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hypnogold · 1 month ago

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Maple Heights 1: The beginning

In the quiet suburban enclave of Maple Heights, everything seemed to have its place. The two-story homes, with their neatly trimmed hedges and spotless driveways, lined the streets in perfect symmetry. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone waved hello, the lawns were always green, and the local church bells rang every Sunday without fail. Families gathered in the evenings for barbecues, the kids played soccer in the park, and the routine felt timeless.

But recently, something strange had started to creep into Maple Heights. It began with subtle changes that no one could quite put their finger on at first—little things, like men in the neighborhood who began dressing differently, speaking in more structured, rigid ways. Then, almost overnight, more and more of the men started showing up in identical black Fred Perry polos, each one with distinctive yellow details—a thin stripe running along the collar and cuffs, and the iconic laurel wreath logo embroidered on the chest. These weren't ordinary polos, though. The fabric had a glossy sheen to it, almost rubbery or latex-like, and they were always worn with the top button fastened tight.

The Evans family had been living in Maple Heights for a decade now. Paul and Greg, a married couple raising their three sons—Luke, 24; Michael, 22; and Tyler, 20—had chosen this neighborhood for its peaceful atmosphere and sense of community. Paul worked from home as a software engineer, while Greg ran the local bakery that everyone in town loved. The boys were a lively bunch, each with their own interests—Luke was the athlete, excelling in soccer; Michael spent his time writing music and drawing in his sketchbook; and Tyler, the tech whiz, could be found in his room building gadgets from parts he scavenged at local sales.

Their lives had always been filled with laughter and activity. Weekends meant cookouts in the backyard, bike rides around the block, and movie nights with popcorn on the couch. Church wasn’t a big part of their routine, but every Sunday, Greg made it a tradition to bake fresh pastries and drop them off at the church before opening the bakery. It was his way of staying connected with the community, even if they weren’t particularly religious.

But lately, both Paul and Greg had started noticing changes in the neighborhood, especially among the men. It started with Mr. Anderson, two doors down. He had always been friendly—waving to Greg every morning as he walked his dog past the bakery. But now, Mr. Anderson was different. His usual flannel shirts and casual jackets had been replaced by a sleek black Fred Perry polo with yellow details. Even stranger, the fabric seemed almost rubbery, the way it caught the light. And the way he buttoned it all the way to the top, stiffly and neatly—it made him look more formal than usual. His conversation was short, stilted, and somehow… off.

One evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table, Paul brought it up. “Has anyone else noticed how people around here are dressing differently?”

“Yeah,” Luke said with a frown. “A bunch of guys at soccer practice started wearing those weird black polos. I mean, they look cool, but... everyone’s wearing them, like, every day now.”

“They’re Fred Perry shirts, right? But they look... shiny,” Michael added, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “And they all button them up to the top. It’s kinda weird, like they’re in some sort of uniform.”

“It’s not just the shirts,” Greg chimed in, shaking his head. “People are acting strange, too. Customers at the bakery used to chat, laugh, but now they come in, order the same thing, and barely make eye contact. They’re so... focused.”

Tyler, the youngest, leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “I saw a bunch of them after church last week. They were all wearing those black polos. I thought maybe it was some church thing.”

Paul and Greg exchanged a concerned glance. “It’s like some sort of group,” Paul said, lowering his voice. “They’re all starting to look and act the same.”

Over the next few weeks, the changes in the neighborhood became more noticeable. More men—fathers, teachers, even some of the older teens—were now dressing in the same glossy black Fred Perry polos, the yellow details standing out sharply against the dark fabric. Each man wore his polo the same way, with the buttons done all the way up to the top, giving them a sleek, almost uniformed appearance. Even their mannerisms had changed—conversations were short, their expressions calm, almost vacant.

Luke noticed it most on his soccer team. At first, it was just a couple of the players who showed up to practice wearing the polos. But soon, half the team had swapped out their jerseys for the slick, rubbery Fred Perry shirts. And once they did, their personalities shifted. They became more focused, more intense, and eerily synchronized. Luke, who still wore his usual soccer gear, felt out of place. His teammates, now all dressed in the black polos with their yellow accents, would glance at him with strange looks, as if waiting for him to join them.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Luke said to his dads one night, slumping down on the couch. “They’re all acting weird, like they’re in some kind of club. And the coach is in on it, too. He wore one at the last game.”

“I’ve seen the same thing with my friends,” Michael added. “They’re always wearing those shirts now, and it’s like they don’t talk about anything else. It’s not like them.”

Greg sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Even the customers at the bakery... I’ve noticed more of them wearing the polos. They don’t smile, they just take their coffee and leave. And today, one of them asked if I wanted to come to some gathering after church this Sunday.”

“That’s the second time we’ve heard about that,” Paul said, frowning. “Tyler, you said you saw them after church too, right?”

Tyler nodded, his eyes wide. “Yeah, they were all standing around talking after the service. But they weren’t really talking like normal. It was like they were all... rehearsed.”

Greg shivered. “I don’t like this.”

That Sunday, Paul decided to see for himself what was going on. After the church service, while Greg was delivering his pastries, Paul slipped into the side area of the church where the men were gathering. As he stood at the back of the room, he watched them closely. Every man was dressed in the same black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Their shirts were perfectly buttoned up to the top, their expressions calm and focused as they listened to the man leading the meeting. His polo looked newer, glossier than the others, and his voice was firm but soothing as he talked about the “importance of unity” and “the future of Maple Heights.”

It was more than just a social group. This was something bigger, something that was spreading.

When Paul got home, he told Greg everything. “It’s not just the shirts,” he said, pacing the living room. “It’s like they’re all part of some bigger plan. They’re getting more men to join them. It’s like the whole neighborhood is changing.”

Over the next few weeks, the transformation continued to spread. Luke’s soccer team was almost fully converted, the boys showing up to practice in their glossy Fred Perry polos, barely speaking to anyone who wasn’t wearing one. Michael’s friends had stopped hanging out altogether, and whenever he saw them, they were dressed in the same shirts, their conversations short and emotionless. Even Tyler’s teachers had begun to show up to class wearing the same outfits.

One afternoon, Greg came home from the bakery with a tight look on his face. He held up a Fred Perry polo—glossy black with the yellow logo and details—and tossed it on the kitchen table.

“They gave this to me today,” Greg said quietly. “They said it’s time for me to ‘fit in.’”

Paul stared at the shirt, his stomach twisting. “We need to figure out what’s really going on, before it’s too late.”

But deep down, they knew it was already spreading faster than they could stop it. Maple Heights was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the entire neighborhood was transformed, one slick black polo at a time.

The next week...

Luke stood on the edge of the soccer field, his cleats digging into the grass as he stared out at his teammates, all of whom were already dressed in their glossy black Fred Perry polos. Their yellow-detailed collars were buttoned up tightly to the top, and the sheen of the shirts gleamed unnaturally in the late afternoon sun. He shifted uncomfortably in his old practice jersey, the only one left who hadn’t made the switch.

Over the past few weeks, more and more of his teammates had started showing up to practice in the strange uniforms. At first, it was just a few of the guys, but now, every single one of them wore the latex-like black polo. Coach had been pushing them harder too, but in a way that was unnerving. The drills were more intense, more synchronized. The team barely spoke to each other anymore, their conversations replaced by curt instructions and short exchanges.

Luke felt the pressure mounting every time he stepped onto the field. He knew the others noticed that he was the last one holding out. His friends, or who they used to be, barely made eye contact with him anymore. They’d glance his way with strange, expectant looks, as if waiting for him to join them, to give in.

As practice started, Luke could feel the weight of their eyes on him. He jogged through the drills, but something felt wrong. The usual energy of the game was gone, replaced by an eerie, robotic efficiency. His teammates moved in perfect unison, their movements mechanical, their expressions blank but focused. And all the while, Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching him—waiting for him to fall in line.

“Luke!” Coach’s voice boomed across the field, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come here.”

Luke jogged over, his heart pounding. Coach stood on the sidelines, his own black Fred Perry polo perfectly buttoned, the yellow details gleaming in the sun. He had been wearing the shirt for a few weeks now, and ever since then, practice had felt more like a drill session than a sport. The coach’s eyes locked onto Luke’s, calm but intense.

“You’re the last one,” Coach said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

Luke glanced at his teammates, all of them standing in formation, watching silently. “Coach, I’m just not sure about the mask. I don’t really feel like I need to wear it,” Luke said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Coach smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about the mask, Luke. It’s about unity. The team needs to be united—on and off the field. You’ve seen how well we’ve been playing lately. We’re stronger, more focused.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at his teammates, all eerily still, waiting. He didn’t want to admit it, but there had been something different about their games recently. They were winning, dominating even. But it didn’t feel like a team anymore—it felt like something else, something controlled.

“I just don’t think it’s for me, Coach,” Luke said, though his voice faltered. The pressure was mounting, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Coach’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet authority. “It’s time, Luke. You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Before Luke could respond, one of his teammates stepped forward, holding out a neatly folded black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details catching the light. Luke stared at the shirt, his stomach turning. The fabric looked slick, shiny, almost alive, and the thought of putting it on made his skin crawl.

The teammate, a boy who had once been Luke’s best friend, met his gaze, his expression blank but somehow expectant. “Come on, man,” he said softly, his voice calm but emotionless. “It’s just a shirt.”

But it wasn’t just a shirt, and Luke knew it. It was something more. The moment he put it on, he would no longer be himself. He would become just like them—another piece of the machine.

Luke stood frozen, his mind racing. He thought of his family, of his dads and his brothers, and how hard they were trying to resist the changes sweeping through the neighborhood. He didn’t want to give in, but here, on the field, surrounded by his teammates and Coach, he realized he was alone. There was no escape.

Coach stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re part of this team, Luke. You need to be like the rest of us.”

Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he took the shirt from his teammate. The fabric felt slick and cold against his fingers, heavier than he expected. His mind screamed at him to stop, to throw the shirt away and run, but his body didn’t listen.

Slowly, he pulled the black Fred Perry polo over his head. The latex-like fabric clung to his skin, tightening around him as if it had a will of its own. He adjusted the yellow-detailed collar, his fingers trembling as he buttoned it all the way to the top. The moment the last button clicked into place, a strange warmth spread through him, and his thoughts began to blur.

His mind felt foggy, distant. The resistance he had clung to for so long started to slip away. His shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he looked at his teammates not with fear or hesitation, but with calm acceptance. The shirt fit perfectly, and for a moment, Luke wondered why he had ever resisted in the first place.

Coach smiled, patting him on the back. “Good. Now you’re part of the team, put this on.”

Luke nodded slowly, his mind quiet. He took his place among his teammates, their faces no longer strange or unsettling, but familiar—like they had always been. The game started again, and this time, Luke moved with them in perfect unison, every step, every movement synchronized.

As the sun set over the soccer field, the last of Luke’s resistance faded into the background, replaced by the quiet calm of uniformity. He was no longer an outsider. He was one of them now.

After practice, Luke walked home in silence, the cool evening air brushing against his face. His mind felt strangely still, as if the buzzing thoughts he had carried all day had finally quieted. The black Fred Perry polo with its glossy sheen and yellow details clung snugly to his body, and the weight of it no longer felt strange—it felt… right. The top button was fastened tight, and though he had been uncomfortable with it at first, now it felt natural, like it was exactly where it should be.

Luke walked home from practice, the full-face rubber gas mask still tightly fitted over his head. The dark, glossy material gleamed faintly under the streetlights as he passed through the quiet, suburban streets of Maple Heights. The once-familiar neighborhood now felt distant, his breathing slow and controlled through the mask’s filters, muffling the sounds around him.

His black Fred Perry polo, with its yellow details and buttoned-up collar, clung to him as he walked, the rubber of the mask and the shirt making him feel as though he was locked into something permanent. Each step felt heavy, yet he was calm. His mind was quiet now, his thoughts no longer his own.

As he approached his house, he saw the warm glow of the kitchen lights through the window. For a moment, something stirred inside him—an echo of the boy he used to be, the Luke who would come home to his dads, joke with his brothers, and feel like himself. But the mask pressed firmly against his face, silencing those thoughts. He reached for the door, knowing they would see him like this.

When he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home hit him, but it felt different. His dads, Greg and Paul, turned from the kitchen counter, their faces going pale as they saw him standing there, dressed in the glossy black polo and the full-face rubber mask.

“Luke?” Greg’s voice was filled with shock and concern, but Luke didn’t respond. He simply stood there, the mask concealing any expression, the filters hissing softly with each breath.

Paul stepped forward, his voice shaky. “Take it off, son. You don’t have to wear that.”

But Luke didn’t move. The mask stayed on, its grip on him firm, the strange calm washing over him once again. He was home, but he wasn’t the same anymore. And as his dads stared at him in disbelief, Luke knew that the boy they once knew was slipping away.

#male transformation #hypnotised #fred perry #gas mask #shiny #ai generated #rubber men

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1117feverlessdreams · 6 months ago

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Liquid Courage

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🌀 🍸SUMMARY: Working beside Mingi at a bar was always fun. The flirting, the jokes, and the teasing made work more enjoyable, until the connection became too intense to bear. The boss leaves you alone to close one night, and your coworker makes you a special refreshment with lots of (s)creams.

🌀 🍸 TAGS: Alcohol use, intoxication, cursing, explicit name-calling, use of babe and sugar. fingering, oral sex, nipple play, fluff, and protective intercourse.

🌀 🍸 WORD COUNT: 7.4k

🌀 🍸 A/N: I tried to depict Mingi in a way that was true to his personality. He is truly loved by everyone he meets and I wish he knew that!

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You jump in fright from the repeated eager shouting of your name. “Y/n! Mingi! I need the both you over here, pronto!” Naturally you were startled, but not all too surprised by your boss's authoritative tone.

“Sorry boss...”

It’s been an unfortunate occurrence that your attention has been highly selective all early noon. The behavior was oddly out of character for you, but very typical for your coworker.

The underlying truth of the matter is that you’ve come to your senses- you have an excruciating crush on your co-worker, Mingi.

It had only been one year since you landed the job at the bar, and things where going really well.

You just didn’t want to fuck it up by, you know... fucking.

You've both heard and seen how work “relationships” tend to end. Nine times out of ten, the outcomes aren’t that positive. If anything, it creates a toxic environment to both parties, and the working environment as a whole.

You place down the washcloth on the bar countertop to finish your insignificant task of drying off moisture from spilled drinks and the bottom of cold glasses.

It was a non-obvious call for distraction to escape the unbearable thoughts…given that the culprit for them is in your vicinity.

The spiky pink-haired charmer frees his grip on the countertop while a customer is speaking mid-order, signaling to them that he’d be right back with his pointer finger.

They wave him off politely to attend to his vital duties, but if he were you in that situation, you would have to be dealing with all kinds of bitching and moaning.But yet somehow, in some way, Mingi had the same effect on customers as he did to you.

Maybe it was the black and white suited uniform your boss made him wear for business. But for you it was the face card, his sterling silver jewelry, and hot pink taper haircut that was the most effective.

“Yo, boss!” Besides the shivers that trickle down your spine from his baritone vocals, his informal acknowledgement to your boss makes you cringe. The last thing you need is to be overstimulated by more of your bosses obnoxious yelling.

He approaches shortly right next to you to face your boss who stands near the exit.

With a tight-lipped smile, your boss inhales a deep breath as he tilts his head kindly toward you. An exhale follows when he turns it back toward the discourteous and taller man next to you. “You never fail to meet my expectations Mingi.”

