide things from you, but this time it's more emotional. Also, i have noticed that a lot of people with this placement marry someone who's in the closet, so their partner isn't affectionate and loving towards them and they think it's their fault but it's not, but it still ends up hurting them. You, yourself, could hide your feelings as well, and your spouse can see that and that's why they hide THEIR emotions, it's like a cycle. (if you have this, i would recommend you guys to go to therapy, heal your trauma and only then get into a serious relationship and sometimes you push your feelings down and you think you're over it, but you're not)

Mars in 8th can give very different results, but it does give you a spouse who is very sexual (and believe me, it's not always a good thing). If Mars is strong then it gives extremely good results, the ability to defeat your enemies and win, i know a person with this placement and she's a woman and people around her have always tried to ruin her life and she still managed to get up and is now living a great life. But if Mars is weak or worse, debilitated, then it can give an aggressive spouse, i know a person but i dont think i should share her story with you all, but if Mars is weak then... Don't marry. BUT if 7th lord and darakaraka of d1 is SUPER STRONG in d9 then go ahead.

Venus in 2nd is like okay okay, not bad but not good. I feel like this placement works better when it's in the cart of a man rather than a woman. The spouse will be good but will be more focused on earning money, even if they're already rich. From what I've seen, men are okay with wives like that, but women aren't, they need emotional security so being with a man who is focused on money makes them sad and lonely, whereas, men with this placement are more than happy to get wives like that, In MY opinion.

Sun conjunct ketu in 11th is another placement that is common, I know a lot of people with this. So, you will gain wealth but it's going to come very slowly, the type to MAKE generational wealth but not able to enjoy it. Also, i have noticed that these people always end up marrying someone who is in a lower position than them, career wise and so they support their spouse and at the same time take most of the financial responsibility of the family.

Ketu in 8th is SUCH a strong indicator of having a kid before marriage, or atleast getting pregnant. All the celebrities who've had a kid before marriage have this placement, Angelina Jolie and Shakira are two that i currently remember but I've seen it in the charts of a lot more. And listen, THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS, OKAY.

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[ceilidho]

prompt: ex special forces ghost working as a “travel companion for hire” and reader hires him because she’s too nervous to go solo travelling

-

It’s not the first time you’ve been somewhere on your own, but it’s the first time you’ve realized that maybe solo trips aren’t for you. 

It’s in Germany, three drinks in and stumbling back to your hotel room, paranoia gripping you every time you pass a dark alleyway or take a right onto a deserted street. It’s the man walking your way on the same side of the street that has you stuffing your hand into your purse, clammy fingers gripped tight around your keys. 

On the flight home, you’re wiped. Beat. Finally untethered from a week’s worth of anxiety slowly reaching a boiling point. You’ve traveled on your own before, but it’s the first time you can remember being acutely aware of your vulnerability. Granted, before this trip, it’s not like you’d traveled all that much on your own, especially outside of the country. 

Ghost comes as a recommendation from a friend of a friend. You’d hemmed and hawed about the whole ordeal the Monday after getting home from your trip—working the front desk at an auto-body shop means that there’s no shortage of people to talk to. The guy picking up his car (fender bender, a wicked crack down the front that’s since been fixed) listens to you gripe with an absent look on his face, but you’ve learned to tune those out. People will listen to you even in spite of their indifference when there’s nothing else to do. 

“Y’know, I know a guy that does stuff like that,” he says, cutting you off halfway through another half-baked rant about airline fares these days. Your mouth puckers into something quizzical. Tell me more, it says without saying. “Ex-special forces. Left because of some medical thing, I think. Dunno. Anyway, he’s been all over the world—built like a brick shithouse, that one—and last I heard he was, uh, renting out his services.”

“Services?” 

“Like, he’d go with you, hang back while you do your thing, but basically the muscle. There to back you up if someone fucks with you.”

You’re just fresh enough off your vacation (an entirely miserable week, lest you explain the whole thing all over again) to give him your number. He promises to put you in touch with the friend of a friend who’ll put you in touch with one Simon Riley. He then gives you shit about the price on his bill and you knock ten percent off begrudgingly because the piece of paper with your number written on it is still crumpled in his palm.

No good deed goes unpunished or whatever.

“He’s not actually in the country right now,” Laswell, the friend of a friend, explains over coffee, Biscoff cookies spread out on a little tea plate between the two of you. “Or the continent.”

“Where is he?”

“For the rest of the month? Indonesia. He’s supposed to be back on the ninth. Should I let him know that you’re interested in his services?”

It’s a toss up at first. The thought of sacrificing your dignity (he would be more or less your babysitter) for adventure is tricky. With the way the dates line up—when you plan on traveling and when he gets back to the UK—you also won’t have much time to make his acquaintance before setting off. 

But there are places you want to go, sites you have scribbled down in a pocket-sized notepad folded up in the inner lining of your backpack. So you give her your permission and promise to join her and her wife for dinner sometime (repayment, and also it’s only been a few months since you moved, so you currently have a dearth of friends in your life anyway). 

The first time you see him when he stops by your workplace, you can’t help the double take. It just doesn’t seem possible. You know from Laswell and the guy at the body shop that Ghost is ex-military, but you’d been expecting some buzz-cut, slightly smarmy army reserves guy, maybe six-foot and decently muscled. What you don’t expect is the tatted beast that’s near twice your size. Only the top half of his face is exposed, the rest hidden beneath a black mask; you think briefly of asking him about it, but chicken out under his withering stare.

He doesn’t seem impressed when he meets you. “What’s your list?”

“Um…just around Europe. I haven’t thought about it too much.”

He stares down at you. “You wanna hire me just to run around the continent?”

“I haven’t thought about it!”

“Well, best give it a think fast, doll. Haven’t got all day for you to figure it out.”

You do have to think fast. He doesn’t leave until you’ve spelled out exactly where you want to go, until he’s watched you book plane tickets over your shoulder, heavy at your back while sweat beads at the nape of your neck. He’s entirely too intimidating to be looming over you like that. 

You watch him whip out his phone and fire off a couple of texts; your phone pings with an email telling you that you’ve been reimbursed for his flight and when you protest, he brushes you off by saying that he’ll invoice you for everything at the end of your trip.

Then what was promised falls into place. Free of burden, free of anxiety or restless energy, new possibilities open up to you: countries where you don’t speak the language; countries where the sites you want to see are spread out across a wide enough area that it warrants having a man packed beside you in a too-small taxi, his thigh a hot line against yours; hiking trips through national parks, where you don’t feel like you might slip down a hill and twist your ankle, stuck without water or cell service. 

You only have two weeks worth of vacation, so you use them wisely. A week traveling across Switzerland and Austria, and then a week in Cairo to see the pyramids. 

Ghost hangs back most of the time while you traipse around and do your own thing. You can feel him at your back when you approach the stands where the local vendors have set up shop, perusing silver trinkets and jewelry, only returning to your side when someone stands too close to you. 

He fists a hand in a pickpocket’s shirt when they try for your purse, giving them a shake and sending them off. 

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mutter in his direction as you watch the young man scurry away. Not sure if you’re blushing or sunburnt. 

“You hired me to deal with this shit my way. Don’t get mouthy now.”

You think it might be the former because while you might not be the best at reapplying sunscreen, Ghost has been gentle-parenting you this whole trip. He pulls you off into corners and growls down at you while squirting a dollop of sunscreen into the palm of his hand to spread across your face. You close your eyes when his rough hands trace over your face and breathe out heavily when he spins you around, big hands engulfing your shoulders and spreading down your back.

You don’t think it could get worse. It gets worse. 

He won’t spring for his own room. You stare at him in disbelief in the lobby of the two star hotel where you’ve booked a room with a single bed. There’s a vending machine in the corner of the lobby that only sells coke (all of the other buttons are broken). One of the ceiling lights flickers on and off, an ominous buzz filling the room. Ghost doesn’t so much as blink.

“You didn’t tell me—I didn’t know that was my job,” you rebuff, anxiety a fist in your throat. You’ve already asked the front desk for another room, but they’ve been sold out for weeks, the woman at the front desk informed you with no small amount of pity. It’s the busy season; even two-star hotels get booked up in the dog days of summer. 

He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Never had to before. My job isn’t to book shit.”

“I sent you my itinerary.” 

“That’s not how I work, love. Where’s your room?” 

