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willowsnook · 10 hours ago

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cat and mouse

jack hughes x reader

Hockey was your favorite sport but you hated most hockey players. They were cocky, commanded every room they were in, and expected panties to always drop at their feet. You’d had your fair share of run ins with the type when you went to BU and working in the industry post grad meant you had to deal with a lot of annoying personalities regularly. But you were good at keeping your work and personal life separate.

It seemed your luck had run out tonight though. Every Thursday night, you met your friends at a small bar in downtown Newark to chat about the week and pregame the weekend. The bar was a good in between of being a dive and a sportsbar so to you it was perfect. It was busier than usual tonight, a group of tenish guys seated at your regular table much to your annoyance.

“Wait those guys look so familiar,” your friend Rachel said, eyeing them over her drink. “I think they’re Devils players. Right y/n?”

As the hockey girl of your friend group you sighed, but looked over. Sure enough she was right. Your friends buzzed with excitement, the single ones anyways. Conversation carried on after the temporary distraction and you were buzzed after a while. Getting up to get another drink, you looked for an opening but didn’t find one.

You tapped on a figure in front of you, hoping to squeeze in.

“Excuse me,” you started and he turned around. You started to ask if you could slip by him but he cut you off.

“No pictures tonight sweetheart,” he said, a brief look of annoyance on his face.

“Awesome,” you deadpanned. “Can you move then so I can get a drink?”

He blinked in surprise, his face flushing while the guy he was next to burst out laughing.

“Nice going Jacky,” his friend said grinning. He moved to the side to let you through and you ignored his gaze that was still trained on you.

“Let me at least buy you a drink,” he offered, a smirk back on his face as he took in your appearance.

“I’m good,” you said, not even looking over at him.

Jack wasn’t used to rejection. Especially not from someone who looked as good as you did tonight. He leaned against the bar, watching as you waved the bartender down without sparing him another glance.

“Come on, one drink,” he tried again, flashing a grin he was sure had worked a thousand times before. “Consider it an apology for the whole ‘no pictures’ thing.”

You let out a dry chuckle, finally looking at him. “You think I care that you’re a hockey player?”

His smirk faltered, just for a second. “I mean… most people do.”

“Well, I’m not most people.”

His friend from earlier—who you now recognized as Dawson Mercer—let out another loud laugh. “Man, she’s really not into you.”

Jack shot him a glare before turning his attention back to you. “So, you’re a hockey fan then?”

You shrugged, “Something like that.”

“Let me guess—Rangers fan?”

You scoffed. “Please. I have standards.”

Jack’s brows shot up in amusement. “Oh, so you do like the Devils.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

He grinned, intrigued. “You’re kind of killing me here, sweetheart.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you deadpanned.

Dawson practically doubled over laughing, and even the bartender gave a knowing smirk as they passed your drink over. You grabbed it, giving Jack one last look.

“Listen,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “I get it. You’re used to girls fawning over you. But I’m just here to drink with my friends. So… enjoy the rest of your night, Jacky.”

You didn’t wait for a response, turning on your heel and heading back to your table. Your friends were already whispering excitedly, having watched the exchange unfold.

“Oh my God, you just walked away from Jack Hughes,” Rachel whisper-yelled.

“Yeah, and?” You plopped back down, taking a sip of your drink.

“And he’s, like, Jack Hughes!”

You rolled your eyes. “Exactly. That’s the problem.”

From across the bar, you felt a pair of eyes still on you. You didn’t have to look to know it was Jack.

“I have to have her,” Jack said to Dawson, his eyes not leaving you even as you walked back to your friends.

“I feel like I just witnessed history,” Dawson said grinning.

“What’d I miss?” Luke asked, as he came back from the bathroom.

“Jack turned all of his charm on this girl and she literally gave him the biggest look of disgust I have ever seen,” Dawson told him gleefully while Jack rolled his eyes.

“Where is she so I can shake her hand?” Luke joked, knowing way too well how often that reaction was not the case.

Luke scanned the bar, his eyes landing on your table. "Wait, I know her. That's Y/N. She works for the team's PR department."

Jack's head whipped around to face Luke. "What? How do you know that?"