With a light nod, Mingi remarks, “My pleasure boss man, no need for the formalities.” He then gives you a small elbow jab as he smiles in his egocentric joy.

“I'll have you know they aren’t positive…’boss boy’.”

The most awkward stare-off you’ve ever been in the middle of begins, given that your weren’t in very many.“Oh…” Mingi mumbles.

You spare a side glance to watch as his prominent chest sinks in, shooting his previous confidence to plummet to rock bottom. He catches you looking at him teasingly, shamefully averting his eyes from your warring grin.

"Oh is right. Now, as I was going to say...", your boss announces, "’I’ve been calling on the both of you so often this morning, and it’s because I’m going to have to leave you guys alone for closing tonight."

As if your heart wasn't drumming against your chest from standing next to your work crush, or being yelled at by your boss on an hourly basis, it kicks you in harder at an extraordinarily fast rate.

There was no way you could psychologically endure the rest of the night by being alone at Mingi’s side for several hours.

Your boss continues on to reveal, "I’ve gotta stay at home with the wife. There’s a huge chance of her going into labor at any time is what the doctor is saying.” You smile and nod from your coherent understanding of home, wife, doctor, and baby.

“That’s understandable boss, you comment sweetly, I hope she delivers safely, and that you both have a healthy child.”

Mingi nods in agreement, using the moment as a chance to extend out his large hand for your boss's to clasp, triggering the jingling of his chained ring. “You’re already the best father of the year my man!” It’s not as shocking when the jingling sounds once more as Mingi’s hand falls back down, sulking in the denial from your boss.

“I appreciate that Mingi…really.” A chain of keys is slid effortlessly out of your boss's Carhartt jacket pocket, then seamlessly thrown backward into your clutch. “Y/n, you’ll hold the keys, and you will be left responsible to assist in locking things down tonight.”

Mingi takes a step forward and gestures to himself with his hands and an offended face proclaims, “Yo- I mean, boss…what about me?I’m right here.”

“I see that.”, your boss sarcastically remarks.“Keep tabs on Y/n, and help her if she needs it.”Mingis facial expression is like a gaping fish’s mouth out of water, suffering and speechless.

With no remorse your boss turns the other direction. After a few steps he naturally opens the bar door to let a customer inside, displaying a storming parade of heavy rain.

“You’re lucky I don’t fire your ass Song, but you keep those customers flowing in like a frat boy chugging a keg tube!” The door jingles as he finally takes his leave right out the exit, closing you in with inescapable temptations.

“Idiot…, you whisper, “why do you have to be that way around him?”, you shake your head in disapproval to the upset and adorable duck faced man.

He whines childishly to your dismay. Without a choice in the matter, he walks behind you as you both make your way back to awaiting customers that are dinging the bell obnoxiously at the bar.

“What did I even say wrong?” Mingi approaches the customer whose order was inconveniently interrupted, and seated closely from your group intervention.

“Beats me.”, the customer says in between laughter.

...

Today was your first day working at the pub without a boss.

Unfortunately, today of all days- did they leave you alone to deal with drunk customers and your seemingly impossible- newfoundingly attractive, and sober coworker, Song Mingi.

When the evening begins to roll in leading to what might be a fateful night, things began to get a lot more hectic.

As per usual, there are the guys who come in after a bad day, a troubling situation, or a bad life. Mainly because of work or a partner they need to shake off. A drink or many was the anecdote to temporarily forget.

A customer attempts to sit on a bar stool as he tramples around it before managing to successfully put at least half his ass on it. "The music in here…”, he groans with both hands on his head, “it s-sucks man!"

Mingi approaches him with care and interest, but no regard for his behavior. It’s the same as he would treat any other customer.

"I’ve been telling the boss man to let me DJ y’know? But he likes to go on about what I play is too loud." Mingi then begins to mock your bosses voice in a fairly amusing attempt, using air quotes with his long fingers for emphasis. "Anyway, he isn’t here with us tonight…thank goodness.”

The last bit he says under his breath, but not anything you can’t hear from preparing drinks beside him while he takes orders.

“Oh! you mean-you mean that old dude?!” The drunken man says in realization as he lets out an ungraceful burp. "He doesn’t know anything about what’s hot in today’s music!” in a dramatic motion, he swirls his finger in the air and pointed directly at Mingi."Turn on that good shit pinky!”

After some pre-contemplated thought, Mingi gladly makes his way to the end of the bar, raising his hand to signal the DJ for the cue.

He’s quick to pull it down when he senses you approaching behind him, smiling timidly as he turns to face you. "Play something club worthy at least, that’s my only request." You shrug your shoulders and step aside from behind him, walking back toward the front end without a care.

"If only the boss heard that come from your mouth. He'd never believe me in a billion years.", he whispers.

Mingi does a few hand signals you couldn't effectively translate, but upon hearing the cue of “club-worthy music” play through the speakers, you realize the DJ perfectly understood.

The drunken man stands up quickly from the stool, utilizing the bar top for stability. It was when he moved away from the bar top that concerned you when he began to trip over his own feet again. For the upteenth time Mingi leans over the counter and grabs his fore arms to help him keep balance.

At times, he was sweet in that way.

The drunken man widely grins as he once again points at Mingi. "I like you, and-and I really like this alcohol.” He points up his finger twirling it around in the air as if he was casting a magic spell. “Give me a round of shots for this whole bar Pinky!"

A uproar of excitement from all across bar powers over the music. The man rises from his stool to cheer with them, uplifting his hands like he was given the role of a God.

‘Surely…,’ you thought, ‘after this night ends, that man will wake up in the early morning to dial the line of his bank. Considering the fact we’re getting busy as the hours tick by.’

…

Every workshift would be uneventful if your customers didn't come in variety packs.

There were the Cougars. Middle-aged women trying to keep up with the times, so time doesn't catch up with their age.

Said one of many women walks up to greet you both at the bar in a sultry walk. Possibly in hopes of causing a swarm of bees to get a taste of her special made honey.

The essence of Mingi captures her eye however, and she decides to sit in a stool that so happened to be free right in front of him.

Her tight leather leopard print pants stretches as she moves with every inch. She looks downward when seated to shimmy her gargantuan boobs on the counter while wearing a matching top that holds in the drooping.

As flamboyant as the cougars usually are, it was a necessity for her to top everything off with a long lion trench coat that she moves behind her to suit properly.

You continue making the drink for the rounded tables while Mingi deadpans at her in a standstill behind the counter, paying no mind to the display she's trying to showcase.

"You know"...she begins, squishing in her boobs with no need for adjustment, "I usually don’t go for just any young man… ‘specially the ones with pink hair", she adds. "But you might’ve just changed my mind hot stuff.”

Her hands smooth over her chest for another time, yet they travel inside the top she was wearing.

Out of it, she pulls out a thick wad of folded bills, racing her hand forward to Mingis front pocket. In the boldest way possible she grabs hold of his tie and inserts the cash and pats in securely in his chest. She even goes the extra step to tuck the tie back in, smoothing the now wrinkled material with her Y2K duck nails.

You’re stunned as you watch Mingi immediately take hold of her wrist decorated in a forearms full of pandora bracelets. “Let me change it again for you, sweet pea."

The nickname took the lady aback, as it did the same for you. If only it was directed at you, but in a different context, it makes any bad day better again.

“That guy right over there...”, he continues, pointing to one of the younger men that come in often- ‘a bad life’ you think. “he’s been wanting to buy you a drink ever since he got here.”

As she turns her head in the point of Mingi’s direction, he carefully releases go of her wrist carefully to not cause a mishap. “He’s kinda hot”, she says fanning herself with the loose hand, "Oh...but are you sure you won’t be upset sweetheart?”

Mingi lets out a light laugh, shaking his head no in the most nicest way possible. “Not at all pretty lady. I can’t interfere with potential love at first sight.”

She thinks for a moment and sighs when a decision was made. In moments she gets up from her stool to readjusts her previous adjustments. Pants, boobs, and the train of her fur coat.

For the first time she looks at you, and then Mingi again. In her mind you can tell she read over something in you that you couldn’t comprehend. But your instincts tells you, she knew something. “You’re a cute little fella. Keep that pink hair going, I just know somebody’s gonna love pulling that at night.”

Her smile grows wide as she waves in your direction, "Bye, honey. “I hope those drinks aren't the only thing you'll be mixin' up with tonight… if you know what I mean."

Oh, you knew.

You were nerve-wracked for Mingi to think the same with different feelings, unattracted ones. "Wow…and to think she isn't even drunk yet.", Mingi mutters as you both watch the pair initiate conversations.

“Was he really wanting to buy her a drink?”, you asked in curiosity.

“Nah, he’s been looking around for someone for the past half hour, and she obviously need some attention so…perfect match.”

"You are absurdly evil sir." You gaze at Mingi’s stark figure with his eyes trained on the new couple.

You take the time to admire his side profile, thinking about how his nose could fit into small spaces. Or how his lips could suck-

“I prefer to be called Cupid.” He turned his head to meet your hypnotic gaze, winking at you in surprise.

To your shock, and even Mingis, the next hour consisted of the couple grooving and grinding on the dance floor. Right after that skipped out in each others arm with a chime for the exit door.

“Cupid it is.”

“Ditto.”

…

The final boss, your mortal enemies, the hot girl groupies.

They always arrive together knit in arm, and they settle down at the front end rounded tables. In the midst of their original conversation they all catch a glance at the sexy bartender across the room.

Separately, one by one, they all come up to order drinks with an underlying mission to capture the thing inside Mingi’s pants. The success rate is usually zero.

A young woman, both your ages, walks up quick with confidence from her groups table. As much as you hate to admit, her white halter top and denim-distressed booty shorts could do a number on your chances.

What makes things worse is that at this time of night, the led pink lights come on. Which means the hues of Mingi’s spiky hair becomes more fluorescent than it is in the morning light. It brings on too much attention, and a great cause of more distraction from your duties.

As the cougar has done earlier, she leans over counter with to forge her boobs to the front of her chest. Except…she was a lot more obvious about her intentions.

She flicks her chin toward you, smacking her gum with a popping jaw. “She your girlfriend?”

Mingi looks back to see you flustered from the unwanted attention. You were supposed to make drinks and give it to him, to give to her. No where in that interaction were you supposed to be involved in any conversation besides complaints about the drinks.

He gives you an attractive smile with his full lips, tracking your face and body with his eyes. “Nah, she’d be lucky if she was though.” What kills you is that Mingi maintains the eye contact with you and not the girl. It pissed her off and you as well in a sense. Although on the inside did you feel so fucking confident.

Mingi’s way with words uplifted your self esteem from time to time. But damn was the girl in front of him furious, her self esteem was depleting, and so she had to resort in ringing the bell in desperation to redirect Mingis focus.

“Can I please get a strawberry lime margarita…and with a little sugar around the rim too, please? I like licking around the tip of it y’know?“ She traces the counter top in circles with the tip of her finger, flickering her tongue as she holds eye contact. “ It makes my tastebuds really happy…”

He repeats the order- the strawberry lime margarita with a sugar rimmed part. "Strawberry lime Margarita with a crystalized sugar rim.” He writes it down but doesn’t hand it to you like usual, instead he tells you to step aside so he can make it himself.

You could tell the hot girl loved that by the way she bit her lip while Mingi mixed things together. When he’s finished, he slides the drink onto the counter and directly in front of her chest. “Your drink that you ordered.”

Her focus doesn’t even land on the drink because she’s so caught up in his physique. "It looks perfect! Thank you, um…” she looks over his suit for a name tag to notice there wasn’t one. A open opportunity for what she’ll say next-“…what did you say your name was?”

"Well… I don’t recall you asking but-.” he leans over-the-counter, interlining his fingers on both of his hands as he looks her deep in eyes, “Mingi. If you must know."

The girl leans forward and cups Mingi by the chin, which he shows no discomfort in feeling. “You’d be lucky if I was your girlfriend, Mingi.”

“Oh yeah?…, He reaches up to pull her hand and hold it in his, pulling it toward his lips which you have to look away from to withhold any rotten jealousy. "Looks like I’ll be unlucky for the rest of my life then.”

You nearly twist your neck to see the baffled look on the woman’s face, she yanks her hand away and pulls her drink off the counter, spilling the slushy ice of the margarita on her sparkling white halter.

The girls from her table gasp as they watch the scene from afar, they all urge her to move to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

“Stupid jerk!” She says wailing, shivering as the blended ice falls onto her porcelain skin, making her top all red under the hot pink lighting. She looks at you as she speeds away to the bathroom and mutters, "What a waste."

It could've been the drink she spilled that made her say that, but eye contact conveyed her non-verbal message. The only problem is that you were there, and in the way. Perhaps she and Mingi might have had a chance without your presence as a scapegoat.

Mingi rises back up, straightening his broad back into place. As there were no other customers at the counter, he turned back to you and continued to give you that distinguished look as he leant back on the bartop. "I meant what I said about you though. Luck doesn't knock twice."

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

REWIND

Life had became so boring to you that you fix your attention on other people’s happiness instead of manifesting your own.

It was a never ending thought, one that you wanted to escape from for just a moment. Which in turn lead you to sit on some pubs bar stool.

You watch the bartender come from the back with blinding hot pink hair, as much as that set him apart, you recognize the personality of his character. He was unapologetically himself and so helpful at the same time.

His hand was so fluid with every drink he mixed and poured over into the glass cups. Not to mention, he looked delicious in the pink lighting and his semi-formal undersuit.

After minutes of patiently waiting in your stool with no rushed timing, it lets you feen more to linger at his stature until he struts quickly to your stool.

“How ya doin today babe?”He arrives with a pen and pad, prepared to write down the contents of your order.

“Life could be better”, you reply nonchalantly with shrugged shoulders, “I suppose that’s why I’m here.”

He leans in to be more attentive, weighing his palm on the bar’s countertop with furrowed brows which were a lighter pink. “Well I hope that at least for the time you’re here, I can make it better.”

You blush as you fight off a geeky smile from taking up the entirety of your face. “I hope so too.”

You weren’t looking at him, but he let a smile just as big reveal on his own. He was so fawn that someone as pretty as you blushed because of him.

“Well, It’s a Thirsty Thursday and our special is an island vibe. It’s a blue sugar rock sour cocktail with vanilla whip shots.” He pulls out a menu from his so side to push it in front of your sulken body. “If that's not something that gives your interest a peak, then what can I get for you to drink?”

You've heard him reuse the line with multiple customers which made it easier to decide if you want the drink or put in a different order. As next in line you had your mind made up, but his presence and being the current customer has you contemplating your decisions again.

"I don't know what I want, what do you have please?"

He blinks at the menu and looks reluctantly behind him at the array of alcoholic drinks and mixers on the shelf. Then pointing to the tap on the bar. "Well what do you like doll face? I'll make you anything you ask me to babe."

The intimate nickname alters the nerves in your brain to make a unanimous decision, but at least you know what you don’t want. "I don't need anything strong because I need the energy. I prefer any of sweet drinks you have.”

“Oh I see.”, he says nodding slowly, likely because he’s encountered your type before. “How does something like a pina colada, a Mai tai, or a strawberry daiquiri sound for you babe?”

More decision making. The thing in your life that hasn’t exactly been your forte. You sigh, covering your stupidity with a small smile. “Can I just get all 3?"