It’s nothing short of humiliating to have him follow you back to your shabby little hotel room. Your hands shake when you unlock the door, opening it to something no bigger than a closet. You’d purposefully gotten a smaller room than you usually would, anticipating the cost of Ghost's invoice at the end of your trip. No good deed goes unpunished. 

He ushers you into the room with a hand on your back, shutting the door behind him. You flick on the only light in the room, a bulbous thing hanging from the ceiling. No bedside lamp. 

When he settles on the end of the only twin bed in the room, the bedframe groans under his weight. Your hands are already clammy. He’s already making himself at home, unbuckling his belt with a single hand; it makes you almost dizzy to look over at him so you try desperately to avert your eyes.

“At least wait until I’m in the other room,” you hiss, rifling through your suitcase faster to get your clothes for after your shower. 

“Quit moping, love,” Ghost scolds, resting back on his elbows and toeing off his boots. “We’ll make it work. Just gonna have to get comfortable together.”

You scurry off to the bathroom with your pajamas clutched tight to your chest, paying no attention to the fact that he doesn’t sound as upset as you thought he might.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...

Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….

CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.

It was just one night.

Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.

But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.

“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.

“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.

He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.

He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.

You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.

You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.

You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.

One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”

Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.

“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

“You have to,” you moan. “König–”

“I love you.”

You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.

“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.

You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.

But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.

He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.

He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.

He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.

It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...

There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.

“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.

“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.

But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.

He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.

You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.

“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.

“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.

But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.

“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.

You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.

“...What?”

He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.

“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”

You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.

This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.

Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”

[itadoring]

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 / 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: fluff / multi characters

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: kento, megumi, satoru, suguru, sukuna, toji & yuuji

𝗞𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜

“ Welcome back.” you greet him with a smile and take the work bag from his hands.

“ I told you not to wait for me.” he tells you in a tired tone as he takes off his shoes.

𝗞𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗼 goes to sit on the living room couch, leaning his head against the backrest and closes his eyes, as you join him soon after putting his bag away.

The work in the office only increases and his salary remains the same.

His thoughts occupy him so much that he doesn't hear you come and sit beside him. Only when you take his left hand in yours does 𝗞𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗼 look at you with his eyes full of affection and love.

Your thumb presses lightly on his thin, long fingers, and you calmly begin to massage his visibly swollen hands.

𝗞𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗼 first wraps his fingers around your thumb and then your hand, bringing it close to his thin lips, leaving a kiss on the back of your hand.

“ You are very kind. Thank you.” he tells you, showing a smile of gratitude.

𝗠𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢

“ Don't move!” you tell him, pulling his injured hand, which he has previously tried to remove from your grasp, towards you.

“ It's nothing. They are insignificant cuts.” he retorts in an annoyed tone. He doesn't understand why you are so obstinate in caring for something he doesn't even care about, as if those wounds of his could put his life at risk.

“ If you leave them like that, these wounds can give you infections. If you have infections, you will have diseases. If you get diseases, maybe you'll even have to amputate your hand.” you tell him dramatically the scenario as your own, now experienced, fingers put band-aids on his injured knuckles.

𝗠𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗺𝗶 looks at you resignedly, it is now a ritual for him to be medicated by you after he beats up some school bully.

“ Thank you.” when he says it, it's inaudible, but the smile that forms on your face is enough to let him know you heard him.

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢

If there is something that 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘂, the great and strong prodigy of the 𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼 clan, is not gifted at, it is cooking.

No matter how many times he tries he always ends up endangering the kitchen and raising demonstrations for the rights of kitchens and against the misuse of them by inexperienced and untalented individuals like Mr. 𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼.

This time he has decided well to make you participate and not try to do it all by himself. He stands behind you, his tall, muscular figure contradicting your petite one; his chin rests on your head as you tell him the latest gossip in your workplace.

Your fingers hovering over his, guiding his every movement as you slice up some vegetables. Your right hand wrapping around his hand that is currently holding the knife.

“ If you put your other hand like this, you won't cut your fingers off.” you add, showing him how to hold his left hand so that he doesn't hurt himself like the previous times.

𝗦𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗢

It is about midnight when you wake up to a cold chill. The window is open and the usual breeze after the rain blows from it, causing you to pull your not-so-heavy blanket tighter.

You turn your head towards your boyfriend, who continues to sleep undisturbed, and move closer to his body: your back against his torso and your legs searching for a space between his.

One of his arms is under your head while the other is placed lightly on your side. You take his large hand and bring it close to your face, trying to cover your upper body with his body heat.

“ Are you cold?” the still sleepy voice of 𝗦𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂 makes you wince a little, but you close your eyes again.

“ Yes, but it's better now.” you reply and he pulls you towards him, as if your contact wasn't enough.

𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗔 𝗥𝗬𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡

You are sitting on the lap of the great king of curses who looks at you while you keep busy with his hand.

“ Oi, what do you find so interesting? Are you trying to read my hand?” he asks you mockingly, seeing your concentrated expression. You look at him for a moment and again at his hand. Your fingers gently caress his thicker, longer ones.

“ I envy your nails. You don't even have to go to the beautician to get them so well done.” you declare, comparing his long black nails with yours, for which you had to shell out money.

Your confession leaves 𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 speechless as he looks at you in surprise but at the same time in disbelief. He has never paid attention to this detail, or rather, it is not something he would waste time on.

A laugh comes out of his mouth, almost as if he is teasing you.

“ You leave me speechless.” he tells you and you look at him with a smile, proud of your work.

𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢

𝗧𝗼𝗷𝗶 sits manspread on the couch with you beside him, his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers occasionally caressing your skin.

You turn your gaze to him, him absorbed in the television programme with his head resting on the palm of his other hand, his elbow on the armrest of the couch.

You take his hand in yours, decidedly smaller, and touch first your palms and then your fingers. The tips of yours don't even reach halfway to his.

“ What long fingers.” you say almost as if you're talking to yourself.

𝗧𝗼𝗷𝗶 turns his head and the right side of his lips turn up, also highlighting the small scar, showing you a smirk.

He opens his hand wider and intertwines his fingers with yours. You look at him not understanding and he kisses the back of your hand without taking his green eyes off you.

“ You really like my long fingers, don't ya?”

𝗬𝗨𝗝𝗜 𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗜

“ Don't let go, please.” you tell him a little afraid to fall face-first onto the ice slope.

𝗬𝘂𝗷𝗶 chuckles and you tighten your grip on both of his hands covered by your winter gloves. You still don't understand why you accepted his idea of skating when you've obviously never done it before.

“ You're getting better! Keep it up, good girl.” he says in an encouraging tone and moves toward the center of the rink as you follow him unsure of your movements.

“ Yuʼ, don't be fast.” you complain and are on the verge of tears as you feel yourself losing your balance, even though you have your boyfriend in front of you whose hands you keep welded tightly.

𝗬𝘂𝗷𝗶 is good at any sport and decides to speed up just a little. He pulls you toward him a little while still maintaining some distance, and shows you his toothy smile.

“ You don't have to be afraid when I'm here.” holy words spoken before he falls down with you.

My asks are open if you want.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Tell me how you hate me now (Miguel O’Hara x fem! Scientist! Reader) Drabble

Hiiii, so I know I said I’d focus on my main series and I am! But I just had to whip this up after my comment thread from my last post. In my head I imagine this being with Miguel from the game Edge of Time but it can be any Miguel variant. Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, workplace enemies to lovers, the girls are arguing 🤭, make out session, slight NSFW (just some ass squeezing) but no smut.

Word count: 750

Masterlist

—

“O’Hara! Hey O’Hara!” You called out to the figure that sat alone in the lab room. Your irrational only building when you didn’t get a response, not even a glance in your direction. Your pace quicken, white lab coat flaring out behind you as you close the gap between you and the other scientist. Angrily dropping a Manila folder onto his desk, the force of which made a few of his own papers fly a few inches off his desk. Finally making him look up at you with huff and a scowl.

You two have been working together for the last twelve years at Alchemax, and never had you two gotten alone. Always fighting about projects, butting heads about deadlines, everything about and between you both always ended with fighting and arguing.

“Do you know what this is?” The question was rhetorical, a manicured finger pointing at the file that had the name of your last project proposal printed on top. Your angry gaze on his face never wavering as you watch his tired eyes lazily drop to the folder, before looking up at you once more rather boredly.

“Your last project proposal?” He deadpanned.

“Yes, my last project proposal.” You scoffed, “The one that got rejected because you decided to bad mouth it to Stone.” You glared at him, feeling your blood pressure rising higher than it already was as you stood up straight and crossed your arms over your chest. Your eyes immediately connected with his brown ones as he turned his swivel chair to face you properly, arms coping your mannerisms as you both had a miniature stare down before he finally spoke.