"She helped me set up my social media accounts when I first got signed," Luke explained. "She's actually pretty cool. Knows her hockey too. She’s works with the executives mostly, so I doubt you would have ran into her."

Jack's interest piqued even further. A girl who worked for the team, knew hockey, and wasn't impressed by him? This was a challenge he couldn't resist.

"I'm going over there," Jack announced, straightening his shirt.

Dawson grabbed his arm. "Dude, she clearly doesn't want to talk to you. Let it go."

But Jack shrugged him off, already making his way towards your table with Luke tailing behind. Your friends noticed him approaching before you did, their eyes widening and you turned your head to see what they were looking at. You grinned widely, eyes lighting up and Jack relaxed. Game over, he thought.

“Luke!” You exclaimed, rising to greet him. The younger Hughes brother’s eyes widened as you hugged him, feeling the burn of Jack’s glare in his skin. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, y/n,” he said warmly grinning down at you.

“Buy me a drink?” You asked, ignoring Jack completely. Luke’s eyes filled with amusement, catching on to what you were playing at and nodded, beckoning for you to follow him.

“You know this is going to make him crazy,” Luke warned as you made it back to the bar. Jack stayed behind, charming your friends to recover his ego.

“I doubt it, I’ve never even seen him before tonight,” you waved your hand dismissing the idea.

“This is Dawson by the way,” Luke introduced and you gave him a smile.

“Nice to meet you, y/n,” Dawson said. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you, I didn’t know you worked for the Devils.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “Generally my job is PR projects for leadership in the org. I only met Luke because I was covering for Madison when she was out.”

You chatted with Luke and Dawson a while longer before you decided to call it a night. Bidding both the guys goodbye you headed outside, unaware of someone following behind you.

“Not going to say goodbye?” Jack called out, his lips turned up as your eyes settled on his face.

“I’ve said it to the people who need to hear it,” you replied, looking down at your Uber app. Jack walked closer to you and you braced for whateve ridiculous thing he was going to say next.

“You know I’m enjoying the hard to get act you’re playing,” he said and you snorted. “It’s just going to make me want you more babe.”

A car pulled up next to you and you closed the distance between you and Jack, your lips near his ear.

“Too bad we can’t always get what we want,” you purred before pulling away and stepping into the car.

—---------------------------------------------------

“Hey lover boy, heard you got your ego knocked down a couple of pegs this weekend,” Nico chirped to Jack as he entered the locker room.

Jack rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on," Jesper chimed in with a grin. "Word travels fast. Heard you got completely shut down by some girl at the bar on Thursday."

"She didn't shut me down," Jack protested, but his teammates' laughter told him they weren't buying it. "Whatever, it's not a big deal."

But it was a big deal to Jack. He couldn't stop thinking about you all weekend - your sharp wit, the way you'd completely dismissed him, how good you looked in that outfit. It was driving him crazy.

As the team filed out onto the ice for practice, Jack hung back for a moment, catching Luke's arm.

"Hey, that girl from the other night - Y/N. You said she works here, right?"

Luke eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“No reason,” he replied quickly.

“Dude haven’t you had enough?” He questioned. “She clearly isn’t interested.”

“She just doesn’t know me,” Jack complained to his brother. “She’s literally so hot, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I know she’s hot but she’s not going to sleep with you,” Luke said, trying to hide his laughter at his brother’s whining.

“We’ll see.”

Jack Hughes wasn’t used to losing. Especially not like this.

For the next week, he tried everything to get your attention.

Monday: You were grabbing coffee at the arena’s café when a shadow loomed over you.

“Let me guess—oat milk latte, extra shot of espresso?” Jack said, sliding into line behind you.

You turned, unimpressed. “Bold of you to assume.”

He smirked. “I like a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes and placed your order. When you went to pay, the barista waved you off.

“He already covered it,” she said, nodding toward Jack.

“Consider it a peace offering,” he added, looking far too pleased with himself.

You grabbed your drink without another word, but you heard Luke’s quiet groan from a nearby table.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

Wednesday: A massive bouquet of roses arrived at your office. The card read:

"For the only person in this building who doesn’t think I’m charming. – JH"

Your coworkers swooned. You barely glanced at them before handing the entire arrangement to the receptionist.