“Damn…”, he trails off, scratching the back of his head which in result creates more spikes. “That is a lot of energy…but I got you babe, coming right up.”

“Yeah it's just that type of night, I guess”, you mumble, mainly to yourself. He leaves to pull on a pair of black gloves. He begins walking away to make your drinks but you stop him in his tracks.

He turns his head swiftly and walks backward to lean in with a close ear. You grow flustered at such a caring action, whispering your additional request. “Can I also get that special too please?” “Sorry…”

"Of course!” He says with a polite grin, “anything to make your night a little bit sweeter.” His piercing eyes leaves yours with two taps of his fingers on the bars top to go make all four drinks.

He later sets out a platter for your drinks and describes the flavors and mixes, even though you've seen every step with your never ending stare, but how good did it feel just to hear him talk.

“Thank you, they all look so pretty.”

He shrugs in shoulders lightly from the slight embarrassment that stems from your compliment. “I just wanted to see your eyes brighten up and that genuine smile, you look so upset coming in here.”

Your act was tucked behind the curtains as soon as he brought your true emotions into the light. “I was. But I’m better now because of you, thank you.” You lift up the specialty drink, offering the sweet cotton candy haired bartender a cheers.

He reveals a wide tooth smile, one that you found adoring to compliment his handsome nature. “No problem. It’s what I aim to do.” He waves you off as he walks away to assist other customers. Later that night he comes back to wipe down the countertops, finishing last next to you.

You let out a deep, heavy breath and his attention was focused on your contentment from how good the drinks were. The room around you feels fuzzy as you began to grow tipsy, smiling like a maniac with whip cream and sugar on your lips.

“Did that hit the spot?,” he asks with a cute giggle.

“Hellllll yeah.” It was obvious the drinks had an instant effect, considering you chugged them all within a fifteen minute period.

In between shakes of the towel and drying his hands, he giggles once more as his eyes scans over your face. “Speaking of spots…you do got a little something right here.” He uses his thumb to swipe his own lips, explaining where he sees it on yours.

You mimic him, scooping bits on your fingers and licking the clean with your tongue. “Is it gone?”, you slur in a whine, growing sad to think you looked silly in the vulnerable state you were in.

He chuckles and shakes his head know as he points out more residue using himself as reference. “No sweetheart, here too.”

“Am I good now?”

It’s not gone, and he knows it, smiling goofily. “Looking sweet sugar.”

You smile with closed eyes likely because you’re so relaxed from the chilled drinks. You open your eyes in awe to the upbeat scenery and meet the bartenders eyes again, seeing he was already staring at you. “Are you guys hiring by any chance?”

“Yeah! We could definitely use another bartender, but the boss man is picky. Were you thinking about joining the crew?”

“If that’s okay with your boss then sure”, you shrug.

“I can make it okay.” He drags his hand from the bar top and holds up his hand to signal for you to hold tight. I’ll be right back sugar.” You watch him disappear to the back. Before you didn’t recognize it, but you feel yourself sadden again as you realize he was actually nice company.

A man, shorter and yet broader emerged from the back rooms. He surveyed the area until he spots you, pausing like he found what he was watching for.

“Are you this young lady I’m hearing great things about from this boy?” You nearly choke as you began to sober up, recollecting all sense of intellect you’ve lost from four alcoholic drinks.

“That I am.” You state enthusiastically while clearing your throat. How do I have the pleasure of knowing you?”

“I own the place, and I heard you were interested in the bartenders position.” You gape subtly at Mingi who stands behind one the wall, prompting you a supportive thumbs up.

“Oh y-yeah absolutely. I’m new in town and I’m looking for a fresh start. Hopefully at a fine working establishment like yours.”

“You got experience as a bartender?”

“Uh… “Mingis encourages you to continue with beckoning hands, then hiding behind the wall when his boss takes a look back to what you seem so lost in. “No, I do not.”

“So then, do you want to learn?”

You shake your head affirmatively without a thought. “Yes, of course! If I was given the opportunity.”

The muscle headed man ponders your interview like exchange. He walks away to the back once more before coming out with a feminine version of the bartenders uniform. “Come back here tomorrow at the same time you came in today, and with this uniform on.”

“Oh, thank you so much!”

“You’re not hired yet dollface.”

You wipe the smile clean off your face and nod like you have a great understanding of what you are exactly. “Right.”

The boss walks away once again to the back and Mingis cross paths naturally to meet you back at the counter. “Don’t worry, you are 100% hired.”

You cock your head to the side, blinking at a rapid pace to organize the thoughts in your mixed up mind. “But he literally just said I wasn’t?”

“He never hands out a uniform to just anyone babe. Then he told you to come back the very next day? He sees potential inside of you.”

You marvel in his excitement for you. It was like he pleaded for you to to be given the chance. “It’s all because of you, I cant thank you enough.”

“I’ll accept you coming in tommorow as a good enough thank you. Don’t let me down sugar.”

The next night you came in at the exact same time, with your formal button up blouse and trousers. You got to stand next to Mingi behind the counter as he gave you hands on training experience.

Even thought you were nearly drunk, you were lucky to land the job so easily. With the spontaneous opportunity you hoped to get closer to where you wanted to be.

Although meeting Song Mingi already led you off to a great start.

...

“Mingi get down before you buss that dense head open! I just wiped the damn counter down.”

You thought after that all the chaos and havoc would be gone after closing, but now and still is your coworker acting worse than all of the absurd customers put together.

He was standing on the countertop and jerking out pelvic thrust in mid air with a bitten lip.

“Mingi!”, you shout. He seemed to had finally get the hint as he climbed down. But he still remained on the countertop sitting with his legs over the edge.

“Sugar. Babe. It’s a Saturday night and we are the only ones here.” He holds onto your shoulders gently and peers into your eyes, stopping you from the unnecessary cleaning of already clean surfaces. “We can do whatever we want. You know that right?”

You peer back at him, nearly hypnotized to agree to every word that left his mouth. “Yeah sure. You mean you can do whatever you want, and I take the fall for it?”

You shrug his grip from you shoulders and step back with the towel in hand. “Okayyy, I get that boss man left you in charge. But we work at a bar that also has an entire kitchen behind it, and a freaking dance floor.”

Mingi gets down completely to stand closer in front of you peering down into your eyes once again. “I mean cmon, if i was in charge-“

“In which, thank goodness you’re not.”

He deadpans as you cut him off, but remains relentless in his persuasion. “Don’t you wanna let loose a little bit babe? “I mean, while we still have the chance.”

It was a exciting thought, to ‘let loose a little bit’, and you know how Mingi is always the life to a dead party, even when it was just you two.

With his charm you are coerced to give up and throw your hands on the air without any cares to give. “Fuck it.” Mingi cheers and jumps like he’s on trampoline with no control. “But, stop doing that! And because this is your idea, I’m not cleaning up after, deal?”

Mingi chuckles and stops immediately but proceed into a small harmless dance. “Yeah sure, no biggie. He waves your condition off blatantly as you try your best to master a stare that was intimidating, but you honestly didn’t have it in you. It’s party time sugar, Woohoo!”

Mingi swings an imaginary cowboy lasso in the air, turning his back to presumably wander to the kitchen to grab a few things.

“Here’s some of the hard stuff, and I know you might not want to drink it because of your sweet tooth. But I think it’s time you could stop being a baby, and party like an adult tonight.”

You spot the array of said hard drinks, none you see are keen to your liking. “I only drink the sweet stuff because it doesn’t hit as hard. Three shots of whiskey and I’ll start having out of body experiences.”

“That’s why you have to balance it, sugar lips.” He places a shot glass down. “One shot,” and with the other hand another glass. “One water.”

MANY SHOTS AND MANY WATERS LATER…

“I’m gonna throw up. I’ll be back, I’m going to the ladies room.” After some much-needed relief, you come back to the front of the bar soured by a special aroma.

You were going to ask Mingi what the smell was until you saw him and began to connect the dots.

“You perve! Don’t just stand there looking at me!” Your pervertedness came into play by staring at Mingi placing pepperonis over his shirt where his nipples are.

You shake your head and sit at the stool across from where he stood behind the counter. “Why would I bother looking at you, you’re a walking man child.”

“My mom thinks it funny…” He walks to the back counter to grab a round tray and settles it down between the both of you at the front counter. “Care for some pizza? It’s fresh.”

You’re quick to grab a piece, you could eat anything to fulfill your empty stomach. “Holy shit that’s hot!”, you flick your tongue, tumbling the burning ingredients in your mouth.

Mingi pays no mind as he’s busy swirling his tongue out for cheese, wrapping the muscle around the lengthy pull.

You watch him tentatively with his flexible he could move the muscle, another dangerous cause for distraction.“You’re still an idiot, even when drunk.”

He takes the first bite of his slice aas he bends his head downward to look at you fanning your burnt tongue. “Who says I’m drunk?”

You place your slice down on the tray, waving your finger to Mingi. “Noooo, you’re definitely…drunk.” , you slur.

He giggles and adore you as you try and eat more slices. “Alright sugar, let’s take a break.” He fills another glass of water and brings it out from behind the counter with him for you. “Let’s dance.”

Mingi placed on some music from your boss’s jukebox given that the DJ left and packed up not long after closing. Assumingly for another gig.

He walks toward you and gently grabs your wrist. It was the most softened touch ever, but your tipsyness overrides your sensory abilities and you yank away from his hand. “Give me a second dude! Don’t you ever get tired?”

He doesn’t take you seriously but he backs off in respect. “Party doesn’t stop until you drop babe.”

You fully turn around in the stool, reassuring him that you didn’t need any help until your nearly fall flat on your face. Fortunately, with Mingis quick reflexes, he could both catch the glass of water and you before breaking yourselves on the marble-wooden floors.

As soon as you reached the dance floor Mingi handed the drink of water onto you and undressed into his button up with a few tabs unbuttoned.

The most random of songs began to play out of your bosses jukebox. A Spanish song with bongos, maracas, and horns began to sound on the overhead and controls the groove of Mingis body.

“Cmonnnn, stop it! You look ridiculous.”

He looked anything but. He dances in salsa, pacing his feet forward and backward as his shirt exposes a bit more of his chest.“We’re the only ones here! ‘Sides, I know you like what you see…” ,he licks the side of his mouth, doing a spin as he pokes out his butt in your direction.

You couldn’t help but spare the slightest glance, but he didn’t get the pleasure of seeing it. “I already told you what I see when I look at you.”

“Yeah, when I had pepperoni nipples! Now you get to see the real things.” He does another spin move that allowed him to take off his shoes smoothly. He cha-chas while backing away, beckoning you to follow him with his two fingers.

It looked as if something else was conjuring as you gained in proximity, like he was alluring you into an inescapable trance.

“Ugh…get a grip, I’m not gonna keep chasing you.”

Your wrist is indeed gripped by him. In a pose of salsa duo, he pulls you tightly into his chest. “Gotcha.”

You were spunned, twirled, and even tossed in the air before you finally grew tired and Mingi decided to go solo. You got a hold of that much needed water and nearly downed it in one go.

You were gonna go back in for the remaining bit until you saw Mingi thrusting wildly and a wicked idea crossed your mind. In a playful manner you began to hype him up and you almost felt guilty for what you were about to do when you saw his gorgeous smile. But you do it anyway, and you’d do it again if you could see his soaking wet man tiddies.

He freezes in surprise, mouth agape as he looks down at his own body.“What you do that for?”

“Well I didn’t have any money…I was just cheering you on.”

Mingi scoffs, not believing a word you said to be reasonable. “Fine then. It’s your turn. He steps away to bask in the embarrassment you might feel in your performance. But inconsistently for him you were boosted by liquid courage. “That way it’s fair and square.”

“Whatever…deal.”

For your performance you wanted to convey a different vibe. To go through the list of songs, selecting Britney Spears, “I’m a Slave 4 u” as your pick.

You sway you hips side to side as you get in the rhythm, snapping your fingers along to the kickbacked drums.

♫ I know I may come off quiet, may come off shy.

But I feel like talking feel like dancing when I see this guy. ♫

During the lyrics you pull Mingi off from off the wall, and onto the VIP sections couch.

♫ What’s practical? What’s logical? What the hell who cares?

All I know is I’m so happy when you’re dancing there. ♫

Your arms wrap behind Mingis neck, and you boldly climb onto the couch with your knees on the side of his thunder thighs.

♫Baby, don’t you wanna…dance upon me? To another time and place.

Oh baby, don’t you wanna…dance upon me. Leave behind my name and age. ♫

You roll your hips mid air above his private to withhold any boundaries, feeling on his upper body in drunk fun while he stretches his arm on top of the furniture to watch the show in relaxation.

“I bet those dumb girls couldn’t give it to you like this right? Offering their bodies to you for you to please and nothing else. Selfish bitches.”

Mingi cocks his head in amusement. From the beginning to now you’ve been full of surprises.“Sugar…are you jealous baby?”

You sigh and pause as the song continues to maintain its sensual stance. “Yeah, so what? How would you feel if I had almost every single guy that came in here wanting to screw me?

You smooth your hand over his upper body once again, playing timidly with the flaps of his button up. “You probably think you could do so much better than them huh?”

He smirks with his quirked plush pink lips. “I know I can. But I can show you better than I can tell you pretty. Can you do better than those women say they can?”

You reflect his same expression, adding a quirked brow for a challenge. “I can show you better than I can tell you pinky.”

You lower yourself to move in closer to his lips, and you both meet each other half way, kissing personally in harmony.

In nervousness you pull away, contemplating the rushed fuse of your actions. “I didn’t, I don’t know if-“

“It’s okay sugar.” He smooths a hand delicately over your head. “I want you to show me. If you want to…can you show me? Please?”

You nod, advancing to your next move of running your hand between his chest and unbutton his shirt. At the last button you free it open revealing his slim waist, your relentless temptations enables you to feel it tense at your gentle touch.

You peer at him through doll eyes, growing shy from the intensive heat of the moment. “How far do you want this to go?”

He cocks his head while biting his lip, bringing up his fingers to lift up your chin. “I think I recall a little birdie saying they hope drinks weren’t the only thing you were mixing up with tonight.”

“Mmmm.” you hum playfully. “I also think the little birdie said someone would love pulling this at night too.” You run your fingers through his soft scalp, sticking up the colored short hairs.

“And an early bird…” he shifts his bulge up against your core, “gets the worm.”

A surge in your body makes you reckless in ripping off his pants, and he does a master job of taking them off his ankles with his feet which you fairly helped with.

You sat up to grow rid of your clothes, sunken to your knees when you were skin and bare.

He was already up and rock hard, but to see you gawking at the size of him and it nearly covering the entirety of your face made him impossibly harder. You take him in immediately pulsing at the base of him.

He groans at your teasing, lifting your head up to bob it downward. You look in between your eyelashes as you swallow him with a stretched mouth. His head was tilted back as his mouth outputs pleasured whining. You squeeze onto his meaty thighs when he began to twitch. You were gonna take him there to his climax, but he stopped you in advance.

“I have condoms in my pockets. Inside you is where I want to be.”

You smile and cupped his face before giving him a chaste kiss. You reach down to grab his discarded pants and dig through his pocket to find the condom. Never had you have a partner that wore the greatest size. You thought it might’ve popped off given how large he truly was.

You waste no time climbing on top of him and directing the tip of him on the inside.

You both moan in unison with Mingis arms splayed on the couch, and yours in his shoulders for support. The muscles of his hips buck you upward and shaking in mid air.