“You're acting like this thing-“ he abruptly stood up, making you instinctively take a step back. Grabbing the proposal and using the back of his other hand to lightly hit the folder before dropping it back onto his desk. The pages spilling out from the hazardous manner, making your blood boil. “wasn't already garbage-“

“Garbage?!”

“Garbage.”

You had to close your eyes and take in a deep breath to stop yourself from lunging at the large man, wanting to tear him a new one. Once you were able to calm yourself down enough you looked back up at him. Despite his towering size over you, you didn’t find him all that intimidating.

“You’re just saying that because you wanted him to pick your project over mine-and don’t say I’m making shit up because you always do it, that’s how you got your project chosen last time!”

“Oh please, god forbid I don’t want to work under you for the next six months. It’s too chaotic! Just thinking about it gives me a migraine…” As if for dramatic effect, a hand goes up and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Oh yeah, because you’re so pleasant to be working for.” You rolled your eyes, sarcasm dripping from your mouth like venom from a snake’s. “If an intern so much as breathes the wrong way, you lose it.” You're too busy ranting to notice he was making his way towards you. “And don’t even get me started on how you micromanage everything-“

You were cut off by the sudden warmth of lips on yours, eyes wide as you blinked yourself back into the current moment. You had to be dreaming right? Why else would Miguel be kissing you. You didn’t even get to fully process the action before you felt his large hand slip to the small of your back, gently guiding you to make sure you didn’t trip over your own feet as he pushed you up against the wall.

Yeah you weren’t dreaming.

He licks your bottom lip in a silent plea to let him in, you couldn’t help but to melt into the kiss. Once the initial shock finally wore off, your body began to feel hot all over. Eyes flickering shut as your hands landed on his chest, running up to lock around his neck, no doubt leaving wrinkles in their wake. His hand came down to give your ass a firm squeeze, making you involuntarily moan at the movement.

You felt like you could drown in him, he pulled away for air before you got the chance too.

“Been wanting to kiss that pretty mouth shut for a long time.” He admitted between heavy breaths, “tell me how you hate me now with my tongue down your throat.” He taunted playfully, before closing the gap between your lips once more.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |4: One of the Good Ones|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.9k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Just a smidge of angst in this one! And I've already got a rough draft written for the next part, too! This story has been stuck in my head... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza

Your arm burned from the effort with which you were currently scrubbing your kitchen counter, working hard trying to remove a stubborn stain with the sponge in your hand. On the counter just behind you, your phone was playing music as you stress-cleaned. Truthfully you were too caught up in your thoughts as you'd been frantically jumping from one task to the next to have been paying much attention to what song was currently playing, though.

You'd already vigorously deep cleaned your bathroom, scrubbing your shower hard enough to make your fingers ache. Once you'd finished in there, you'd ended up in your bedroom, finally folding the laundry basket of clothes that had been sitting in the corner of your room all week. After that, you'd changed your bedsheets before bringing the dirty ones down to the laundry facility in your building to be washed. Upon returning to your apartment, you'd begun meticulously organizing your kitchen pantry before cleaning out the kitchen sink of dirty dishes. And then you'd landed on scrubbing your counters with every intention of cleaning off your stove top next.

You'd been cleaning like crazy after you'd come home from work tonight and finished dinner because you'd had a shitty day–though really it had been a shitty week. Everything had gone absolutely wrong at the office and you'd somehow managed to make a massive mistake on a big project the other day. Thankfully today you'd corrected the error, but your anxiety over the issue hadn't remotely disappeared. And of course, Eric, the most obnoxious and irritating co-worker at your workplace, had been at the top of his game of being an absolute asshole to you about the issue all week, too. You'd admittedly had far too many daydreams of throwing your coffee on him just to shut him up these past few days.

But as if that hadn't been enough, you'd found yourself becoming increasingly upset over the realization of your growing feelings for the Devil, who you hadn't actually seen since he'd appeared injured at your place just over a week ago. You were torn between believing his absence was either because he'd been recovering from his injury–which would also explain his absence in the news lately–or that he had zero interest in continuing whatever friendship you thought you'd both been developing. And because you'd gotten your period earlier today, you'd been hormonal all week. Which meant your brain had been telling you it was because of the latter reason.

But you didn't want to think about that. It was ridiculous to have a stupid crush on him. You didn't even know the man's name or what he looked like beneath the mask. You had no clue what he did for a living, if anything at all. And you'd only seen him three times now, it's not like you'd known him for months. It was quite likely he didn't feel the same despite the flirting he'd been doing. 

So that was what your brain continued to tell you this week whenever you got upset about his lack of appearances on your fire escape. That those visits hadn’t meant anything to him. You were just another person in the city he protected. His first visit had been accidental after all. And the second time was just to return the scarf he'd borrowed. The last time he had appeared had been because you'd been a convenient safe place for him to briefly stop and recover at when he'd been hurt, nothing more. 

Though trying to repeatedly rationalize that didn't make the ache in your chest disappear. It didn't stop you coming home every night from work hoping to have another surprise visit from the mysterious vigilante before you went to bed. And it certainly didn't stop you from shedding a few pathetic tears when he continued to remain absent each night. 

You'd begun to miss him. It was impossible to deny that now. And you'd worried about how he was doing with his injury, wondering if he really was alright. Which only had you wondering more about what he was capable of if he could meditate like that because–

“It's a bit early for spring cleaning, isn't it?”

Your hand abruptly paused mid-aggressive scrub of the stain that had long since been cleaned at the sound of the familiar and unexpected voice cutting through your thoughts. Eyes growing wide, you spun on your bare feet to find the Devil standing on the other side of your kitchen counter with a grin on his lips beneath that black mask.

“It's only February,” he teased. “Spring is still another few weeks away. Maybe show your counter a little mercy before you wear a hole in it.”

Hand gripping the soapy sponge tighter, you felt your heart nearly fly up into your throat in excitement. Because he'd come back . 

“You're here,” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he replied. He gestured a gloved hand back towards the window behind himself. “You left that unlocked, so I may have just invited myself inside since you didn't seem to respond to my knocking. I hope you don't mind.”

You shook your head quickly, still surprised to see he'd actually returned. It felt like someone had loosed a multitude of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him standing there so casually in your apartment once again. It was something you'd missed all week.

“No, that's alright,” you told him, shaking your head. “I don't mind.”

“You should really keep it locked though,” he stated. “Literally anyone could just climb in here. That's not exactly safe.”

Still trying to shake off the surprise of his visit as you took a step forward, turning off your music, a nervous laugh slipped out of you. “I think you're the only one crazy enough to climb all the way up that rickety fire escape,” you replied.

You turned, heading over towards your kitchen sink in the hopes of busying yourself with washing your hands so he wouldn't see the embarrassing grin steadily growing on your face. 

“I think you might be surprised with what the criminals will do in this city,” he countered.

“Well that's…unsettling,” you muttered, turning off the faucet and drying your hands on the nearby kitchen towel. “With the way my week has been going though I suppose it would be my luck that someone probably would climb through my window. Someone other than you, I mean.”

You set the towel back on the hook near your sink, turning around only to find the Devil had stepped around the counter and into your kitchen. He was standing a few feet away, his head tilted curiously to the side. How the hell did he always manage to move so quietly?

“You're having a bad week?” he asked. “Is that why everything smells like lemon cleaner in here and why you were scrubbing your counter so hard you couldn’t hear me knocking on the window?”

Clasping your hands together in front of yourself, you fidgeted awkwardly with your fingers. Now that your hands weren't busy with an actual task you were feeling your anxious thoughts beginning to spiral again. Especially because it was only Thursday night and you still had to go into work tomorrow and deal with Eric and everyone else when all you desperately wanted to do was crawl into bed for the duration of the weekend and pretend this week never happened. 

“What's wrong, angel?” the Devil asked softly.

You glanced up at the sound of the name he’d called you just before he left your apartment last time, watching as he took another step towards you. You sniffled lightly, trying to ignore the confusing and conflicting feelings arising inside of you at the nickname. The smile disappeared from his lips, his mouth instead pulling a bit downwards at the corners. Swallowing hard, you waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Nothing, things are good,” you lied. “I'm fine.”

The frown visibly deepened on his face before he took another step closer. “Someone who's fine doesn't generally deep clean their place on a random Thursday evening,” he pointed out. “And it seems like you've been on the verge of tears for a bit now. What's going on?”