“Want these?” you asked.

She gasped. “Wait, seriously? These are gorgeous!”

“Knock yourself out,” you said, walking away without a second thought.

Jack, watching from down the hall, groaned.

“This girl is impossible,” he muttered.

Friday: You were in the press box during morning skate when a puck suddenly landed on the ledge in front of you.

You glanced down to see Jack grinning up at you from the ice. He tapped his stick against the boards, waiting.

You picked up the puck, reading the sharpie-scrawled message: Drinks tonight? You pick the bar.

You smirked, leaning forward just enough for him to see you… then you casually tossed the puck behind you without even reading the rest.

Jack’s jaw dropped as his teammates erupted in laughter.

“Oh man, that was brutal,” Dawson wheezed, skating up beside him.

Luke skated over next, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Dude. Just give up.”

But Jack just grinned, eyes locked on you as you turned back to your work.

“Not a chance.”

—--------------------------------

If you were being honest with yourself, you were having fun playing this game with Jack and your opinion of him was starting to change. Yes, you still 100% believed he was a cocky player, but he was fun and he made you laugh. His company was actually enjoyable, something you learned from the fact that you now saw him at a few times each week.

The back and forth between the two of you had been going on for a couple of months, and even though Luke had been hesitant about Jack’s pursuit of you at first, he was ready to see this end.

“Hey y/n,” Luke said, knocking on your office door.

“What’s up Luke?” You asked, looking up from your computer.

“I’m hosting a party tonight for my birthday and was wondering if you wanted to come?”

“I’d love to, what time?” You asked and he told you. He mentioned that you could bring a couple of your friends, specifically Rachel, since Dawson had been talking to her recently.

Pairing a lace bodysuit with jeans, you finished curling your hair while Rachel stood next to you doing her makeup.

“So what’s the actual deal with you and Jack?” She asked and you shrugged nonchalantly.

“Nothing really, it’s like a game,” you said.

“Are you going to sleep with him?” She asked.

“Maybe,” you said. “He is hot.”

She eyes you curiously before asking her next question. “Are you into him more than in just an ‘I want to sleep with you’ way?”

You scoffed, “I barely know him like that. It’s not like we’ve ever hung out one on one.”

“Just asking, just seems like you were so anti-hockey boys and here we are.”

“We aren’t anywhere.”

She just smirked at you, not saying anything further.

Jack showed up to the party fashionably late, instantly looking for you. He was pleased when he saw you talking with your friend and some others but decided not to approach you just yet.

“Beer?” Dawson offered and he shook his head.

“I need to stay focused,” Jack said nodding at you.

“When are you going to admit this is something a little more than a game?” Dawson asked.

Jack scoffed, but his eyes never left you. "What are you talking about?"

Dawson rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. You've been chasing this girl for months. I've never seen you put this much effort into anyone before."

"That's because she's playing hard to get," Jack insisted, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"No, it's because you actually like her," Dawson countered. "And not just because she's hot. You like that she challenges you, that she doesn't fall for your usual tricks."

Jack opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. He watched as you laughed at something someone said, your eyes crinkling at the corners. His stomach did a little flip.

"Shit," he muttered.

Dawson clapped him on the back. "There it is."

By the time you noticed Jack, you were very drunk. He was seated at a barstool chatting with some of his teammates.

“Y/n!” Nico called, waving you over. “Come hang out with us.”

You met Jack’s eyes as you came over and gave him a wink before you hugged Nico. He offered his seat but you declined, moving to where you were standing at the table with Jack at your back. He spread his legs wider and you leaned back, settling on the edge of his chair.

You felt Jack tense slightly as you settled against him, but he didn't push you away. Instead, his hand came to rest lightly on your hip, his thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of your jeans.

"So, Y/N," Nico said with a mischievous grin, "Jack here tells us you're still giving him a hard time."

You laughed, leaning back further into Jack's chest. "Oh, has he now?"

"Can you blame a guy for trying?" Jack murmured close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "I suppose not. But where's the fun in making it easy?"