He groans as he cheers your bouncing on with slaps to your ass. He cradles your boob in his large hand hook his mouth onto your nipple, blowing it softly to watch it erect. You feel them harden and soften with every suck and blow. It felt so good that is was painful.

With every deep thrust you both grew closer to climax with the slick stimulation. Mingi came as he whines from the surging shockwave, his thrusting comes to a slow with the will to get you in the same place. He pulls out, making the cum filled at the top of the rubber visible.

You fall over on his shoulder as he carefully flips you over. He spreads you open to access you inner flesh to slip in his chained ringed finger, and slurp up your clitoris like a rabid dog.

It only takes a matter of minutes to have you convulsing and pulling at his sweaty strands. Mingi slams your body back onto the cushion with no urge to stop until he feels you on his fingers and tongue.

“That’s right sugar. Give me all the sweetness you’ve got. Cum for me babe.”

A squelching noise indicates your means of arrival. Mingi releases you and removes his mouth. His chained ringed finger follows afterward, a string of your slick drags along your spongy walls.

Mingi marvels at the sight as he turns his hand, smiling wide as you look at him with low lids in effect of your orgasm. “I know you said for me to clean up afterwards… but I say we both made a mess no?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Thank you for reading.

Much love,

xoxo

#ateez mingi #mingi x reader #fix on #song mingi #mingi #1117feverlessdreams #ateez smut #ateez fluff #atz #100 notes #200 notes #300 notes #400 notes #500 notes #gyatt

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jymwahuwu · 5 months ago

Note

hihi omg ideaaa how about jingyuan x MAID READER?? Like wait have u watched maid sama? Like the reader would be student council and very independent, and strict. But she has a side business like a maid cafe. And yk jing yuan being the popular guy who rejects every single girl. And one day he found out she works there and yk blackmailing or smth ehehr

Blackmail…🤭 I don't think he meant to threaten you. Jing Yuan just found out you were working at a maid cafe and thought it was cute <33!! He loves that you are so cute!!

cw: yandere, (implied) blackmail

Maybe you are one of the Xianzhou employees and you have always been tough and unapproachable? On working days, you always wear a formal uniform, such as a single-color skirt/trousers. Even if you wear a little decoration in your hair and clothes, it is still required by the job. You are a loner and do not actively chat with your colleagues. Only General Jing Yuan often chats with you. He always behaves so humorously and casually, but is always able to predict situations and make decisions. You said something polite and perfunctory.

…Only you know you have a secret. That means you work part-time at a maid cafe, with good pay and short hours. That's so different from your usual image. You try to hide your true appearance with some makeup and a wig.

On weekends, you worked part-time at a maid cafe as usual, but the customer sitting there frightened you.

…General Jing Yuan?????? He is in the maid cafe??????

The general wore a hat to hide his long, fleecy, multi-layered whit hair. He was sitting by the window, eyes closed, as if dozing, and stirring tea in his hand. All the milk and sugar carried on the side were added. Your heartbeat seemed to have stopped and you immediately hid in the employee lounge, but your colleague told you that the customer asked for a photo with you and asked you to "cast magic" on his food…

Your vision went dark and you held your hands on the wall. Reignbow Arbiter, is this true? Do you really have to face such a shameful situation?

You take a deep breath and hypnotize yourself. Jing Yuan probably hasn't recognized you yet. Maybe? You straightened out the fluffy maid skirt and took away the cute strawberry tiara from your hair. You placed the omelette rice and dessert in front of Jing Yuan, and told him about the "magic" to be done as usual. He stared at you, the corners of his mouth slightly raised. You struggled to cast "love magic" on the omelette rice and dessert in front of him, and told the "host" that they were ready to enjoy. You feel like all your courage and strength have been drained…

This torture is not over yet. He ordered your photography package. You took the camera with him and took some pictures. You pose for a photo like a cat and a rabbit, and tell him thank you master. You watched Jing Yuan leisurely put away these photos that could be used as "evidence"…

After get off work, you breathed a sigh of relief and wanted to pretend that nothing happened, but you found several messages from Jing Yuan on your phone.

Jing Yuan: You are really cute (๑´ㅂ`๑) I heard that next week’s cafe will have a cat-eared maid theme. Will you wear cat ears and a tail?

Jing Yuan: sends those photos

Jing Yuan:

You: ……

You: …………………………

You: …………………………………………………………

You don't have any other choice, right? You'd better try which pair of cat ears and tail is cuter first. He will come back again with enough tips ♡

#jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere jing yuan #yandere jing yuan x reader #honkai x reader

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catdia · 9 days ago

Text

Grayson with a Chubby S/o

she met you in the undercity, you were introduced to each other by Vander in his bar.

you were the new bartender

Grayson never expected a goddess behind the counter instead of the usual Vander. She only ever came strictly for business

but something about the way you smiled at patrons while serving drinks, the sway of your wide hips as you carried beers to tables, hand stuffing tips inside your cleavage, knocking the teeth out of a guy that touched you too friendly for your liking made her become a regular

she prayed in her office everyday that some idiot for the Undercity would make a scene in Piltover so that she could report it to Vander

Grayson was daydreamed about you. having your full figure pressed against hers as you pointed at which drink you liked most on the menu

how beads of sweat rivered down your breasts after lifting new inventory

your dirty mouth as you cursed out customers that didn’t pay or Vander for not giving you a proper 15 minute break at rush hour

the way you squished her biceps and felt her muscles she worked hard to maintain as you greeted her

you never charged her for the drinks she got, but always found the same amount on the table when she left

you called her your “favorite enforcer” while giving her the finger. Grayson loved your fire

on countless occasions did she watch you fight of enforces that were violent to innocent bystanders. they were left bruised to the bone. whatever punishment that she had in mind was far to kind next to your bloody one

her fellow comrades feared you more than Vander in many ways. You were cruel to the strong and protective to the weak

making a name for yourself both in Piltover and The Lanes

when you first got acquainted you thoughtthat she was there for you

“In my defense your buddies got what was coming to them. I don’t especially like child beaters. And good thing that I only just broke a leg. And not a neck.”

“I’m not here for you. I have to speak with Vander.”

you were in love the first moment she took off her oxygen mask. and what a voice. a beautiful woman with bird like features. what you’ll do to be trapped in her claws…

you poured her a drink, leaning over the wide oak counter. pushing your breasts up. watching her eyes roam your skin

“Ohh — what a bummer. I would have loved to be dragged to Stillwater by such a lovely thing as yourself. You enforcers tend to be on the— What’s the word? Ah! Brutish side.”

“If it weren’t for your connections to Vander you would have been arrested by now. And if it wasn’t me, you’ll be right on your way to a life long sentence. But between you and me, we can always use more people to shallowout the bad apples.” she said taking a gulp of her drink. smiling at you with her lovely lips.

she introduced herself as Officer Grayson. shaking your hand with a gentle grip. what a powerful woman. and how you craved that

“I like you Officer Grayson. Let me get The Hound for you right quick.”

you saw that she was a decorated officer by the silver and gold on her uniform. Rifle secured on her back

you loved her uniform, constantly flirting with her by fixing her collar and stealing her enforcer hat

saying you like women in blue

“Tell me Sheriff, does its ever come off?”

you asked, now on your 5th drink. running your hands over Grayson’s jacket. playing with the small medals she had hanging from it

“For you my dear, it will come off in a heartbeat.”

she is a romantic. waited months before even kissing you. you thought she didn’t take the hint with the constant flirting

Grayson just wanted to properly court you, giving you extra large tips and bringing gifts from top side as peace offerings

gifting you fresh roses in marble vases

dancing with you at the bar as love songs were playing

lifting you of the ground (which made you extremely horny) in order to spin you in her arms and dip you into a kiss.

but once all formalities were left aside you jumped her bones on a slow night. you closed The Drop early one evening when Vander was away on smuggling business

she this time came to scold you about the the guns you stole from the Kiramman’s trade ship.

“Do you know what have you done?! The guns you stole are worth more than money. It’s the skin on my back that is going to —“

you shut her up with a kiss. you knew about her connections. you just wanted an excuse for her to come down for YOU. not herself hiding behind a stupid purse snatching to come and speak to your boss as a buffer to get your attention

stripping her uniform of as you pushed her on a tableless booth. thanking Sevika for breaking the table when she landed on it amidst a gambling brawl

“You r-really know how to get out of trouble.”

having Grayson’s legs over your shoulders as you eat away at her cunt. Her hand on top of your head, shirt unbuttoned. Moaning as you lapped her clit. Each breast in one of your palms

Grayson’s head hitting the wall behind the plush leather cushions. a glass of whiskey on the other hand

legs intertwined and cunts touching. rocking against your bodies until your clits throbbed. gasping for air between kisses. cumming on each other’s sex

Grayson wanted to get you out of The Lanes as soon as possible. out of the violence and toxicity

even though you were a beacon of light. caring for the children of the streets and a shoulder to cry on when the hardness of the underground was too much to bare

calls you darling, love, angel, dove

you make fun of her cigarette mom voice

Grayson is a big gift giver, she is the head of the enforcers and that means she makes big girl money

you can expect everything from clothing, jewelry, lavish spa days you name it

“For you, my love”

Grayson wrapped a gold and emerald necklace around your throat. you have never experienced such luxury before

you bagged yourself a sugar mommy

gave you a massive diamond ring when she proposed to you

you had a small wedding in The Last Drop. only very close friends were present. once the news got out that Grayson married a woman from the under city she was met with whisperers, and for a long time hesitation from other enforcers

Marcus was especially pissed that his commander was meddling with the undecity

but once he saw you bringing lunch to Grayson and extra for her subordinates he developed a FAT crush on you. Grayson has caught him more than once looking at your ass as you walked away

you laughed at Grayson’s poor excuse of hiding her jealousy. always touching and kissing her in front of her acquaintances to show your loyalty to her

even the council questioned her decision of your marriage. you were like oil and water to the outside world

“With no disrespect Councilors, but what happens in my bed doesn’t limit my ability to protect this city.”

Grayson once needed to pull you out of the councilors office because you may or may not have tried to choke Salo to death because of a comment he made against your lady

Mel developed respect for you. she occasionally invited you for tea and talked about social troubles between the two cities

If it wasn’t for you, then the new education and water systems wouldn’t have taken place in The Lanes. making life down there more livable

Grayson equally hates going to Piltovan social events as much as you do. but it’s part of her job to keep the rich socialites entertained

the only highlight of the event was going dress shopping with you. admiring your curves as you walked out in different gowns

she paid for every single one you liked

“You can always wear it for me at home, darling.” was her excuse

she looked ever so exquisite in the two piece suits. always color coordinated with your dress.

Grayson got bombarded by half assed praise for keeping the “trenchers” at bay. While you got ignorant questions about your uprising

you always found each other in outdoor balconies. Sipping on good champagne and looking at the shadows of Piltover

you eventually met little Caitlyn. An excellent shot and even more excellent character.

both of you trained under your wife in the art of gunmanship

Grayson taught you how to properly assemble, clean and shoot a rifle/guns

chest pressed against your back, both hand holding your gun filled ones. Staring at a blue and red bullseye. Fingers slowly descending to your abdomen, then hips.

“Now, dove, the only thing more important than a bullet is the gun in which it’s shot from. And for the gun, the only thing more important than its bullet is the purpose of which its fired.”

every solo training session end with one of you backed into a tree with your legs spread by the other

you’ve had sex in her office countless of times. Covering each other mouths while fingering your pussies.

her nose feels sooo good when you sit on her face. Grayson makes sure to grab your lower tummy fat as a form of restraint to keep you on her.

you definitely play cops and robbers. but roles reversed. You tie her up with her handcuffs in bed. naked with her enforcer hat on your head.

she has a home gym. you constantly drop in on her doing weight training and pull ups. watching her pull her shirt up to wipe off her face sweat, happy trail on her lower abs

she flexes her arms at you, you call her your sexy lady

loves seeing you in silk dress pajamas. the smooth shinny fabric hugging the crescents of your tummy and back

talked about having a family a few years before officially retiring, in which you’ll happy carry a child for her

Grayson definitely wants you to join the enforcers. you wanted to slap the shit out of her when she asked. but instead you laughed at her face, believing it was a joke.

it wasn’t. she left the acceptance letter and badge on the coffee table. telling you to think about it. how the department needed more people like you. that she couldn’t handle it all herself without you

“What threat did you use to get me in, Gray?” you drank your coffee. now bitter to taste

“Only that my Kiramman friends will pull their funding.”

“And?”

“That I’ll break off the peace with The Hound.”

and with the love and admiration they had for her, you certainly believe it

but the Vander one? not a chance. he would rather die than break a trust such as this

the night Grayson told you that she was going to make an arrest for the Jayce Talis case you made up your mind.

even if the uniform made your soul itch it was a better choice than doing nothing

you planned on telling her in the morning while having coffee before her shift

now you just stood there, looking at your wife’s white marble bust. at her funeral as her body was being lowered underground

white roses covering her still and cold flesh

little Caitlyn crying on your shoulder, while Marcus didn’t even look at you in the eyes the whole ceremony

you really were starting to believe that the place you once called home was a hell hole

and oh how you wanted it to be burned to the ground

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane x reader #grayson arcane #chubby reader #vander arcane #grayson x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #grayson x chubby reader

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thewritetofreespeech · 9 months ago

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pleeease do the wedding headcanons for bg3!! can you do all the main boys (and maybe ascended astarion??) 💍

Gale

Gale does try to subtly warn you that it will be a big wedding, with the Dekarios Clan far & wide, but you hadn’t realized how big.

Cousins, uncles, aunts, friends of the family, friends of friends of the family all come to attend. To the point that you can’t have sides at the wedding as the groom’s side would swell over the other. So you choose to have no sides.

Gale’s mother is head of the clan and officiates the wedding. Utterly beguiled by you and the happiness you bring to her son. And a day she thought would never come while he was intwined with a goddess.

Tara acts as ring bearer. A title she is at first insulted about but then refuses to give up. No take backs.

They will have to transmute another wing onto the tower for all the presents. Gale blushes & stammers at other well wishes of having children right away. He’s not against it but he wants to have you to himself a little while longer.

Wyll

Given his background that I made up and also his rank in society as the eldest son of Ravengard, it was probably always an expectation of Wyll’s to get married. Family lines and all that.

Even when his life was in shambles, deep down he always believed that he would one day be free, get married, and have children with his partner.

It would be a very traditional wedding, with military aspects given his link to the Flamming Fists. This includes uniforms, sword arches, etc.

He cares very little for the formality but takes great pains to follow the traditions.

Wyll is much more interested in the reception. To dance with you who is finally all his, makes nearly ending with the world almost worth it.

Astarion

He’s surprised you want to get married and have a proper wedding. Can you just be continuing on as you are? Together because you want to be, not because you have to be. Astarion also doesn’t like…labels.

But, if it’s what you want, he supposes it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’s just a big party at the end of the day, right? He likes parties.

It’s an intimate little affair with all your core friends come to join you. You couldn’t possibly have everyone you helped or made acquaintance with at the wedding. Astarion insists on keeping it small as you’ll never financially recover from all the ale you would need for that.

Makes his partners outfit and his own. Something matching, but not on the nose. More of a photo negative matching set. With no red. He doesn’t want to think about blood or the past today.

After it’s all said and done, Astarion can see what all the fuss might be about. To tell everyone you’re his. To tell everyone that you’ve chosen him. To have a symbol of that for all time. He’s glad you made him go through it.