You swallowed hard, wondering how he could’ve possibly known that when he’d only just entered your apartment. Yet another one of his mysterious little powers, you figured.

“Nothing,” you answered. “Really, I’m good. I just got into a random cleaning frenzy. It happens.”

The Devil’s head canted further to the side, his lips thinning along his face. He shook his head slowly, taking another cautious step towards you.

“You’re not fine,” he replied. “And for the record, I know when someone is lying, angel.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around your chest and trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted nervously at that name again. Surely it was meant to be more of a joke than a term of endearment considering you always called him Devil.

“Another useful skill of yours?” you asked curiously. “Like your ability to heal?”

Briefly a smirk slid over his mouth, one you caught just before it disappeared. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously back at him.

“Something like that,” he answered. “So believe me when I say that I’m not buying the line that you’re okay. What happened?”

Eyes darting down, your nails began to pick at your sweatshirt nervously. The memory of your boss chewing you out at work the other day resurfaced in your mind, quickly followed by one of Eric’s heartless comments to you afterwards. The continual disappointment of an empty fire escape night after night before you went to bed also reared its head, tears starting to sting at your eyes at the memory of those lonely nights. Blinking rapidly, you tried to stop the tears from coming.

You did not want to cry in front of the Devil.

“Nothing,” you muttered, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s all stupid in comparison to what you’re usually dealing with anyway, so don’t worry about it.”

“Hey,” he murmured, closing the remaining distance between you and gently grabbing your shoulders, lowering his masked face into your line of sight. “It’s not a competition.”

His light, reassuring touch only had the tears welling up faster in your eyes. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that. With comfort and care. A touch that made you feel both safe and seen. And here he was doing it with such ease, like you deserved that sort of attention–and from him no less. 

It suddenly became all too much. A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye as you gazed up at his face half-obscured by that mask, unable to blink it back before it made its way down your cheek. The Devil’s hands carefully began pulling you in towards himself barely a second later. Surprised at his response, your arms remained wrapped around yourself as his arms slowly encircled your shoulders.

He was hugging you. Comforting you.

Somehow that managed to open the floodgates to your emotions, the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks hot and wet in a continuous stream that you couldn't seem to control. Your hands gripped your sweatshirt tighter, unsure if you should hug him in return or not. Instead, you pressed your face into the thin fabric of his black shirt, attempting to hide how fast the tears were flowing from his sight.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were even crying at this point, either. Was it because of the shitty week you’d had? Because of the gentle touch and compassion coming from the masked vigilante, a touch that you hadn’t felt since you'd last been in a relationship? Was it because of the fact that him holding you like this only stirred up those confusing feelings further inside of you, making you wonder what this weird relationship with the Devil actually was? Or was it just because you were hormonal and on your period?

“I'm sorry,” you choked out.

“Don't apologize,” he replied instantly.

The smokey voice he always used had your fingers twisting tighter around your sweatshirt, your heart beating a little harder at the sound of it so soft beside your ear. You shifted, burying your face further against his chest. Though guilt quickly filled you as you cried. Because he shouldn't be comforting you, not for something so foolish. Not when there were people out there who actually needed him and all you'd had was a bad week, some out of control hormones, and a stupid crush.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Is there something I can do to help?”

You shook your head, begging the tears to stop falling. This was embarrassing. You didn't want him to see you like this, let alone be comforting you.

“No,” you whispered. 

You have better things to be doing with your time , you thought bitterly. I don't deserve the comfort.

Clenching your jaw, you took an abrupt step back from him. You raised an arm up, using the sleeve of your sweatshirt to aggressively wipe the dampness from your cheeks. Before you, the Devil stood with his arms still hovering in the air as if he was still holding you, seemingly confused about you withdrawing from his embrace so suddenly. There was a large wet spot from your tears soaking the front of his black shirt already.

“I'm sorry, that was embarrassing,” you muttered, still wiping at your eyes as the tears gradually slowed. “I know you don't want to be dealing with an emotional mess tonight. That's not what the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen does.”

“Who says it's not what I do?” he countered, his arms lowering back to his sides. “I'm here to help people who need it–and for the record,” he added, “crying does not make you an emotional mess. Trust me on that.”

“Well,” you began, sniffling a little, “my problems aren’t the type you can punch. And you can't exactly punch away my feelings. Or my hormones. So I think this is a little out of your usual wheelhouse.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, “but you've helped me plenty of times now. Is it wrong for me to want to return the favor?”

So that's why he was comforting you. A sort of quid pro quo. Tit for tat. An exchange of favors, not because he'd genuinely cared about what had happened to you this week and would have offered to help anyway, but because he felt like he owed you something in return. That's what he was saying, wasn’t it? 

“I don't help you because I want anything in return,” you muttered, turning around and wiping the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes once again. Afterwards, you reached up into a nearby cabinet and grabbed a clean glass from out of it. “I help you because I worry about you out there. And because I think you're one of the good ones.”

You closed the cabinet door before focusing on the faucet in front of you, filling the glass with cool water. Sniffling softly, you felt the tears beginning to slow to a stop as you tried to collect yourself. You’d cry about your misplaced feelings later when he wasn’t here. Right now you just wanted to enjoy his company and not scare him off with your tears. And maybe make sure he was doing alright himself tonight.

Once the glass was full, you turned off the faucet and inhaled a trembling breath, attempting to steel your resolve. You were not going to cry anymore tonight. 

“For what it's worth,” the Devil said from behind you, “I think you're one of the good ones.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at his comment, your back still facing him. Now that sounded like a line.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “How many people would help a vigilante instead of turning him over to the police? And how many would just ignore him entirely? And here you are inviting me into your home multiple times now without question. Always offering whatever form of assistance you can when you certainly don't need to.”

Eyes dropping down to the full glass in your hands, you felt your heart flutter in your chest at his kind words. Clearing your throat, you tried to swallow the lump that had begun to form. “I think you vastly underestimate what you mean to the people in this city, Devil,” you whispered.

Gradually you turned back around, the glass of water clutched between both of your hands. His lips were once again pulled in a straight line across his face, his head faintly tilted to the side. 

“You're a symbol of hope to many in Hell’s Kitchen,” you said softly, extending the glass out towards him. “A sign that there’s still good in the world. That there are still people who care about helping those in need.”

You could see the muscles working in his cheeks, the corner of his lips twitching faintly. You wondered what expression he was making beneath the mask right now. Was he not aware of what he meant to this city?

“Here,” you said, holding the glass out further towards him. “Drink it. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

The Devil’s right hand flexed open and shut at his side for a moment, your eyes drawn to the movement. After a minute's hesitation you saw it raise, reaching out to carefully accept the glass of water from your own hand. He murmured a soft ‘thanks’ as he drew it up towards his lips. In silence you watched the bob of his throat as he drank almost half the glass immediately, a satisfied smile eventually landing on your face. 

“You hungry?” you asked, stepping around him and heading over to your fridge. “I have spaghetti leftover from dinner tonight. Unfortunately no garlic bread,” you grumbled, opening the door of your fridge. “Because my week was apparently so bad that I even forgot to grab garlic bread at the store.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he assured you.

Half bent in front of your fridge, you glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a flat look. “Are you planning to go home and eat something before you go to sleep tonight?” you asked him. “From the fridge you have apparently only stocked with beer, eggs, and sometimes orange juice?”

He hung his head in defeat, his gaze behind the mask appearing to drop to the floor. It looked like he was fighting back a grin on his face.

“Well…no,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Right,” you said, focus returning to the contents of your fridge. “So do you eat spaghetti? Because I have plenty.”

“If you’re that determined to feed me, yes,” he answered. “I do.”

Reaching into your fridge, you pulled out the container of leftovers that you’d put away earlier this evening before you’d begun meticulously stress cleaning. You closed the door, bringing the container over to your counter and setting it down before searching for a clean bowl and a fork.

“So how’s your rib doing?” you asked as you worked. “Did your doctor friend tell you it was broken? Have you somehow meditated it back to normal already with that useful ‘skill’ of yours?”

The Devil chuckled good-naturedly behind you as you began scooping some pasta into a bowl for him. Internally you thought it strange that he found that somehow funny, though that warmth of pleasure filled you at once again still being able to make him laugh.

“She's a nurse, not a doctor, and that's hard to say,” he answered. “I’d need an x-ray to know if I had actually broken it, and I can’t exactly go to a hospital because they’d surely call the authorities on me. But either way, it’s feeling better than that night I was last here. Not completely healed with my ‘skill,’ but the pain is…tolerable.”