The guys around the table hooted and hollered, but you barely noticed. You were too focused on the way Jack's eyes had darkened, his grip on your hip tightening ever so noticeably.

Jack was quiet as you talked to his teammates, lost in thought. You were starting to hit a wall and after you yawned for a third time Jack leaned forward.

“How are you getting home?” He asked.

“Probably just call an uber,” you told him.

“Let me take you home,” he said and you nodded, giving in.

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, Jack's hand found the small of your back, guiding you towards his car. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his usual cocky demeanor.

"You know," you said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you, "for someone who's supposedly trying to get me into bed, you're being awfully chivalrous right now."

Jack chuckled, opening the passenger door for you. "Maybe I'm not just trying to get you into bed anymore."

You raised an eyebrow, sliding into the seat. "Oh? And what exactly are you trying to do then, Jack Hughes?"

He closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, taking a moment before answering. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted as he started the car. "But I think I'd like to find out."

The drive to your place was quiet, and it wasn’t long before he was pulling up to your building.

“You want to come up?” You asked, and his eyes darkened, flickering once to your lips.

“I can’t sleep with you when you’re this drunk,” he said and you smirked.

“Who said I wanted to sleep with you Jacky?” You teased. “Maybe I just like your company.”

He mumbled something under his breath as he got out of the car and followed you inside the building. You stumbled as you got out of the elevator and Jack caught you, pulling you into him.

“Careful angel,” he murmured and you felt yourself getting hot. He didn’t say anything as you opened the door to your apartment, just silently looking around, taking in your home. You watched him look around until his eyes landed back on you.

Taking a step forward and his breath hitched as your hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“Y/n,” he warned, clearly fighting some kind of internal battle with himself.

“Just a taste,” you whispered before pressing your lips against his.

Jack's resolve crumbled the moment your lips touched his. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss. You tasted like the sweet cocktails you'd been drinking all night, and he couldn't get enough.

For a moment, all the playful banter and teasing melted away. It was just you and Jack, lost in each other's embrace.

But as quickly as it started, Jack pulled away, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

"We shouldn't," he murmured, though his grip on your waist didn't loosen.

You pouted, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Why not?"

"Because," Jack said, finally taking a step back. "I want to do this right."

You blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Jack ran a hand through his hair before stepping back, “You are very drunk and I want our first time to be without any doubts that we both want it.”

You tilted your head, analyzing his answer before nodding. “Okay. I still want you to stay.”

“You are so much nicer when you’re drunk,” Jack said as you both walked towards your room.

“I know,” you said with a small smile. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

You stepped into the bathroom, deciding to take a quick shower before changing into a pj set you had. It left little to the imagination so Jack’s eyes widened when you came back out. He was laying in your bed, scrolling through his phone as you climbed in next to him.

“You are making this very difficult for me,” he complained, adjusting himself under the covers.

“I don’t kow what you’re talking about,” you said innocently. You laid your head on his chest and his arm moved to where he could hold you against him.

“I knew you would fall for my charm,” Jack said, shooting you a cocky smile.

You scoffed, “I haven’t slept with you yet buddy, I’m merely just using you for warmth.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, kissing your forehead before closing his eyes.

You woke up the next morning on your side with Jack pressed up behind you. One arm was wrapped snugly around your waist, like he was scared you were going to run away. You turned around and admired his sleeping form next to you.

This whole thing between you was starting to get complicated. What started as something fun was slowly turning into something more for you and you really didn’t know how to feel about it.

Jack stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“Morning,” he rasped, stretching out his limbs.

“Hi,” you said back, moving to slide off the bed. Before you could stand up, two hand encircled your waist, pulling you back.

“FIve more minutes,” he pleaded, enjoying the warmth from your body against his.

“I need to go to the Farmer’s Market before it gets crowded,” you told him. “So you need to go.”

“Let me come with,” he said and you looked at him surprised.

“You want to come to the Farmers’ Market with me?”

He shrugged, “I don’t have anything else to do.”

Jack wasn’t sure how he got here. One minute, he was trying (and failing) to win you over, and the next, he was carrying a tote bag full of fresh produce while you picked through a crate of peaches like this was a normal Saturday activity for the two of you.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” he noted, watching as you inspected each piece of fruit.