Ascended!Astarion

Why? You’re already his. A piece of paper or foolish mortal ceremony is pointless when you have eternity together as Ascended and consort.

But….there are advantages to a wedding. Nobility and the merchant class of all Baldur’s Gate, not to mention powerful allies from afar, striding in like obedient lambs into his castle to pay tribute to the two of you. That is something he can get behind.

He has the grand ballroom flooded with night orchids, casablanca lilies, and any other night blooming flower he can think of. Just because they have to have the ceremony at night doesn’t mean that he’ll have your wedding be dull and dingy, devoid of color.

A costume change couple as there is an outfit for the ceremony, the reception, first dance, and departure. All custom made with the finest materials available. The kind of craftsmanship that takes 7 seamstresses 7 days & nights to finish on time. But it’s worth it.

Astarion would dance you around the ballroom. As if you were the only two in the room. Floating on air. He’s completely lost interest in his schemes and guests with you in his arms. He’ll come back to them later but they aren’t important when you’re with him.

Halsin

Never believed in marriage or weddings. Binding another person to another with words seemed unnatural to him. People are free to come & go as they please.

But, he also never considered himself a monogamist until he met you. His heart shifting from more of the bear into the wolf. Do not wolves bite and mark their mates like they might do with rings?

It would be a very small wedding. And by small he means just the two of you.

Together in a forest, under Oakfather’s gaze, using a traditional hand binding of the druids with crowns of flowers and simple garb, you make your pledge.

He would want to consummate your marriage immediately. Right there under your marriage tree; if you let him. He could be persuaded to at least wait until you’re back at your home, but it better be a short walk. Otherwise he makes no promises.

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ratwithhands · 8 months ago

Text

Decided to polish some jacket designs!

Emmet originally received a strait from the League after they thought he posed a safety risk to others and mandated him to wear it. Big surprise, they literally just went to a Unovan hospital and asked if they had any of the old jackets lying around. It's ill-fitting and unpleasant, not to mention the hasty edits they made to his uniform to act as a secondary restraint looks awful. As much as he is still operating as usual, having to walk around in the strait is humiliating and dehumanizing, especially because of the stares from other people.

Of course this crime against dignity and fashion had to be corrected, so Elesa called her designers and offered to make the League Council a more appropriate uniform for him. The only rule given was that it must still restrain as well as the original straitjacket, so Elesa ended up modelling the jacket after a vest and the secondary restraint after a double-breasted greatcoat. It's meant to look like clothing, more like everyday wear than something out of an asylum. It also uses hand covers (i.e. socks) instead of a grossly oversized sleeve to keep the hands restrained.

It resolves a lot of the issues Emmet had with the original, namely that it blends in with the crowd rather than making him stick out. It also has an air of professionalism and formality that the original didn't have. He's much more willing to wear it and keep it on, as well as being more comfortable in it.

I'm struggling to describe this in sentences so as for the differences:

League Straitjacket:

actual retired straitjacket from hospital storage

made of old canvas and leather

uses oversized belted sleeves to restrain arms

uses belts and buckles to restrain upper arms and tighten back

can't fit anything thicker than a tank top underneath

Elesa's Modified Straitvest:

bespoke articles custom tailored to Emmet's measurements

made from stiff cotton and fabric straps

uses belted cuffs and hand covers to restrain arms

uses straps and locking slide buckles to restrain upper arms and tighten back

able to fit a collared shirt underneath

Elesa's outfit also has the added bonus of being more breathable, soft, and being able to function as regular clothes.

Anyways bonus sketch comic:

Dignity restored.

#tw straitjacket #straitjacket #submas #submas au #au #ingo #subway master ingo #ingo pokemon #nobori #emmet #subway master emmet #emmet pokemon #kudari #When they brought the finished pieces in for Emmet to try on he nearly broke down #like yes it was more comfortable‚ but the sentiment and effort put into it didn't even make it feel like it was constricting him #no matter how tight the straps are pulled‚ the knowledge that it was made out of concern for him‚ for his comfort‚ for his humanity‚#it was just like any other piece of clothing #I really wanted to draw what his first day being “free” in his new uniform was like #if only to show his relief after so long being bound like a rabid animal #unfortunately I don't have enough motivation or writing ability to pull that comic off convincingly so we just have these #I hope you guys will enjoy them though! I had fun drawing them so I want them to entertain you guys too #you guys let me know if you have questions/want to see stuff about Battle Addict‚ It's fun getting to share AUs like this #see ya later

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screamting · 7 months ago

Text

Once again trapped in trying to figure out what Wayne Industries actually Does. "Everything!" yeah sure but they had to get there somehow. Amazon was an online bookstore at first there was a lot of very rapid growth between then and now.

Usually I hear that they started as a shipping business which makes sense when Gotham is 90% waterfront, but at some point they had to transition from just shipping other people's things to shipping things they made as well. I suppose if they started making their own transports for shipping (starting with their own steamboats and later trains and cars) that would make sense. Maybe in the industrial revolution they even bought their own steel mill upon getting tired of having fluctuating prices or a steel shortage and just deciding they were going to get their own damn steel and sell the extra instead. If they chose to manufacture higher quality steel instead of cheapest possible steel that's also laying the groundwork for them to be well liked by their customers. Not railroad barons but making the steel to lay the railroad and build the trains. It's the 1800s so they have a couple patented medicines by then as well that are.... not really medicine but no one has officially noticed yet. They ship their own chemicals out west for a good time.

In 1880s Alan Wayne makes the building that becomes Wayne Tower?? Which I think is much too early, but apparently we were building sky scrapers in 1888 so business must have been booming I fucking guess. This is also the man that has them go corporate.

Of course the railroads start to fall out with the growth of cars and car lobbying. They are still used along with boats for transport but with railroads not being built as much and not being maintained and the union wars, Wayne Industries has to make a pivot somewhere to stay in the race. The family can have a lot of personal money but the business itself is still going strong in Gotham even before Bruce takes over.

I guess if they're already in shipping, they're probably importing as well by then. They may have started with steamboats but then in WWI and WWII all steel factories started producing things for the war efforts, surely they made a couple big ships by then capable of crossing the Atlantic, if they weren't already in oceanic shipping by then. It lets them ride out the great depression because of government maritime subsidies that were a little out of control until the new deal kicked in. That would've also presumably kept WI employees working in the depression and cemented them harder in the city as smaller businesses closed around them.

The patented medicine starts shifting to actual generics that are a little less Heroic post 1918.

Maybe at around that point was when WI started manufacturing... sort of everything. You get your ships, and all the things on board that you need to run a ship. You get your ovens and stoves and big pots and your radar and hell your sailors can even buy their boots and uniforms from us.

When WWII ends they shift back to transporting other people's goods but also maybe more luxury vehicles as well. Cruise services. Some nicer kitchen installations. Kitchens on land even. Get a nice WI electric mixer. Get your waterfront boots. Get your generic ibuprofen.

At that point we're closer to Martha and Thomas' era and they're just... Along for the ride I guess. Thomas is a figurehead CEO. He's off doing medical school and mostly just shows up for formalities, while Martha works in the Wayne Foundation (either the only thing Thomas really made or opened in the 60s to try and get Gotham really booming) as a charity liason. They're still not really celebrities as much as a charismatic couple in high circles. WI doesn't need them to function. It's basically just funding them as they do their own things.

And then the murders happen

And then Bruce, over eighteen, shows up having inherited the figurehead CEO title and his entire family's controlling stock in WI, and announces they're going to be doing things his way now.

The CEO/Board of directors is supposed to do things in the best interest of their stock holders.

If Bruce is the controlling stock holder, they do what he says his best interest is.

#trying to sort of talk it out to myself #wayne enterprises #wayne industries #bruce wayne

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shepherds-of-haven · 8 months ago

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Do the Shepherds have a dress uniform or only the regular uniform and its seasonal variations? If they do, can you describe it?

(I bet it's the only formal wear Blade owns lol)

Yes, there's a formal version of the uniform as well, casually referred to as "dress blues" or the dress uniform! I haven't really put too much thought into visualizing it, which is why I didn't include it in the visuals on Patreon, but I mostly imagine it as being a really fancy version of the regular uniform with a cape, more pronounced epaulets, and lots of shiny bits strewn all over the front. Here's a moodboard if that's helpful!

The only reason Blade sprung for such extravagance was that he was made to understand (mostly by Riel, Shery, and Tallys) that it was vitally important for representatives of the Order to be taken seriously and to not seem like under-funded barbarians at important events, since the Shepherds were already fighting an uphill battle with their reputation. Probably at formal events, the wolf insignia isn't prominently displayed on the chest and is maybe either on the back or present in the form of an armband or a lapel pin or chest ribbon/medal, or something. If we want to get cute with it, I like to imagine that there's a version with a skirt (as in some of the images above), but I'd guess you probably have to pay extra to have that version, as it's not the standard-issue dress blues every Shepherd is distributed as part of their wardrobe and is a custom cosmetic add-on just for preference and to look cute!

#Shepherds of Haven #order of the shepherds #the order of the shepherds #uniform #dress uniform #fashion #formal #clothes #worldbuilding #moodboard

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tenkasato · 1 year ago

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Choose Me Again

Hello! Here's the Akashi-centric oneshot I promised for the longest time. It's been sitting in my drafts folder for more than 3 years. So I decided to just upload it, for what it's worth. It's quite long, but I thought it'd be better to post it in one post rather than per chapter. Warning: IT'S A MAMMOTH, but I hope you guys would hold on til the end of it. Without further ado, here it goes...

The first time he met you was when he went over to his favorite tea shop in the suburbs. It was a small place situated at the corner of the street.

The interior was designed with newspaper clips of its successful endeavours. The photos of famous celebrities in black and white pinned onto cork boards were memoirs of the once high-end tea house. The sole source of light was the dimming bulb by the corner, and the rest was shed by the afternoon sun.

You, like he, were a rare sight.

You wore a wrinkled and faded high school uniform. Your tie was a little crooked. Your long tresses were tousled and gathered into a messy bun. Your lips were pursed, eyebrows knitted in concentration. A lotus crest was embroidered on your blazer, one that he couldn't recognize.

Before he could saunter over to his usual seat, he found himself walking towards you. You looked up the moment he came to view, demeanour cautious and intrigued.

"Hi."

"Hello."

Polite smiles were exchanged.

"I haven't seen you around here.”

He lowered his eyes to the vacant seat in front of you with a silent question.

"Can't say the same to you," you replied with a grin as you gestured for him to sit. "I work back there with the dishes so I don't go out and meet the customers."

He raised his eyebrows and nodded with a low hum. That explained why your sleeves were pushed up to the level of your elbows. You shrugged, unbothered, and returned back to what you were busy with before he interrupted. Sketches of faceless women clad in formal dresses were scattered around the round table. Eraser dusts were everywhere.

“Why do you always come to this place? It’s full of old people and it smells like incense.”

While most of his peers went to KTVs, arcades and malls, he preferred quiet places like these. It was no wonder he caught your eyes. A young man fresh from school in his white blazers looked odd and out of place.

“You’ve been watching?”

You shook your head with a chuckle, the motion letting loose some strands from her bun.

“I like observing people.”

The second time you met, he finally asked your name. And he told you his.

“Akashi Seijuro, hmmm.”

His name rolled on your tongue like candy. Not the excessively sweet one, but the type that leaves a gentle aftertaste in the mouth. He liked hearing his name with your voice.

He waited for your eyes to widen, to pause, to shrink back under his stare. A renowned surname like his seemed to have that kind of effect on others. His family was influential in terms of politics and business. It was a double-edged sword. One that struck fear and respect from his classmates.

But you simply nodded. Perhaps you weren't aware.

That was his notion until you spoke again.

"Must be tough to be under pressure all the time." You spun your pencil with your fingers, the twirls and tumbles mesmerizing him for a bit. "No wonder you frequent this shabby stall for some breathers."

"You've come to quite an interesting conclusion.”

"I'm not wrong, am I?"

He wondered if you were good at reading people because you drew expressions well. Melancholy in a smile so wide. Apprehension hidden behind closed eyes. Ranges of emotion in supposedly expressionless animals. Your hands worked craftily with just a pencil.

How would you draw him?

Curious, he asked you.

“I don't know.”

And he left it at that, despite wanting to ask why. It was hard to understand someone like him that even he couldn't fully comprehend what he truly was. He looked at himself in the mirror everyday. He still had the same face, the same lips and cheeks. But with a look closer, his image would rattle, shift and shatter. It made his left eye throb.

“Do you want to go outside? You don't look so good.”

He peeked across the window to where his car was parked. With a little contemplation, he nodded and texted his chauffeur that he was going to walk home.

~ O ~

When he met you one afternoon in front of the tea shop, you were clutching a ball between you arm and hip looking peeved and embarrassed.

“Do you know how to play?”

A shrug. “Just a little.”

You smiled bashfully.

“Teach me.”

You found an outdoor court beside a nearby middle school. He started by instructing how to dribble and what stance to take. He demonstrated how to shoot, before pointing at the three point line and telling you what it was for. When you understood the basics, he told you to get past him and shoot.

“I’d appreciate it if you told me beforehand that we were playing. I should have brought clothes."

“I don't exactly have your number, Akashi-kun.”

You finally called quits when the sky began to tint orange. Panting, you accused him of lying about being an amateur in basketball. He chuckled, removing his sweaty blazer as he watched you fan at your flushed face. Walking back to the benches to retrieve his phone, he told you to give him your number. You complied albeit excitedly.

It was only after two weeks of practicing that he texted you that he was a basketball team captain.

~ O ~

Akashi Seijuro had never had a crush on anyone.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. He had a fair share of admirers from the student body with his inherent good looks, academic standing, school positions held and family background. He met a few who showed outright interest in him, but what he expected to feel, he didn't.

Like he was trained to, he set his eyes on the sole goal of the family. To excel in all fields. Unfortunately, socializing for the sake of romantic escapades was not covered by his lessons at home.

So when you innocently reached out for his hand that one night, pulling him towards the river bank to show him a stone trick, he felt a zap. It pierced through his chest before expanding into flutters breaking out of his skin. He felt nauseous but it left a pleasant sensation in his gut. Addicting and quite unbecoming.

You kept on talking, bragging about your skill, unknowingly gripping his hand tighter. Mind going blank, he felt across the creases on your palm, the callousness of your fingers. Your hand was cold from the chill of the night. It made him want to bring it inside his hoodie pocket to provide some semblance of warmth.

This was another thing he was never trained for by his father. Confessing to a girl he recently found he liked.

He thought, perhaps it isn't the right time to confess.

~ O ~

Akashi Seijuro never had a diary.

His mom had one. It was pink and adorned with handmade flower crafts and ribbons. It was kept inside her closet where his father would never look. She showed it to him one time, saying that a diary was meant to keep all his deepest secrets and even his flitting daydreams. Her smile was wide, eyes with a twinkle of mischief like she and he were sharing a secret no one was meant to get a whiff of. She said she’d help him choose a notebook when he was old enough.

When he had touched her diary for the first time, it felt heavy. Like his heart that had probably been coated with lead that time.

His mom along with her memories had been buried under white roses, but her secrets, dreams, thoughts—it was kept immortalized in her diary. Why had his father chosen white flowers? His mom loved pink. Why couldn't they let her choose something for herself at least for the last time?

That had been the last time he cried.