You stopped mid-scoop of some pasta, your head turning over your shoulder towards him. Quirking a brow at him, you shot him a quizzical look. 

“The pain is ‘tolerable’?” you asked him. “So you mean to tell me you’re still going around tonight scaling buildings and jumping off fire escapes with an injury that’s not even fully healed?”

The Devil shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, shooting you a charming smile. “Yeah,” he answered. “Something is almost always injured or hurting. But it's not like crime ever takes a night off. So usually neither do I.”

Sighing, you focused back on scooping pasta into the bowl for him. “I'm starting to worry about your sanity,” you half-joked. “You know, I've always wondered why you do what you do. I don't suppose you'd answer that truthfully, would you?”

Picking up the bowl, you stepped over towards your microwave and set it inside. Setting the timer to heat it up, you turned around and leant your back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed him expectantly. 

The Devil shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “No, not right now,” he answered. “But maybe someday I could answer that for you.”

Hugging your arms tighter around yourself, you tried to hide the thrill that shot through you at his answer. The prospect of him continuing to visit you was clearly layered in his response and you couldn't even begin to explain how that made you suddenly feel.

“Always so mysterious,” you muttered nervously, glancing down at your feet.

“Don't suppose you'd ever give me your name, would you?” he countered.

You grinned, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as the microwave hummed behind you. “I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours, Devil,” you replied. 

“So mysterious ,” he teased back, grinning. 

You tried to bite back the smile growing on your face, laughing softly. The grin only grew wider on his face and your cheeks began to heat at the sight. You could feel your heart beating a little faster as you watched him from across the kitchen, taking in the handsome shape of his mouth and feeling the nervous churning of your stomach beginning to increase at the comfortable silence that fell over you both.

Thankfully your microwave beeped a moment later, pulling you from the moment that surely would have only resulted in you further ogling him, wondering what he looked like beneath the mask. Turning around, you opened the microwave and removed the bowl of spaghetti. You set it back onto the counter, mixing it around with a fork to make sure the entire bowl had been thoroughly heated. Satisfied that it was warm, you picked up the bowl and carried it over to the Devil. 

“You can have a seat at the table if you want,” you offered, holding the bowl out to him.

You gestured your other hand to the small circular table just outside of your kitchen. The Devil accepted the bowl of pasta from you, looking somewhat over his shoulder where you'd gestured. 

“Thank you,” he replied. 

You watched as he twirled a handful of noodles onto his fork immediately, bringing it up to his mouth before he'd even began to make his way towards your table. It was obvious he was hungry with the way he'd shoveled the bite into his mouth–just like when he'd devoured that burrito–and that satisfied smile returned to your face. Even if you'd messed up a lot of things this week, at least you'd managed to do something helpful for him. And that felt good.

You'd been about to turn around and put away the container of leftovers still sitting out on your counter when you saw him suddenly freeze, his entire body tensing. Your own body froze as you watched him chew the bite of food so slowly, your stomach sinking to the floor.

“What?” you asked cautiously, feeling self-conscious and on the verge of tears again. Had you actually somehow messed this up, too? “Is it…not good? I mean I know I'm not the best cook or anything, but I thought I was decent at making spaghetti sauce. It's not that complicated.”

The Devil swallowed the bite of spaghetti, his body still stiff as he stood there. His hand had tightened around the fork in the bowl as he remained silent, which only had your nerves growing. The feeling of being a failure once again this week was suddenly bearing down heavily on you. Was there nothing you could do right this week?

“Look, if it doesn't taste any good you don't need to eat it,” you told him, taking a step closer and reaching for the bowl. “Apparently I just can't manage anything this week. Just one of those weeks I gu–”

“This tastes exactly like the spaghetti my dad used to make,” the Devil whispered in disbelief.

Your hand hovered in the air reaching out for the bowl, your mouth hanging open at what he'd told you. That certainly hadn't been the reaction you'd expected. 

“Wh–what?” you stammered out.

The Devil pointed at the bowl of pasta with the fork in his hand, something like amazement creeping into his voice as he focused on you. When he spoke again, you'd noticed that raspy, deep voice he always used had disappeared.

“The sauce,” he told you, his words gradually picking up speed as he spoke. “It tastes exactly like the spaghetti sauce my dad used to make when I was a kid. I–I haven't tasted anything quite so similar since he passed when I was young. The likeness is incredible.”

You could feel the heavy pounding of your heart in your chest at yet another little piece of the real man beneath the mask being revealed to you. Mouth opening and closing a few times, you quickly realized you didn't know how to respond. Was he going to run away on you now that he'd let another little personal detail slip? Especially considering it looked like he was also realizing what he'd just told you and was beginning to regret it.

“I'm–I'm sorry to hear about your father,” you managed out.

The Devil continued to stare at you over the bowl of spaghetti in his hands, his lips pressing together as his mouth began to twitch. It was as if he didn't quite know what to say himself, but the longer he remained quiet, his jaw grinding back and forth, the more fearful you became that he was going to bolt back out of your window for accidentally revealing more personal information about himself to you. 

Slowly you held up your hands in front of yourself like one might do to a scared animal, hoping not to scare him further. The Devil didn't move, but his jaw visibly tensed at the gesture. 

“Look, I'm not about to tell anyone that you come here sometimes,” you told him. “And I don't go digging around on the internet trying to find out who you really are with the vague information I have, mostly because I don't have that level of motivation, if I'm being honest.” You saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at your comment and you cautiously lowered your hands back to your sides. “I just want to help. That's all,” you continued. “And personally I worry that if I scare you off, you'll end up out there starving and with kidney damage from constantly not drinking enough water while you're out parkouring around the city.”

“You're worried about my kidneys now?” he asked, amusement in his tone. 

You shrugged lamely, shooting him a small smile. “If I say yes will you sit down and eat that spaghetti and drink some more water?” you questioned back. “Instead of jumping out of my window like a terrified cat?”

Something like an amused snort came from him as he turned, making his way towards your little kitchen table. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to disappear on you.

“For the record,” the Devil told you, voice muffled around a large bite of spaghetti that he'd shoveled into his mouth, “I am not a stray cat.”

“Of course not,” you agreed, picking up the glass of water he'd already finished and set onto the counter. You brought it over to your sink and began to refill it for him. “Because a cat would know better than to keep running around and making a broken rib worse. And I'm not sure how partial they are to spaghetti,” you joked. 

At the bright sound of his laughter over the sound of the running faucet, you found yourself smiling. You'd certainly missed having him here, even if you knew you were going to miss him the moment he finished that bowl of spaghetti and jumped back over your fire escape. All you could really do was enjoy the next few minutes you had with him and hope that he returned another time. 

Though deep down you sort of found yourself hoping he was more like a stray cat than he let on, because at the very least, maybe the prospect of food and water would tempt him to appear again at your window sooner rather than later. 

And that thought was steadily giving you an idea.

[dirtysvthoughts]

under the neon lights

tags/warnings: smut, pwp, boyfriend! jihoon, switch! jihoon & reader, at the universe factory (cause why not), dick sucking, some dirty talk, pet names (honey, baby, etc.), some fluff at the beginning, based off that one welive (as seen in the photos cause he looked to fucking good 😩)

word count: 1.4k

notes: happy birthday to the man who has been constantly and consistently wrecking my bias list for almost 5 years 🤍 words can’t express how much i love jihoon, he works so hard and deserves so much - i hope he gets to relax a little and receives so much love and the best head on his special day 🥹 but in all seriousness, i really do love and admire him - happy birthday jihoon!! without further ado, enjoy besties! thank you to @wongyuseokie for helping me come up with the title!

11:40 p.m.

in 20 minutes it would be the 22nd, and you would get to celebrate the love of your life’s birthday. you were very excited, but you were hoping jihoon would for once - decide to take a night out of his studio and relax for a bit. but knowing him, he would be at the universe factory if he got the chance, and it would be hard to persuade him otherwise.

so that’s where you are currently, sitting in your boyfriend’s lap while he sits in his chair, scrolling and clicking through different audio files on his desktop, compiling items together. your hands softly stroke the ends of his hair, not sure if the humming coming out of his mouth was from your movements or if he was thinking to himself. your eyes momentarily flit to the digital clock on lower right side of the screen, the time getting close to 11:45 pm. you tap jihoon’s shoulder twice to get his attention.