He never bought himself a diary even as he grew older. But he now understood the glee of being able to share the things he buried under piles and piles of pretence and grandiosity. To be able to say how much he hated mathematics despite being exceptional in it. To be able to eat three cup noodles in one night. To be able to laugh loudly without worrying about etiquette.

If his mom had been alive, he would be able to tell her that he already had a diary in the form of a you.

“The only reason I was allowed to play basketball was because I could learn to lead people better. Basketball is a strategic sport, after all.”

“But do you like playing?”

“Yes. It was my mom who first taught me.”

“Then you should play for the sake of enjoying yourself. Winning is just secondary to it.”

How simple you made it sound. Yet, it was something he's been yearning to hear from anyone.

“Date me.”

You choked on your cola, unfortunately dirtying the sketch you were working on. He had said it on the whim. Impulsive, and certainly an act that starkly contrasted how he was raised to be. However, it felt right that time. With your hand casually brushing with his, your head leaning against his shoulder, it felt extremely right.

When you're sixteen, you're obliged to think that you can take risks and your actions wouldn't garner grave consequences. At least, that was how most teenagers had it. He didn't think he was to be categorized under 'most teenagers', but as the wind blew past you and went on with its never ending journey, he thought I could be a normal kid once in a while.

Your hand closed around his fingers until they whitened on pressure. He flickered his eyes to you, and with a breathless chuckle, you finally answered.

“Sure.”

~ O ~

“Sei-kun, I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

And that was the first time he allowed himself to cry again.

~ O ~

He convinced himself that it was out of his or your control. It was like one of those famous, overused lines in the movies where the love was perfect, but the timing just wasn't.

And maybe, that was the case for you and for him.

Was he mad?

No.

Did it hurt?

Akashi Seijuro didn't think he needed to answer that.

But what could a 16-year-old do when his first love leaves because of unavoidable circumstances? His family was powerful. He had money. He had intelligence. However that wasn't nearly enough to magically change your family's mind of moving.

What you had was beautiful. A blissful time of trying things out for the first time with someone who could have potentially been his partner for life. It was like a favorite chapter in a book. Once a page was flipped over, a scene came to a conclusion. You could only now turn one page back to recall the memories and relive them.

27-year-old Akashi Seijuro understood this now. Or rather, he accepted it.

His father was close to retiring, and naturally, the one next in line was him. He was more than ready to bear the responsibility as the new CEO of Akashi Enterprises next year. All that was left was papers and formalities.

He had changed a lot since the day you left. Friendships broken to rubble and restored to full. Priorities set straight. Perceptions changed. The pain in his left eye had subsided close to none. He felt whole again, like a wholer version of himself before he started dissociating in front of his mother’s tombstone.

Maybe you leaving was a good thing, because if you had been there when he had broken down, you would've been caught in a maelstrom. You would've gotten hurt. The him now wouldn't have forgiven the versions of him then.

He fixed it. Not without help of course, but he did.

Hence, when he stepped into the tea shop—not the old, rickety one back home, he was stunned. Maybe it was his reward for holding out.

Or maybe, it was true. What they said in the movies.

There you were, a pencil in your hand and your hair in a bun.

Looking as alluring and enigmatic as ever.

Perhaps, this time, the timing was perfect.

~ O ~

Akashi Seijuro thought that he should feel the tug of hesitation, keeping him from eagerly approaching your hunched form. It was inherent in human nature to avoid pain at all costs. But like he so emphasized from the very beginning, he was not like most people.

With a grace befitting of an heir, he walked towards your table.

It took you a few seconds before noticing the figure in front of you. When you looked up, your eyes widened. When he quirked up his lips, you visibly relaxed.

"Hey, you."

"You look different."

And indeed you did. The baby fat around your face was gone. Your lips were painted deep red, eyes framed by light beige. You sported a long dress that hugged your figure.

You were his first love, and yet you were not.

"I can say the same about you, Akashi-san."

He pretended that the way he was addressed did not sting him, but even so, he raised his brows before taking a seat.

"How have you been?"

He didn't think that between the millions of interweaving lines of time and space, his hand would be able to touch this particular one and meet with you again. For a long time, you had only existed in his memories and dreams. Right now, you breathed the same air as he did, listened to his words as he tried to piece the lost moments together with yours.

You told him your story.

And then, it his turn to tell his story.

He told you of the downward spiral he fell into after you left, not missing how you flinched in your seat. Victory became his primal objective. Acting like he was bred to, he crushed all his rivals and even went as far as discarding camaraderie in the basketball team and demolishing their opponents’ morales. In a bystander’s view, he was most peerless and unreachable during these times. But to the few people who really cared about him, he had been on his way to self-destruct.

“Someone slapped some senses into you, I’m guessing.”

“If you want a summarized version, then yes. Kuroko and the others. You’ve met them a few times before.”

“I remember. Go on. I want the uncut version of the story.”

The smile that graced his lips was foreign—young, boyish and carefree. One that you recognized and reciprocated with your own, familiar one.

~ O ~

Two people who had once been naive and innocent 16-year-olds, spending long afternoons in a traditional tea house downtown.

The same two people who were now jaded and mature 27-year-olds, spending mellow evenings in a sophisticated tea shop in the city.

Soon, the little tea shop had turned into your tiny bubble where you could be themselves again.

It was a haven. It was a home. It was rest.

“How did you know this place?”

Because you could've met in a different place amongst all others, but you chanced upon each other here. In this fated sanctuary.

You dropped two sugar cubes and stirred at your americano before continuing.

“It's barely in the maps, and as far as I’m aware, they aren't fans of advertisements.”

Your nails were cut short like usual. Unmanicured.

“This place is owned by a relative."

“What? Are you telling me your family owns everything in this city?”

Chuckle.

“I don't recall saying that.”

“Not kidding?”

“He’s a cousin, abandoned by my uncle because he was born out of wedlock. When my uncle died, my father looked for him and sent him to school.”

“Then he opened a tea shop?”

“Basically, yes. You’ve never seen him around?”

You hummed contemplatively.

“Does he look like you?”

“Not even a bit.”

You stopped stirring and gently placed the spoon on the napkin. When you raised your gaze, a teasing and enticing smile on your lips, he swore he saw something flash across them. It could've been a trick of light, because after he blinked, it was gone. His heart bursted.

“Then, I haven't noticed him I guess.”

~ O ~

When did it happen?

He looked into the colors of your eyes.

Akashi Seijuro had always been in awe of how your eyes changed as light struck them in different angles and intensities. Wavelengths shifted out and across, dancing like a kaleidoscope enigmatically.

Tonight, you rested contently at the passenger’s seat, idly watching the streetlights that zoomed past them.

When he stopped the car in front of your place, you tilted youra head to bid him a good night.

It gave him a chance to look closely, to pick apart the poems, riddles and odes written in those eyes. There, he saw the same longing, a glimmer of nostalgia and pain that spoke of the same things his did. You thought about him, too—everyday since the day you said farewells under the Sakura tree.

You have never really moved on from him. What elation it gave him to know that he wasn't the only one left hanging in limbo.

He gave in, bared his heart again for the second time and asked for you to be his.

They say miracles happened all the time. You only had to look carefully. He could attest to that, because as he lost sight of you eyes, lips touching in the most revered and gentlest of ways, hearts reuniting, he could say this was his miracle.

~ O ~

When did it happen?

Time blurred by and swept with it the days of each year. Akashi-kun turned into Seijuro-kun which turned into Sei—just as how seasons shifted to take their turns inevitably.

And for a long time, he had forgotten how it felt to have you by his side.

To have you wait for him to send a message of good morning. To know you were worrying about him when the drizzle turned into a downpour. To know you would love every inch of him, the dips, the rough patches, the jagged edges as if every part of him were perfect.

With his hand secured behind your knees, he walked on the path crusted with dried leaves autumn left in its wake. You had an arm wrapped around his shoulders with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

The afternoon sun casted a magenta glow on your light strands of hair. It made the grin on your lips much softer than it looked.

"I better be rewarded for granting your wish, princess."

"Hush, you. You promised to carry me on a piggyback ride when we were younger."

There had been moments like these. Imageries of him and you that he'd frame and keep eternally etched in his heart if he could. Cheeks swelling with magnanimous smiles. Breaths ragged with laughter.

"Sei."

"Hmm?"

"What did you think of me the first time we met?"

A low hum and the lone tea shop downtown came to mind.

"I thought, 'This is the girl I'm going to love for the rest of my life.'"

"Cheesy. Want to know what I thought?"

"What?"

"'This is the man I'm going to marry someday.'"

The reward kiss you gave him after that left the sweetest aftertaste in his lips.

~ O ~

When did it happen?

There had been moments like these, too.

"You're too perfect, Sei.”

“I’m not. Calm down, love. I understand—”

“You do? Look at me and tell me that you really do, Mr. High and Perfect and ‘I-own-everything-even-the-air-you-breathe.’”

Imageries of him and you that he'd rather burn into the cold embers with the ashes to be blown by the gale. He hated to see you hurt, whether it was because of him or not.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Then you’d make up. Nothing dramatic like begging for forgiveness or giving long winded explanations. You knew one of you were at fault, so you accepted it, took each other's hands and nursed your wounds, promising to do better the next time.

At the end of the day it was never for naught, and the kisses you shared in the aftermath were the most affectionate and most desperate of their kind.

~ O ~

When did it happen?

“Sei, take a look at this sketch. Do you think it looks good?”

A wedding gown. It was easily the most gorgeous one he’s ever seen.

“Do you?”

“I think… Yes. I think I like my design.”

“Then it is. There isn't any standard for what is beautiful and what is not. If you ask me, I’d be willing to put it on on our wedding day. Given that you'll have to wear the tuxedo in my stead.”

“My fiancé is one cheeky man, isn't he.”

~ O ~

When did it happen?

He twirled your hand as you spun around on your feet. Your sense of balance slipped away and you fell, figuratively and literally, towards his welcoming arms. There was no music to match the succeeding taps of your feet in the ground, but he preferred it that way. Your voice was enough music to sway him to submission, his head swimming in ecstasy.

“I shouldn't be allowed to be this happy, Sei.”

“Neither should I, love, but here you are.”

~ O ~

Not everyone was fortunate enough to be given a second chance to redo things like they did, and it felt like things had fallen to fit into that perfect puzzle his mind had conjured up in the past, and everything was perfect. At least, that was how he tried convincing himself with. It was perfect. It was supposed to.

But why wasn't it?

Akashi Seijuro didn't know what was missing, what was amiss, what was slowly devouring the special thing they shared. He ignored it, brushed it off as normal for any relationship. Everyone goes through stagnancy like this, right?

Your hands were cold.

He supposed his was, too.

That night when you had promised to meet him by the park so you could stargaze, he started to feel a gaping hole in his chest. When you still hadn't shown up and chauffeur started to send him messages offering to take him home, he knew that hole was rapidly consuming him.

It was raining, the tiny droplets pelting at his skin and soaking him to the bones. He hadn't bothered to open his umbrella and chose to stay on the soil despite the stains marking his pants. Something white moved in his peripheral vision, and the hole grew wider and deeper.

He thought that maybe he should feel something stab through his heart by the way you hesitated to approach him. But the numbness of being battered under the rain for he didn't know how long (—had it been hours? Weeks? Months? Years?), it had overtaken his emotions, caged them, made him feel nothing even though he was likely snapping.

When did it happen?

When he thought you were about to cry, you smiled instead. It was only then when he noticed that the lingering smile he fell in love, over and over and over again, fell colorless, flat, routine.

And it broke his heart even more because it was a smile that said, "I loved you."

~ O ~

If only he knew.

But what could he have done?

~ O ~

And just like that, things started to change drastically. The previously fragile yet somehow stable hands that kept the house of cards from toppling over gone. The dam broke. The balance was thrown off.

Soon, Akashi Seijuro was no longer left to a standstill but was watching everything fall apart with hands tied behind his back. He had never felt so helpless. Not when his pride and name was being smeared over. Not even when he was losing all his friends. The last time he was gobbled up by incapacitating doubt and crippling fear was when his dying mother had cradled his face in her emancipated hands.

Suddenly, he was a young boy again.

But why? he wanted to cry out.

Did he do something wrong? Said something? Wasn't he enough anymore?

If there had been a reason, even the pettiest and most childish reason, he'd be more accepting. Anything. Anything. Really. Anything.

But there wasn't and there was none and when did it happen, no—HOW did it come to this?

He realized that he could no longer muster up the silly thoughts and excuses of ‘maybe the love was right but the timing wasn't’ anymore.

~ O ~

You were changing, distorting, fading. This vessel of you no longer held the soul that once promised him forever.

If he let this go on, he might lose you.

~ O ~

You didn't know what to expect when he called you during work and asked you to meet him at the tea shop. Not the sophisticated one at the heart of the city. But the old one downtown where it all started.

Hands folded. Eyes downcast. Breathing shallow and little at the edge of erratic.

The place had not changed even a bit since the last time you went here as naive teenagers. Except, now there were different sets of customers and you were two different versions of the past. And maybe, if you had the energy and time to look at the far right corner of the establishment, you'd see the new old-fashioned vase sitting on a miniature table.

There were a million things running in his mind—questions he wanted to throw out like why did you waver, why did you give up on us, why can't you fight for us anymore, why aren't you happy anymore, why, why, why. Instead, he settled for:

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Akashi Seijuro had never been one to sugarcoat things. He got straight to the point. Each and every time. You knew that yet you couldn't help the surprise that permeated your gasp.

“You could've said something.”

He pleaded.

"I didn't want to lose you, Sei."

And you did, too.

It was incredibly selfish. So selfish he felt both euphoria and agony squeeze his head to the point of wanting to throw up. His blood screamed at him to keep on holding on for you, for himself. He was trained to be victorious in every single thing, wasn't he? This shouldn't be any different.

But you weren't a game. You weren't his diary. And you weren't his springtime.

You were someone he loved endlessly and mercilessly.

“This isn't going to work anymore.”

“No, no, no, no—wait, let me try again. I can do it! I can try again for—”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes! Sei, I could never not love you!”

“Tell me, princess.”

“Sei—”

“Are you still in love with me?”

You froze, and his heart broke. He knew you wanted to say yes. He could tell by the way your hands stiffened in his. But you hesitated, looked at him imploringly and begged him not to make you say it out loud.

“I thought so.”

“Please don't let me go. I can’t be without you.”

You eyes, coated with a sheen of desperation and despair, spoke in volumes that threatened to deafen him. Let you go. Let you stay. Let you live. Smother you. His heart was a battlefield—a clash between his feelings and his desires.

If he could, he’d cry, too. Instead, he opened his mouth. “I want you to be happy…”

Gently, he released your hands before gingerly, tenderly wiping away the tears on your face.

“...even if it means I’ll no longer be in the picture. You have to grow without me, and I without you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours as he listened to the muffled cries and empty heaves.

He wished that time could be kinder to him to slow down. To hear his pleas to pause in this moment where you were still his, because once you walked out that door, you would no longer be his while he was still yours.

“Promise me, that if after years your heart still calls for me… promise me you'll be the one to come and look for me. Choose me again.”

~ O ~

What was it that they said about in the movies? No matter how tasteless some of them were, he couldn't deny the realistic accuracy they spun around in their tales with only slight exaggerations.

They said third time's a charm.

And surely it was.

For the sake of being poetic, he had wanted to say the place where it all began was also where it was going to end. In that cheap vintage teashop downtown where they had lived in their own little bubble.