“hmmm?” he responds, still looking at his desktop.

“hoon, why don’t you shut everything down for right now? there’s only a few minutes left until your birthday, and i had a few ideas in mind..” you begin to trail off as you wrap your hand around his bicep, legs tightening together as you feel how strong he is.

jihoon sighs. he appreciates that you were trying to make more out of his birthday, but he always saw it as just another day. of course he appreciated all the love he received, but he didn’t want things to become such a big fuss. “babe, you know you don’t have to make any extra effort.. just this is enough - me, you, my music, and this ambiance,” he gestures to the turquoise colored lights filling the dark studio.

“i know, i know, but i just wanna make sure i celebrate you in the best way i can. that’s how much you mean to me baby,” you kiss jihoon’s cheek and he can’t help the blush that makes its way on his face. he intertwines your hands with his as he kisses it, your body moving closer toward his touch.

“you’re the best, you know that don’t you?” he asks, looking into your eyes. you nod your head as you shrink into his body, loving the way he envelops around you. there are a few moments of silence but after, jihoon’s mind quickly remembers what you said earlier.

“what did you mean by ideas?”

“hm? what ideas?” you question a little confused.

“remember, you said there were only a few minutes left until my birthday and you said you had a few ideas in mind. those ideas.”

you quickly bite your lip, getting excited at what you had practically daydreamed even before you got to the universe factory. for the longest, you wanted to give your boyfriend the messiest head in his workplace, especially attracted to the thought that no one would walk in. it would just be you two giving him the pleasure he so rightfully deserved.

“well, one idea involves both of us on the couch,” you hinted, pointing in the direction of the soft large leather piece. you avoid eye contact with jihoon as you play with the hem of his black shirt. “we could see what happens from there, but that’s the first step.”

jihoon still couldn’t tell what you were planning, but he couldn’t deny the sudden urge in his body to get up and move. he pats your thigh, motioning with his hand for you to stand up. after you stand, he walks over to the couch and you follow behind him - but when jihoon takes a seat, you promptly kneel on the floor, making sure your body was front and center in relation to your boyfriend.

the second your knees hit the floor, that’s when things finally click for jihoon. “that’s what she meant..” he thinks to himself, but his face doesn’t do a good job of hiding his discovery, in which you quickly take notice.

“guess you figured it out now, huh?” you tease, slowly rubbing your hands across his thighs. “i’ve been thinking about this for a while now.. going down on you in your workplace,” you lean your head against his thigh, innocent eyes staring into his intrigued gaze.

jihoon inhales sharply as your fingers delicately dance across the lower half of his body, dangerously approaching his crotch. you start to palm him through his pants, his breathing becoming shuddered as he grows harder with every touch and graze.

your hands finally reach the waistline of his pants, wanting to finally get what you’ve been waiting for. “can i take these off, honey?” you muse sweetly, your still innocent eyes making jihoon crave for more. he nods in response, “go ahead,” a breathless whisper leaving his lips.

with his help, you pull jihoon’s pants and boxers down to his ankles, revealing his growing, slightly leaning dick, with a perfect red tip to match. “mmm, so big and all for me to taste,” you lick your lips as you inhale his scent, moaning even more at how attractive your lover is.

your lips finally make their way down to his tip, giving jihoon a little kitten lick. a smile makes its way on your face as he groans out, his hands flying to reach the nape of your neck. you give him some more kitten licks, each one causing more beads of cum to spill out, jihoon’s breathing speeding up a bit.

“shit..” he breathes out, his eyes closed for a second and his head tilts back. using the opportunity, you take more of jihoon in your mouth, his full tip and then some now at the mercy of your tongue. the muscle begins to roam across his dick, your head starting to bob at the new intensity you were getting him off to.

you brace your hand on his thigh yet again, this time hollowing your cheeks out to take even more of him in. your nose pushes in closer as you can feel his tip finally near the back of your throat. jihoon doesn’t even try to lower how loud his moans were now, too engulfed in your presence to care about anyone or anything else.

“you naughty baby girl.. getting me off like the needy little thing you are,” his chuckle turns into another groan as you start to gag slightly on his dick. “taking me all the way to back of your throat.. mmm, such a good girl..”

if you weren’t wearing panties, you’re pretty sure you would’ve been dripping onto the floor by now. this was probably the best head you’ve given him and he had the dirty talk to match the experience.

then, jihoon starts to guide your pacing, causing you to go faster and to moan around him consistently. the hand still on the nape of your neck slightly grips at your skin, not hard but not soft either.

jihoon taps at your cheek a few moments later, bringing your attention to him as he begins to gasp for air, climax inching towards becoming reality.

“i’m- i’m gonna c-cum, baby.. think you can swallow it all for me?” you nod back, now intensely taking him in and out of your mouth, jihoon’s dick covered in your essence, your throat feeling the tiniest hint of sore - but did you really care? at this point you just wanted to give him the messiest head you possibly could.

it’s then that jihoon releases a high pitched moan and seconds later, cum is spilling into your throat, and you don’t hesitate to swallow every last drop. when he finishes emptying his load, your lick your lips teasingly and jihoon watches as your tongue roams the top half of your lips, lingering on thought of what i would be like to intertwine your tongues together so he could taste him on your mouth.

“my jihoonie tastes so good,” you giggle as you begin to stand up, reading his mind as you insert a legs in between his, kissing him square on his lips. jihoon holds your jaw as he deepens the kiss, both of you melting into each other. when you separate, you take a look again at the clock.

12:05 a.m.

“happy birthday, my love,” you whisper as you pull him in for another kiss, jihoon gently pushing you down onto the couch as he undoes your shorts.

“thank you baby, and i guess my gifts are just gonna keep coming over and over tonight,” he smirks. “can’t wait for you to come inside me.”

[littledemondani]

Hello first time here at your page

I am a sucker for revenge, so how about we give to Fuckboy Eddie a good taste of his own medicine, i want to make this bitch cry a little

Does this makes me evil ?

warnings: 18+ mdni, brief alcohol use, mentions of public sex, fuckboy!eddie, fem!reader, no use of y/n, possessiveness, slight angst, fwb to lovers

it’s not evil at all! he deserves to cry.

//

you’ve teased him about it relentlessly for weeks now. every time you bring up your coworker, josh, and how he’s the only reason you’re able to get through the agonizing 8 hours of work at your current workplace, eddie’s brows pinch and his tone gets snappy.

“awww, you’re jealous,” you’d say, looking at him with a slight pout.

“not even close, sweetheart,” he’d always reply back, shaking his head.

“whatever you say, munson.”

he’d then roll his eyes and look anywhere else but at you.

tonight, though, tonight he realizes he’s been full of shit the entire time.

the two of you are at a bar in downtown indianapolis, the same bar you met him at a little over a year ago, and you’re currently dancing with some dude.

eddie watches as you sway your hips to the beat of whatever hit pop song is blaring through the speakers. mystery guy trails his left hand down your front and over your abdomen. you make no efforts to stop him as he inches closer to your cunt. he leans down and whispers something in your ear, you nod along, then he takes your hand and leads you towards the back of the bar where the restrooms are.

eddie feels nothing but rage. he tells himself he should go after you, because he knows exactly where you’re headed and what you’re off to do. he’s done that same move more times than he can count, not just with you, but other girls, too. hell, he did it a few days ago after one of his gigs. but he knows deep down he can’t go barging into the restroom and beat that guy’s ass. the two of you aren’t dating. you’re not even exclusive to each other. he’d be going back on the conditions he set himself. so, he sits on the barstool, downing the rest of his beer and then starting on another.

twenty minutes later and you come out of the restroom, your lipstick smeared a little, hair slightly mussed up, and mystery guy’s cum dripping from your cunt onto your panties. you search the bar for eddie, expecting to find him with another girl but surprised to see him standing against a wall by himself. his arms are crossed against his chest.

“there you are,” you smile as you walk up to him. “i looked everywhere for you.”

he takes you in, his brown eyes scanning you up and down before he scoffs. “yeah, i’m sure you did.”

you frown at that, but decide not to push it.

“ready to go?” you ask instead.

he nods and leads the way out of the bar into the cool, november night.

it’s silent on the walk to where his van is parked, and you’re starting to wonder what the hell is up.

“are you mad at me or something?” you blurt out.

“what? why would i be mad at you?” he questions, though his tone isn’t helping him in any way.