He was glad that wasn't the case.

As you walked with a grace that made his legs grow weak and his heart to quicken, he couldn't think of when you had been this painfully, breathtakingly beautiful.

In a sea of black, your long white dress stood out like the moon in the blanket of black skies.

You spotted him instantly, eye glazed with indecipherable emotion as you flashed him the most surreal smile he’d seen.

Back then when he broke it up with you, he hadn't known if he did the right thing. One made choices to move forward, but the consequences could only be reviewed in retrospect. Regrets and remorse were common, but just as satisfaction and rejoicing were.

You came closer, glanced softly at him, and he swore that both of them heard the words you had told him once upon a time.

"I shouldn't be allowed to be this happy, Sei."

He looked at you longingly during that small slice of time, and all the memories came rushing back to him. He remembered the smile you would give him. You always had such a beautiful smile. He wished he could've seen more of it.

He regarded you fondly, told you he loved you without any spoken words and shook his head before stepping aside.

“No, you deserve this.”

Your groom's hand grasped yours. Smiles were exchanged. Intimate gaze returned. Vows already said even before you reached the altar.

Amidst all the heart-wrenching, searing loss and pain, you found solace. You found forgiveness, and through it, healing. And now that you belonged to someone else, but he wouldn't count this as a loss.

After all, he was able to preserve that smile. He finally learned to let go albeit willingly and happily, and entrusted you to his cousin whom he knew would love you more than he ever did.

And while Akashi Seijuro wasn't a religious man, he sent a silent prayer to the One who made you.

Take care of her for me.

And that's a wrap, everyone! If you made it this far, MUCH THANKS. I remember writing this piece in my room at midnight 3 years ago. This fic is actually inspired by this Filipino song, "Paubaya". It's quite a lovely song sang by a very talented singer and songwriter.

As you've all noticed, this is heavily Akashi-centric. It was written all in his POV, and I made sure to insert some aspects and key memories of his life into it.

To be clear, reader did not cheat on Akashi with his cousin. Reader-chan fell out of love, and to some extent, Akashi did too. It happens. It's a sad reality.

Lastly, can anyone guess who Akashi's cousin is? *wink wink*

Anyhow, thank you once again everyone. I'm elated to have been able to post something again after years. Thank you! ^^

#akashi seijuro x reader #akashi x reader #akashi seijuro #akashi seijuurou x reader #kuroko no basket #knb #the basketball which kuroko plays #akashi seijuurou #knb fanfic #tenkasato writes

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weaponizedvirtue · 1 year ago

Text

The Face I Hide Behind, Pt. 1 {Peaky Blinders}

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: You met Thomas Shelby as Eli Carter, your hair shorn short, your chest bound, the Royal Engineers crest proudly adorning your uniform. You find him again as discarded Marie Tillerson, a woman shamed but remembered.

Notes: I discovered recently that many woman enlisted in the world wars disguised as men. It made me wonder what being in a high-stress environment like the tunnels would be like as a woman, especially if you were trying to hide that secret from someone like Tommy. Soft Tommy, implied romance, reader can be viewed as gender fluid or female with gender norms defied.

Part two can be found here.

"Carter?"

You know that voice. Like the back of your own hand, you know that voice. You turn sharply and sure enough, pale blue eyes and squared shoulders stoop to meet your own.

"Shelby. Jesus, haven't seen you in awhile."

He lifts his eyebrows at that, his gaze still piercing through you like a spotlight. You’d almost forgotten how unyielding the man’s focus could be. His silence says more than he does, shouting and cursing at you even when he won’t. You rock back onto your heels, gesturing behind you with a shake of her thumb. You know what comes next, know what it looks like just before the dog bites, and your knees ache with anticipation.

“I can go. Sir. If you’d prefer.”

Thomas blinks and it cracks the smooth glass facade of his face, something of a tell that you’d always tried to drag out of him before. He considers you carefully, tapping his cigarette back against the palm of his hand before shaking his head.

“You still drink?”

It’s unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome. You nod and wonder if he even knows the half of it, then open your mouth to ask him the same question. But Thomas moves again before you can, his cigarette disappearing between his teeth with practiced precision. He turns, confident as always that you’ll follow without question, then strides back towards the outskirts of town.

“Come on then.”

The Garrison. He's as strategic as ever, it seems.

Your eyes rove slowly across the sign in the window as if there's some other message inside of it. You can feel Thomas's eyes watching you, but he always did know the importance of pacing. When you glance back at him, he opens the door a little wider and beckons you inside with a jerk of his head.

As you enter, you mark each and every detail down in an invisible ledger- three haggard customers, one a good deal younger than the others, four dimmed lamps, eleven tables, give or take, and a waitress sweeping in and out of view as two drunkards sling cards across their table.

It's comfortable, somehow. Lived in, loud enough to be familiar, soft enough to be ignored.

"What'll it be, Tom?"

The bartender leans forward with a smile, running a hand towel across the bar counter as you and Thomas settle behind it.

"Whiskey. And a scotch for Marie."

Your heart jolts to a stop and you turn to stare at Thomas. Normally, you'd have been annoyed at a man ordering you a drink without consulting you on your preference first. But a former sergeant major is a step above the regular smitten drunk at the bar and besides the point-

"You remembered."

"You have odd taste."

You don’t dictate that with a response, your eyes frozen on his face as you try to jumpstart your own heart.

"My name, Mr. Shelby. I didn't think you'd remember my n-"

"You were a special case. And it's Tom." His eyes flick over to you for the briefest of seconds as you open your mouth to protest, a command unto itself.

"You're in Birmingham now, not some hole in the mud. It's Tom."

"Tom. Okay."

The use of first names seems too personal somehow and for a moment, you miss the familial barking of last names and orders and swears that you had become used to on the field. There is a sealed promise of companionship in such actions and a wall of formality to hide behind in the absence of confidence. Here, you’re exposed.

The bartender returns quickly with your drinks, blessedly oblivious to your conversation, before disappearing again. You and Thomas sit in silence, sipping slowly at your glasses, and a loathsome wave of longing rolls through your gut. You’ve missed this. The comfortable camaraderie of someone you know simply inhabiting the same space.

“Thought you had family in Shere. What’re you doing in Small Heath, mm?”

You swallow, a long-stowed explanation waiting to spill from your throat. You want to admit just how poorly the past few months have gone, want to lift a mirror to Thomas’s face and ask if he thinks he’s done any better. You want to search Thomas Shelby’s pockets and pluck out a medal or two, just for penance, just for something to keep for yourself.

But it’s a flood of anger you know he doesn’t deserve and it tears out of you in cascading waves and a crashing tide to consume everything in its path. Instead, you take another slow sip of your drink and focus solely on the taste as it passes over your tongue. The torrent in your stomach slowly settles and you shrug instead, your eyes circling over the lip of your glass.

“Shere is small. People talked.”

They’d done much more than talk. They’d whispered and shouted and scowled and you’d grown tired of it quickly enough. You had stood at the base of your parent’s house and they’d spoken to you like you were a stranger, guarded and grieving as if their child hadn't really come back from the war. And there had been a moment, somewhere between your mother drawing the curtains and your father’s quiet request for you to leave, that your chest caved in on itself. Some part of you had clawed at the thought, screamed and cried and pleaded with him inside the walls of your mind. But you’d given too much of yourself to the tunnels and to a team who no longer considered you one of their one. Some part of you had wondered if it was just a consequence you should have expected.

So you’d nodded, swallowed your pain, and the next train out of town had carried you with it.

“England is plenty big enough. I can go somewhere they don’t.”

You can feel Thomas’s gaze, as pointed as it ever had been, but you can’t bring yourself to check if it’s sympathy on the man’s face or the smug understanding of a disappointed parent.

You both fall into silence again, but the quiet itches against your skin this time, a drenched blanket too heavy to remove from your shoulders.

There are things you’ve meant to say, words that demanded to be spoken, and if the universe was kind enough to lend you his company even one more time, it would have to be enough.

You frown, flinching in nervous anticipation, then down the half glass of scotch you have left. Liquid courage, they called it. Your hands clench around your elbows and you drag in one last breath before turning your body to face your former officer completely.

His chin lifts, somewhere between confidence and curiosity, and he takes a sip from his own, slow but no less invested than your own.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to you.”

Your hands flutter forward, aimed for Thomas’s own for a fraction of a moment before the muscle memory of the past two years kicks back hard. You hesitate, swallow back the need for physical comfort, and stow your fingers flat beneath your thighs.

“I’d wanted to say goodbye, Tom.”

But you hadn’t. Hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye to anyone really.

Your last day is still hazy in your memory, another battlefield mess where time didn’t work the way it should, where every element of reality bled into the next. You remember a hissing. A warning, half forming in your mouth, and then a flash at the edge of your vision. The earth collapsing around you and someone’s hand, grabbing at your collar and yanking you forward. Dust and grit filling your lungs where the oxygen should be. There was no goddamn air. No goddamn air and the heat and the damp and the darkness crowded around you like smog.

The path leading out of the tunnels had locked shut with a boom and something large and heavy had collided with the back of your head. The surrounding torches had gone out in one quick burst, swallowing up the world in black.

A snap sounds loud and sharp inside of your ears and you startle; the Garrison slides back into place around you. Air rushes back into your lungs, spinning through your bloodstream so fast it makes your head spin. Beside you, Thomas lowers his hand from your face, his fingers slowly relaxing from where they’d clicked together.

“Hmm.” It comes out as more of a burst of air than an actual word. You blink back at him for a moment, breathing in through your nose, picturing your heart beating slower and slower until it returns to an almost normal pace. “General was there when I woke up. Said I didn’t have time for goodbyes. Said ladies shouldn't be on the field and that I was being sent home. Honorable discharge.”

It’s strange, that you can’t remember an explosion or the pulsing moments of fear in all the life or death situations you’ve faced. Yet each and every expression on your fellow soldiers’ faces as you crept from the medic’s tent would forever remain stamped on the back of your eyelids. It had been a moment you’d prayed to avoid- that the war would end with you still standing and the fury and shock and silence that came with an exposed lie would pass with no consequence.

Thomas Shelby could have remained the man across the fire. He could have stayed the companion who shared the little food he had while you were on watch, the friend who had muttered playful barbs and quiet encouragement to you after your first week in the tunnels, the confidant you trusted with all but one secret.

And you could have avoided the look of solemn judgment chiseled into his face as you pulled the car door shut behind you.

“I was angry with you.” There's pain in Thomas's voice as he speaks. His eyes glance down at his glass and he takes a long, slow draw of his whiskey.

The words burn, though you’d guessed at the fact months before. You nod, swallowing back something like a sob, and tuck your chin down sharply.

“Had the right to be. I wanted to tell you. If I’d told anyone, it would have been you. Was just… scared you’d turn me in.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

He could shatter bones with his words, you think.

A quiver of sound sits in the back of your throat and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would have been like. It still would have been difficult, to hide your true identity for the sake of being able to fight for what you believed in. But you wouldn't have been alone. Would have been protected in the way only sharing one's secrets could ensure.

And there would have been Tom, walking beside you, where before you'd taken the road alone.

You stare back at Thomas, searching for the tiniest hint of a lie, the flicker of a fuse igniting him into cinders. You wait for the rage, for the silent dismissal, but it never comes. A breath of shocked disbelief breaks from behind your teeth and you lean forward into your hands.

"Jesus, Shelby, you always did know how to render us speechless."

"It's Tom."

It's Tom. Even after her fall from grace and the bruising lack of trust she'd placed in him, it's still Tom.

Your eyes flutter back to the man and something like hope blossoms inside of your chest, warring with the shame that churns in your stomach.

"Tom. I'm sorry."

"I know."

He does, you think. His voice is just as quiet as your own, just as soft and calculated as it used to be around the torchlight of your camp. His lips curl neatly around each word, purposeful and focused, and when he looks at you like he does, accusing and forgiving all at the same time, it feels like your cracks seal up just enough to consider yourself solid.

It’s easier after that. The two of you fall into conversation, the kind that you remember from before, where you talk of nothing and everything and the hours pass like seconds. The glasses pile up quickly enough and the walls begins to tilt just a little to the left. The glow of the lamps around you softens the ache in your bones and the room seems to shrink to the bar alone, to the two seats you occupy, and the cocksure figure of the man sitting across from you.

By the time you look around again, the bar sits almost empty, only a straggler or two hugging onto their tables or so deep into their cups that they won't recover till morning.

"It's late."

There's hesitance in your voice, an unwillingness to leave what you've missed for so long. It had been easy enough to convince yourself since your discharge that you were fine alone, happy with solitude, but the idea of losing Thomas’s company so soon is startling.

“You got a place to stay?”

You shake your head, shrugging. You’ve been traveling long enough now that you’ve learned the alternatives to a roof over your head. There are places to go, groups you can fit yourself into if it just means a place to sleep for the night. Summer is on its way anyhow and you always did enjoy being out underneath the stars.

“Right.” Thomas slaps his hand against the counter, his expression resolute. It’s one you’ve grown used to, a look that says something is an order and not a suggestion. You don’t disobey orders. “My place then.”

The offer still isn’t one you expect and you hurry to get to your feet as Thomas adjusts his coat and heads for the door.

“It’s not necessary, Tom.”

He slips out of the bar quickly, his gait focused, and you hurry out after him. Your feet shift unsteadily beneath you as the street tilts slightly, but you manage to slide forward to stand in front of the man. Without thinking, you drag both hands up onto Thomas’s shoulders, as much to keep you standing as it is to give him pause. You blink for a moment, admiring the scratch of wool against your palms, and a chuckle sounds in your ears. Fingers slowly pluck your own from Thomas’s jacket and his hand squeezes around your wrist.

“Come on.”

Thomas’s tone leaves no room for debate, but his stance does, and appreciation rolls slowly back to you. For all his insistence, he’ll still wait long enough for the decision to be yours.

Still, you’re afraid you’ve misunderstood. Afraid he wants more than you can give or means less than you could hope.

“By stay, you just meant-” You roll your balance onto your heels, well aware that the action could have tremendous consequences with the amount of liquor you’ve consumed over the past few hours. “-to… stay, yeah? Not…” The words escape you and heat rises into your cheeks.

“You never were very good with words.”

Your right arm jerks upward almost by habit and you clap your left hand down across your bicep before you can stop yourself. A bark of laughter escapes from Thomas’s throat and a traitorous grin climbs onto your lips. The man’s moods are alarmingly infectious.

“I like numbers better.”

Light from the nearest streetlamp glances off of Thomas’s face as his expression softens; he takes a slow inhale from his cigarette and the tip sends a flare of orange over his cheeks that sets your skin alight.

“Respite from the storm. That’s all I’m offering, Tillerson.”

“Mmm.” You consider him carefully, wishing you had the courage to tell him that he had been just that a hundred times already. Instead, you nod, and follow him home.

It’s a modest flat, smaller than you can imagine Thomas Shelby normally fitting into. But that’s Thomas to a tee, carefully remaking himself to match his surroundings. And it’s quiet and warm and if that’s not reminiscent of home, you’re not sure what is.

“It’s not much. Not yet.”

“But it’s something.” You turn and smile softly back at him, grateful to even somewhere that’s warm and dry.

“Bed’s all yours. I’ll take the floor.”

He sheds his jacket off with a shrug and his knees bend as if to drop out from beneath him. Stubborn insistence rises inside of your chest and you pat the spot on the bed beside you, shaking your head.

“Tom. How many nights have we slept beside each other?”

“This is diff-”

“It’s not.” A yawn forces its way out of your throat and you blink sleepily back at the man. “Come on, mate. It's still me.”

Thomas remains standing for a moment, his lips twisting as he watches you stretch towards the ceiling. Your hand pats the bed again and without waiting for his response, you turn over on your stomach, pressing your face into the sheets. The day’s events catch up to you suddenly, dragging you under in a wave of fatigue; it’s been too long since you’ve found yourself in a safe place and sleep beckons.

Slowly, so slowly you're not sure it isn’t a dream, a weight settles on the bed beside you. A body comes to rest at your back and with a pleased murmur, you fall asleep.

#peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby x reader #female soldier #world war #writing

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drowsystarlight · 1 year ago

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I like the idea of Death the Kid having a walk-in closet full of pristine branded clothes (honestly a Special kind bc he values style and comfort). He’s rich and lives in a Mansion with multiple rooms. Suits are his casual attire and he’s just that type of person. He never needed a material thing that he couldn’t just get. He can buy that shit. If a dress shirt ceases being symmetrical? Ditch it. Buy a new one. His customized blazer got damaged? Replace it. Easy. No son of Death would wear anything less than perfect.

Meanwhile, Blackstar is the type to keep the same five pairs of clothes until they’re literally breaking down at each seam.

Tsubaki even has to beg him to buy new stuff, or gift it to him on birthdays (even those ones get worn down for years, too). He grew up under Sid’s care and i bet he never had the luxurious life Kid had. Maybe Sid bought him clothes out of his own salary as a teacher and Blackstar knew that, so he treasures the clothes he gets. Assassin clothes, hand wraps, tank tops, sleep attire, old hand-me-downs get cut up and recycled into bandages or wraps for training, etc. Maybe he knows how to sew because he wanted to keep wearing a specific star-filled tank top Sid got him for his 13th birthday, so he asked Nygus to teach him. He wasn’t good at it at first but hey, practice eventually makes perfect. When he goes to missions and fights, he repairs the damage in his clothes. He’ll keep wearing the same shit until it gives up on him and even then, he really doesn’t want to let it go. Shoes are his worst nightmare because all his running wears it down fast.

It’s easy to write him off as a slob. Blackstar wore nothing formal; he looked like shit when he tried, too, slobbering for food when he attended the Academy’s founding anniversary. The boy didn’t know class, or finesse, or elegance. Everything he did screamed fucking reckless and immature. Obnoxious. It showed in his clothes, tattered as they are—because why else would it be so worn down if he was a careful man?

Being friends doesn’t exactly erase the impression, but it opens a bridge to ask. When Kid finally asks Blackstar why he circles through the same two tank tops whenever the group hung out outside the school, he’d say he liked the star designs. It suits me, he’d brag, and Kid is just jealous of his great clothing sense. Typical. But Maka eventually, secretly, tells Kid it’s just a special top because he’s had it since the both of them were twelve (everyone knows Blackstar would rather eat dirt than admit to being attached to things). Sentimental and Blackstar didn’t feel like they belong in the same sentence, but that thought felt odd now that he knew. Especially after he sees him discreetly check the stitches after an intense basketball match.

Death the Kid would notice every new stitch on Blackstar’s uniform after a mission since then. From afar, you don’t see it because it’s hidden well, but up close (maybe when they’re sparring, or sitting next to each other, or that day when Blackstar carried him through Excalibur’s wretched cave—though he foolishly shrugged that off). He can see it if he paid attention long enough, if Blackstar doesn’t move around too much for a moment. Stitches on top of old fixes, or the odd bits of his tank top turning out to be patches he couldn’t really hide. When he points it out again, they’re alone together and Blackstar happily shows it off (“I’m the best at everything, including sewing! Marvel at my craft!”). Kid admits ti thinking he’s a slob, and then the man would proceed to poke and prod at him for his branded stuff. There’s a reason why everyone saw him as a spoiled brat, after all; on the walk home that day, he ponders if he really is. (Liz and Patty say yes.)

Maybe it only really hits Kid, how much he’s really changed, when he lends Blackstar some pajamas after a gnarly night fighting against kishin eggs. Blackstar refused until he shoved the soft, flawless cotton in the man’s hands—told him to shut up and What, so the great Blackstar can’t handle wearing neat pajamas? He’s only ever seen him in tank tops but the sleeves didn’t seem to be the source of Blackstar’s discomfort. Having a spontaneous sleepover with the others, having Patty cause chaos in the name of fun—their antics eventually result into a rip of threads that only Blackstar seemed to be startled by. He apologizes as he returns it the next day, early in the morning, as neatly folded and packed in a paperbag as he could. Maybe Tsubaki did the folding. Blackstar is shit at folding clothes or wearing stuff that weren’t creased to hell and back.

But by then, even if there’s a stitch on only one sleeve, Kid keeps it. Seeing it makes him smile. The damage was repaired with a star-shaped stitch—(how did he even do that?), but he doesn’t wear it yet. He tells himself it would drive him insane, knowing something is off, but he hangs it with his other clothes. He didn’t need to replace it this time; Blackstar fixed it, and it wasn’t ruined. It’s better.

#soul eater #blackstar #death the kid #deathstar #kidstar #idk #also has the others but i am lazy #neeks writes #….????#this was a random idea that got out of hand #LOL #leave it to me to be carried away #beep dee doo

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keikikait · 4 months ago

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ᴅᴀʀᴋ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ (ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader (not au, nanami is 28, reader is early to mid 20's)

word count: 2.1 k

summary: you just started your new job at trusted growth investments, working as a receptionist to one of the top performing stockbrokers, nanami kento. all seems normal, until one day you see something unforgettable in the dead of night.

warnings: no smut yet, but mention of masturbation (not in literally any detail), kinda slow burn. i know nothing about office culture, especially in japan, but i've tried my best! nanami barely talks, no use of y/n, kinda short i'm sorry!, i don't know how to write fight scenes.

a note: i am sorry for my long absence! i got dumped and had to move out of my apartment that i shared with my ex and move back home. i should be posting regularly!

read it on ao3 here

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

At 7AM every day, bright and early, you clock into work.

After years of working customer service, ranging from a clothing store to a café, you've decided that it's no longer for you. You admired the office life of having your own little desk, set hours every week, and most of all, no customers.

Sure, you were romanticising it a little, but you had grown tired of answering stupid questions, tired of the ugly uniforms and pretending that the customer was always right. It was time for a change of pace.

Trusted Growth Investments was one of the most popular investment firms in all of Japan, not just Tokyo. The pay was incredible, much better than the minimum wage you had dealt with before. You got consistent hours, PTO, and bank holidays off.

Your job wasn't incredibly exciting, you mainly sat around twiddling your thumbs or reading a book, waiting for your boss to give you a task. Not that you minded, of course, your boss was one of the things you loved the most about your job. You were the personal receptionist to Nanami Kento, the best stockbroker in your region. He was nice, quiet, competent, and of course, hot as fuck.

You two didn't talk much. He would work, occasionally chit-chat on his lunch, before leaving for the day, bidding you a formal farewell.

It seems today wouldn't be any different. At least, in the beginning.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You look over as Nanami walks in, the elevator doors shutting behind him, heading over to his office. You stand up from my desk, bowing. “Good morning, Mr. Kento.”

He's as put together as usual, not a hair out of place on his head, his suit perfectly tailored to his tall frame. “Morning,” He gives you a polite nod as he walks past. “I trust there was no incident yesterday while I was gone?”

You nod, smiling. Occasionally Nanami would take time off, never giving you, or anyone really, a clear reason. All you knew is that he went to Shibuya, and even though the nosy person inside of you wanted to know more, you knew not to ask. “Everything went perfectly, sir. How was your trip?”

He pauses in the threshold of his office, leaning against the door frame as he runs a hand though his hair, a rare moment where his hair is messy. The motion is enough to make your heart skip a beat. “Oh, you know… the usual. Nothing that your pretty little brain should worry about.” He responds, his voice slightly gruff, though not unkind. He flashes you a small smirk.

He heads inside his office, shutting the door. You sat back down in your chair, your cheeks growing hot and pink. You knew that you shouldn’t be as attracted to him as you are, after all, he was your boss, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was a hot, older man, and he carried himself so confidently. You take in a sharp breath through your nose, taking a sip of coffee before opening up your email and starting your work day.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You noticed the little glances he gave you, the way he would place his hand on your shoulder and squeeze, and the way that he held his hand there for a bit too long. You tried not to read into it, but you couldn’t ignore the pooling warmth in your gut. It wouldn’t be the first time you would go home just to end up laying in bed with your hand between your thighs, your boss on your mind.

You were wrapping up for the day, signing off emails and checking off things on your to-do list. Your workday was supposed to end at 3PM, like it does every day, but when Nanami had asked for you to stay behind until 5PM, offering you an hour-long lunch to make up for it, you agreed. Any opportunity to be with him, to try to get as close as possible without overstepping a line.

Minutes melted into hours, the night seeping in, pulling down the sun while the colours in the sky called each other’s names to streak across a stretched blue canvas for a limited time. Your head swivels when his office door opens, his briefcase and travel mug in hand. “All finished for the day?”

Nanami nods his head, shoving his hands in his pockets, walking towards your desk. “For the day, yes, unfortunately. Lots to still do tomorrow.” He stands across your desk, his tall stature imposing, but not intimidating. He looks at you carefully, his gaze flickering down before meeting yours, a polite smile on his face. “Want me to walk you down?”

You smile, fingernails digging into your palm to repress the growing blush on your cheeks. “Go ahead. I have some more emails to send. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He glances at your hand as you dig your fingernails into your palm, his brows scrunching just a tiny bit. He shakes it off, waving his hand nonchalantly. “Yeah, tomorrow. Don’t forget to sign off,” He turns to the elevator and pushes the down button. The elevator dings and the doors glide open. He steps inside and pauses before the doors close. He hesitates for a moment, his mouth moving as if he’s about to say something else. In the end, he decides not to. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Kento.” You say with a small smile.

The doors slide close, and you let out a shaky breath, returning to your computer. After sending out the last few emails and clocking out, you gather your things and head outside, heels clicking along the tiles as the custodians move around you, vacuuming and emptying trash bins.

You tap your key card against the lock, the front door sliding open. It’s already dark, the lights lining the street caused a paused dance in the dark-- filaments glowing a blood orange in the mouths of their glass cages. You pull your coat tighter, buttoning it slightly as you walk down the steps, heading in the direction of the station. It was quiet, even for a Tuesday night. No one seemed to be out, everyone locked up away in the comforts of their homes, watching the looming dark grey clouds overhead, waiting for the impending rainstorm.

You start your trek home, heels clicking along the pavement as you walk. Even though the streets are empty, the only feeling of life coming from the lampposts, you can't shake the unnerving feeling of being watched by something hidden, crouched down in the shadows. You try to ignore it, cutting through an alleyway next to the 7/11, lifting the broken chain link fence and stepping under it. You curse to yourself as it gets caught in your purse, tugging you back harshly as you try to take another step. You turn your back to the expanse of the alley as I untangle the link from your wired headphones.

Someone-- something watches you from the shadows, its dark eyes following the quick movement of your hands, the way you pull at the chain link fence that separates you from it. Your back facing it like an offering, like an opportunity. In its twisted mind, you’re perfect. A little mouse, all alone in the alleyway, all the while being blissfully unaware of its presence. It was like a gift from the gods, a reward for its good behaviour, a chance to finally pounce.

You gasp slightly, your head swivelling as you hear a leaf crunch. Your eyes scan the alleyway, the hair on the back of your neck standing up as goosebumps crawl down your arms. The alleyway is completely void of life, no one in sight, and yet you know that something is there, something lurking in the dark. You go back to untangling your headphones, turning your back to the alleyway once again. You had to be imagining things.

It moves so silently, slinking lower to the ground, like a snake stalking a mouse. It can practically smell your fear, can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, waiting for you to turn around, waiting for you to bolt so it can chase. But it doesn’t. It stays crouching low, watching you scan the alleyway, watching you shiver. It's practically panting, the thrill of the chase getting high into its head, like a drug.

Your head turns again, your fingers finally untangling the headphones, and that's when you see it, perched on someone’s balcony, right in their herb garden.

Something large, bipedal that resembles a grasshopper, with two giant wings on it’s back. Out of all six legs, it's only standing on two, the other four hanging to his sides. It's watching you now, tilting its head to the side as its antennae twitch. Those large eyes watch you carefully as its spindly fingers wrap around the railing. It makes no move to approach you just yet, it hasn't determined whether you’re a threat, or a meal yet.

After a few long moments of standing across from each other, you see its lips curl into a toothy, unsettling grin.

It screeches, leaping into the air, and you take off down the alley, running as fast as you can, your legs starting to ache. You reach the other side, bending down to grab the bottom of the broken fence to lift it up, when the monster lands on top, perched on the railing.

It looks down at you. It's even more terrifying up close. You can see the individual pieces of green-black carapace that cover its body, its massive wings fluttering silently in the night air. The worst part of it was the eyes, they look hungry, large, black, and soulless. They look like the eyes of a hunter, a predator, a monster from your nightmares. It clicks its mouth at you as you lose your balance and nearly trip, stepping back a few paces.

It screeches again, leaping into the air. You try to run, spinning around and bolting down the alley, but it catches up to you, picking you up effortlessly with one of it’s four arms. You dangle mid-air, only a few feet off of the ground, trying to wiggle away, fear creeping into your body, filling your lungs like smoke. You want to scream, scream for help, but you can’t, the words trapped in your throat.

The monster presses against you, its two other arms pinning your arms to your sides, its clawed hands wrapping around your waist. Its face is close to you, practically breathing against your cheek. It sniffs again, before opening its mouth and licking up the side of your neck. A few tears escape your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in streams. It smells of death and decay.

You suddenly hear a twhip as something flies past your head. It’s a fucking knife, wrapped with a white fabric covered with black dots, almost Rorschach in design, a design for a second you swear you recognise. The monster screeches, dropping you onto the ground in a heap.

You hit the ground with a hard thud, your ears starting to ring as your vision blurs. You struggle to get air in your lungs, your heart beating so hard and fast you can feel it in your throat. Through the edges of your hazy vision, you can faintly see the large silhouette of someone, their body blocking the light of the street lamp. They speak, their voice deep and rough, laced with years of exhaustion.

“Are you hurt?” They ask.

You go to respond, the voice is so warm and familiar, and you swear for a second you know it, when the creature screeches again.

You flinch, covering your ears as the creature screeches, the sound piercing through your ears, echoing in your very bones. The shadows of the alley obscure the stranger, but you can hear the clashing of metal against claws, the screeching of the monster. You try to stand up, but your legs feel like jelly, your back, and neck aching from the fall. You try to speak, but the words die in your throat as the creature screeches again.

The screech is loud, almost blood-curdling, when it suddenly stops. You hear a sickening squish before a heavy thump, the body of the monster falling onto the ground as the head rolls over to you, bumping into your calf.

The man stands nearby, panting as he wipes the knife off, sliding it into his suit pocket. He gets down on one knee over you, brushing some hair out of your face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Your vision clears, and you see him clearly now. You groan, sitting up on your palms.

“Mr. Kento?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

i have no idea. please don't ask. i will do a part 2 if you want!

#keikiwrites #f!reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #kento x reader

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