“well, i don’t know,” you shrug, stopping just before you reach his van. “that’s why i asked you.”

he sighs deeply, almost as if he’s annoyed you’re even asking in the first place. he’s not annoyed with you. he’s annoyed with himself for feeling the way he does about you and not doing anything about it.

“i’m not mad at you,” he finally says, looking over at you. “i-i just —. forget it.” he opens the passenger door to his van and motions for you to get in.

you know exactly what he’s upset about. you could tell from the moment you walked up to him. you saw him eyeing you dancing with mystery guy and watching you leave to the restroom with him. you saw him glancing at you in your post-sex state.

“you know,” you say as you step closer to him. “you’re not the only one who can have fun, eddie. you fuck different girls all the time and i just ‘have to’ suck it up because ‘you know what this is.’ but when i decide to have some fun for myself, you get mad and treat me like this?”

you’re glancing up at him, nostrils flaring with anger and eyes glaring daggers. eddie opens his mouth to say something but you’re quick to interrupt him.

“if you’re mad that i fucked some random dude in there then i have some news for you. you know what the fuck this is, eddie,” you throw his own words back at him. “if you want things to be different then just fucking say s—.”

eddie cuts you off with his lips, pinning you up against the door of the van. you deepen the kiss, your hand finding purchase in his hair as you tug harshly.

“you’re mine,” he groans against your lips. “all of you. every fucking inch of you.”

“and you?” you ask, breaking the kiss to glance up at him through your lashes.

“yours,” he says with a slight tug at the corner of his lips. “i’m yours.”

[madamefeu]

Hi! Here’s what your favorite Hazbin Hotel ship says about you!

Radiodust: You're an old-timer who's been around since the pilot. One off-handed joke about Angel Dust wanting to suck Alastor's dick was all it took for you to start shipping them. You always ship the two most attractive male characters together in your fandoms, even if they have no real connection

Huskerdust: I’m not going to touch this one because I’ll probably get death threats if I don’t tell the Huskerdust fandom exactly what they want to hear

Radiorose: Hello, aro-ace community! You love this because they're the closet thing to a canon queerplatonic couple that currently exists in mainstream media, and as a fellow aro-ace, I’m in the exact same boat

Chaggie: You like the idea of forbidden love, but you're not interested in handling all of the social/political ramifications of it, and would prefer to conveniently gloss over both of those things just like in the show. This ship has the flavor profile of vanilla ice cream with chocolate chips, and so does your personality

Lucifer/Lilith: You only want one thing in this life, and that is for a powerful woman to step on your neck. You are a bottom to end all bottoms

Radioapple: Daddy kink, but in a voyeuristic way. You like watching two dads doing each other, but there is no way you’d ever let them touch you, no, all you want is to watch them go at it

Rosiemilla: Mommy kink, but in a voyeuristic way

Radiohusk: Oh, you would let a man do unspeakable things to you if he was hot enough. You read dark romances and you want a dark romance to happen to you in real life

Cherrisnake: You are absolutely terrible at handling your feelings for everyone you've ever crushed on, and will try to convince yourself that you hate the object of your affections because you lack the courage needed to make a move on them. It would take a life or death situation for you to tell your crush how you really feel about them, and even then you'd be more afraid of telling them than of dying

Guitarspear: Hello, Adam simps! You binge-read workplace romances and you fantasise about dating your boss even though he's a dick 90% of the time. Strangely, the fact that he's a dick makes you even more attracted to him

Staticmoth: Your ideal ship is two horrible people who deserve each other. You want what they have, but at the same time you don't

Zestmilla: Your preferred aesthetic is old married couple core, and I respect that. You binge-read found family fics on AO3, and your favorite tag is hurt/comfort

Radiostatic: You love the idea of someone being obsessed with you when you have no interest in them. You like to laugh at their, quite frankly, pathetic attempts to get you to notice them, and you're waiting for the day when the penny will drop and they'll realise that they are nothing to you, and never will be

Arackpentious: You have never cared about canon, and you don't intend to start now. You probably simp for Sir Pentious and use Arackniss as a self-insert. We know barely any canon information about him, so it's easy for you to project yourself onto him so that you can get doubly-dicked down by the Victorian snake man

Charlastor: You're all about the aesthetic. You got into this ship because there's an abundance of gorgeous fanart for it, even if there's no chance of them being together in canon. You don't care about that, however, because they look beautiful together and that's all that matters to you

Radiomimzy: You wish that the old canon of Mimzy being Alastor's girlfriend was still canon

Royalhalo: You hate Vaggie and you think that Charlie deserves better than her, and who better than the sugary sweet angel who was the first to hear Charlie out and argue in her favor when she found out the truth about the exterminations?

Cherridust: You are aggressively heterosexual and you believe that it is impossible for a man and a woman to be friends without one or both secretly harboring feelings for the other. You binge-read friends to lovers fics on Wattpad, and if a man so much as says hi to a woman, you will ship them

Cherrimoth: You like enemies to lovers, but in a bitch eating crackers kind of way. You either have a crush on someone that you love to hate from afar, or you want to fall in love with someone who hates you from afar

[hwangism143]

dim lights (work nights)

synopsis: work party. seungmin is a suit. a glass of wine. oh, you are so done.

pairing: lawyer!seungmin x fem!reader

genre: workplace romance, fluff, teensy angst

warnings: drinking, punching jokes, swearing

word count: 1.2k words

a/n: been in my drafts for like a week hehe. suit seungmin has me screaming. anyways, enjoy and pls drop any and all feedback!

"I'll be charging ten dollars to punch him in the face, upon your generous request," murmured a low voice tantalizingly close to your ear.

You scoffed, "The things I want to do to Davies go far beyond a modest punch to the face. Those things could get me in jail."

One arm across your waist and the other's elbow propped upon your hand, you turned to face the owner of the honeyed voice that just offered you an extremely lucrative deal moments. Swirling around the remaining wine in your wine glass, you studied Kim Seungmin as he studied you.

"In that case," Seungmin sighed, "You'll have to pay my legal consultancy fees which, I'm afraid is far higher."

A laugh bubbled from your lips as Seungmin smirked at your rage. Watching one of the many people you were currently pitted against for a promotion kissing up to your boss made anger blossom within you. Then again, you weren't exactly known for being the most level-headed lawyer employed at the Prescott, Park and Daley Legal Firm.

But you, along with Seungmin, were known for being the best.

You offered Seungmin eyes that reflected betrayal. "I thought you would bail me out for free. I thought we were friends," you chastised.

"We most definitely are not friends, darling," said Seungmin smugly.

A smirk was forming on his lips and an eyebrow was ticked up. You felt yourself being stripped bare under his piercing gaze and flirtatious smile. Oh how he loved torturing you.

You caught your lip between your teeth to drink him in, deciding to conveniently ignore the fact that your teeth were currently in the process of being stained by your dark red lipstick. Seungmin's hair was styled to perfection, his skin was glowing and his eyes stayed on you as if you were a person he wished to learn every fold of. His three-piece suit was tailored to perfection and hugged his body perfectly.

You looked away and hoped he attributed your flushed face to the wine you were drinking. He was right though. You and Seungmin were not friends, not in the conventional sense. It was more of a situation where being paired up so much over the seven years that you spent at the firm caused to the two of you to become comfortable in each other's presence.

Both you having graduated top of your class from law school (you went to Harvard Law while Seungmin opted for Princeton), you both joined the law firm at the same time, full of dreams and aspirations. At first, you both considered one another as rivals. Constantly being compared truly made you inhibit a sort of begrudging sense of dislike towards him.

However, working your first together, truly made you realize how he was actually a very caring person. Seungmin constantly knew what to say to you without even saying anything. He brought you food and made you ramen after he found out your extreme affection towards the Korean delicacy.

You and Seungmin, however, came from strikingly different backgrounds. Seungmin lived comfortably and had a wealthy upbringing, which caused people to often underestimate his hard work. You went to school on an eighty percent scholarship but still worked three jobs to pay of your student loan, causing people to often very offensively doubt your etiquette.

You heard the rumors about rich kid Seungmin during your initial weeks at the firm. Allegedly (you are a lawyer, of course you use the word allegedly more than any other word over), he lived in a high rise apartment with so many floors that a helicopter, a fucking helicopter,crashed into the side of it.

You took extreme pride in being the only one to know that this was, in fact, true, as confirmed by the man himself.

Forcing your eyes to go back to Seungmin, your gaze sat on the horrendous lump which he called his 'tie'.

"It's on wrong," you remarked, motioning towards Seungmin's tie. He gave you shrug. "Fix it for me?"

You set down your now empty glass on the sleek granite table and the private restaurant lounge your colleagues and high playing clients were currently in. The low jazz music and soft lighting gave the entire room an ambience of romance. This was only heightened by Seungmin's sudden desire to covertly flirt with you.

Reaching around his neck to undo his tie, you never broke eye contact with him. You could feel his gaze start from your eyes and trail all the way down to your black stilettoes. He had a faint smile on his face. So he likes what he sees?

Finishing with a scoff, you send him away with a pat on his arm in a futile attempt to diffuse the tiny fireworks that were popping all over your body. Seungmin disappeared into the crowd to socialize, leaving you his scent surrounding your very being.

Grabbing another drink (a mojito), you walked over to the table where Seungmin's paralegal, Hyunjin, sat scrolling on his phone. Both of you being ambiverts who leaned more towards the introverted side, you both often found yourself sitting at the quiet people table in silence.

You could see Hyunjin's welcoming eyes move from you to somewhere behind you, morphing into one of distaste. You followed his line of sight to find your paralegal, Yeji, downing shots like her life depended on it. Although Hyunjin loved his cousin, he wouldn't be caught dead doing the things she did.

"You're painfully fond of him," started Hyunjin in mock annoyance, "It's disgusting."

You rolled your eyes at him and gave him a light slip. Hyunjin dramatically feigned pain and pushed a plate of food towards you. Your stomach rumbling as if on cue, you pounced on the food and relished it. That was one good thing about these corporate meetings; they had free food, at least as far as girl logic went.

Finishing up with a satisfied sigh, you looked up only to lock eyes with a notorious Mr. Peterson, a heavily disliked client who loved hitting on women. The bartender, Chan, offered you a sympathetic smile and slid you a shot of tequila.

"You're gonna need it," he said pitifully, patting your hand twice for reassurance.

Suppressing the urge to slap the now emerging Mr. Peterson and plastering on a fake smile, you turned to face the cause of your sorrow. The short, balding man's attempt at making any nonsensical, non-professional conversation was shot down by you quickly. You waved around your hand around, hoping he would take note of the large diamond ring that sat nestled in you finger.

You hoped he would take the hint about your marital status. You were loyal to your husband to a fault. Behind you, a Kim Seungmin watched you in amusement. You felt both sadness and anger seep into you. Sadness because he wasn't near you and anger because you were left alone to deal with a human shaped insolence.

Finally escaping from the clutches of Mr. Peterson grubby hands, you put your head down on the cold marble slab. Your hands held your heels and your head was already pounding from the effects of alcohol. Behind you, you heard a laugh that you knew unmistakable belonged to Seungmin. Turning around, you came face to face with a seemingly put together and knowingly exhausted Seungmin.

"Working hours are over," you said wearily.

"So?" came Seungmin's dry response.

You held your arms up like a child. "So, would you like to carry your extremely drunk yet adorably lovable wife home?"

Seungmin pressed a kiss to your forehead and duly obliged.

main taglist (reply to be added) - @linoalwaysknows

[sugojosgf]

THE PROPOSAL 💍🥂!!

When you face deportation, your workplace nemesis agrees to marry you. However, when you visit his family, it changes your perception in many ways.

c.w : swearing, fraud, mentions of deportation, mutually beneficial relationship

w.c : 1.0k ; part 1

@bloompompom (cutest idea for a collab ever!! <3)

To be who you are right now, was not easy. The climb to the top was not just a quick montage of you being successful. You worked day and night, toiled relentlessly under awful bosses, and barely had a love life, just to be at this very moment.

You look incredulously at the board of management when they say those words. A lump forms in your throat and your eyes might tear up if you weren't holding onto a last shred of restraint.

Deportation ?

After all the hard work you've done, you are getting deported from the country, and it's fucking devastating. You hold yourself together, you've done so till now but it's getting very hard to continue.

“Is there any chance I could avoid deportation ?” You laugh, though there's no humor in your voice. The higher ups look at you with thin smiles and eyes devoid of any compassion.

“You are, and always will be our biggest asset but reapplying for your visa will take another year. We have to start looking at other candidates.”

The world around you crashes and you are trying to push down the bile, your day was not going the way you planned it out in your journal.

You should've known today was going to be the worst when you woke up to a dead phone, empty skincare and wrinkled clothes that didn't dry quite right.

“…Is this a bad time ?”

You hear a voice. You hear his voice. The man you've grown to not hate. Nanami Kento.

He held the same position as you and you had the unfortunate experience of working on three major projects with him. He always pissed you off with his condescending speech, how he always pretended to care about your well-being only because he wanted you to let your guard down around him.

“I did not know the meeting room was engaged, my apologies—” He says quickly ready to leave, but the minute those words leave his mouth, A dangerous idea makes itself known in your mind.

“Nanami! Oh, sweetheart!” You cringe internally as you call out to him, though at that moment, it was the only option left.

You giggle and make your way to him, pulling him away from the door. His face twists and a horrified expression makes its way onto his stern features.

“…what’s going on right now ?” He awkwardly chuckles, pulling his arm away from you. You begin to think maybe getting deported is better than being stuck in a position like this, with him.

You laugh nervously, “I know we discussed that we would wait a while longer before we made our relationship public, but life’s crazy and apparently if we don’t tell certain officials about our engagement, I might have to leave the nation.” You grit your teeth and pray to every religion, begging that Nanami would side with you.

“Oh..” He scratches his head, “Our relationship, the secret one that no one else knew about, which seems to be beneficial to your current predicament.”

The management looks at you suspiciously, but that dissipates the minute Nanami steps forward and brings your hand towards his lips, pressing the softest kiss to your fingers.

“I'm glad I get to do this now, it was quite difficult holding myself back for this long.” He sighs softly, and you almost doubt yourself.

Maybe you were secretly dating these past six months. The warmth in his face is bewildering, he looks and breathes like a man in love. A soft blush falls on your cheek and you almost shy away.

The higher ups manage to laugh and seem at ease with the PDA, they turn to you and one of them ask you to head to the immigration office and sort the mess out. It takes a quick discussion and you are suddenly out the meeting room with a fiance in your arms.

You both head to your office, the hushed whispers around you signal that the news is out already. You pull him in to your office, and quickly lock the door.

When you turn around, he's seated on your chair with a lazy smirk plastered on his face.

“I want the Shibuya project, if you get deported it will go to someone who's not me and I'm not sure I like that.” He says with finality.

You gape at him like a fish.

The Shibuya project was one of the hugest deals the company was handling, and if it wasn't for the deportation issue, it could have easily landed you a promotion. There was absolutely no way you could give it up.

“Time is running — you hand over the project, we get married, we pretend for a few months and divorce when you get your citizenship sorted.” He explains, “or i could just back out of this impromptu arrangement, and you get deported while i get to maintain my position.”

You walk over to him, face clearly in displeasure, “Nanami, there’s no way-”

“Oh!” He interrupts, “funny how there is only twenty seconds left for you to make a decision.” He chuckles, looking at his obnoxious watch.

“Fine.” You groan, shaking your head. “But I’ll hand it over only after you’ve signed the necessary documents.” You try to grasp at a semblance of control.

“Whatever sweetheart, I'm putting myself in danger for you.”

Suddenly his phone rings, a picture of a man with a mop of white hair and the cheesiest smile ever appears on the screen.

“Fuck, it’s Gojo.” He mumbles, sighing loudly as he answers.

You can hear the faintest voice from where you stand, the man on the other end speaks too fast and animated for you to understand anything.

“This weekend ?? I guess I forgot.”

You stand there awkwardly, catching a reflection of yourself on your glass table. You look awful, eyes crazed and mascara smudged. You start to fix yourself, focused on getting a stain out, when you hear Nanami clearing his throat.

“So, what do you think about visiting my family with me over the weekend for my birthday ?”

──────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

OKAIYYYY so a few things; first of all, i was so so excited to write this because i loved the proposal as a nine year old and wanted an excuse to rewatch it,,,,

second of all, this is not really set in any country i genuinely don't know how deportation laws work so excuse me for any ignorance (the shibuya project is just for shits and giggles pls let me reference a major plot point from the source material)

third of all, i'll definitely make this a mini series because no way i'm going to be able to write an entire movie based fic as a one shot but also i didn't want to lose the motivation i had by making this like a 20k oneshot

finally, this is like my first time writing something with proper grammar and capitalisation, like i did not just put my thoughts into a post here. that's it, mwah mwah show some love byeee <333