“I’m not about to waste five bucks on a bad peach, Hughes,” you replied, finally selecting one and dropping it into your bag.

He smirked, shifting the weight of the tote on his shoulder. “So I’m carrying all your stuff now?”

“You invited yourself,” you said breezily, moving on to the next stall. “Consider it a consequence of your actions.”

Jack just shook his head, trailing behind as you stopped at a bakery stand. You picked up a loaf of sourdough, glancing up at him.

“Do you even eat real bread, or is it all protein shakes and sad health food?”

Jack scoffed. “I eat real food. I could house that whole loaf in one sitting.”

You arched a brow. “Prove it.”

He grabbed the sourdough out of your hands and tossed some cash at the vendor. Tearing off a piece, he took a dramatic bite. “Happy?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re such a child.”

Jack grinned, nudging your shoulder with his. “And yet, you keep hanging out with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the small smile you tried to hide as you walked ahead.

Yeah. He was definitely getting somewhere.

—---------------------

The line between you and Jack was definitely blurred after that night. Something had shifted which hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone around either of you.

“So,” Luke said, sitting next to his brother in the locker room.

“Spit it out Luke,” Jack said, giving him an annoyed look.

“You went to the farmers’ market,” Luke stated, catching the interest of a nearby Dawson. “And you did that after not even sleeping with her.”

“You didn’t sleep with her?” Dawson asked, butting in.

“She was very drunk,” Jack groaned, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your guys’ business.”

“I can’t believe you went to the farmers’ market,” Dawson said. “You’re whipped.”

“It’s not like that,” Jack muttered.

“Not like that,” Luke echoed. “But you haven’t slept with anyone else since this whole thing started. A little uncharacteristic of you.”

Jack didn’t reply, just threw his towel into his brother’s face before stalking off.

His day did not get better from there. After a less than stellar game from him, he opened his phone to see an ongoing discourse on twitter. Apparently Paul Bissonnette, a TNT analyst and former NHL player, had done a deep dive on Jack’s game play, pointing out a laundry list of problems.

Twitter was split with Devils' fans tweeting angrily at Biz and Biz’s followers defending him. Honestly Jack didn’t care that much, especially because a lot of what he was saying was right, but it still didn’t feel good.

The media asked him about it after the game and he much to the annoyance of the Devils’ PR team, he let his temper get the best of him.

“I mean that guy was a professional bench warmer but what do I know?” He sounded off, which just added fuel to the fire.

You had taken the week of from work, visiting a friend in NYC while all this was going down and you didn’t envy your coworkers that had to deal with this.

While you were out for lunch the last day on your trip you ended up running into Biz as you were walking out of the restaurant. You recognized him immediately and weirdly enough it seemed like he knew who you were.

“You’re Jack Hughes girl?” He asked and you froze.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said and he grinned.

“That’s not what Quinn told me,” he said and you shrugged.

You raised an eyebrow at Biz's comment. "Quinn Hughes? And what exactly did he tell you?"

Biz chuckled. "Just that his brother's been chasing after some girl from the Devils' PR team for months. Said it's the first time he's seen Jack actually put effort into pursuing someone."

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly. "Well, Quinn doesn't know what he's talking about. Jack and I are... it's complicated."

"Uh-huh," Biz said, clearly not buying it. "Look, I know Jack's probably not thrilled with me right now, but I wasn't trying to attack him personally. Just pointing out areas where he could improve his game."

You nodded, remembering the Twitter drama. "I get it. It's your job to analyze players. Jack will get over it once he cools down."

“I have a funny idea if you’re game?”

—-------------------------------

Jack stared down at his phone seething. Nico was watching him with an amused look on his face.

“I mean, it’s kind of funny,” he said and Jack shot him a glare.

“What’s funny?” Luke asked, coming out of the showers. He leaned over Jack’s shoulder to see what he was looking at on his phone. It was a quote tweet to the press interview when he had chirped Biz.

@.biznasty: Damn, that hurts Jack; at least I have a pretty girl to make me feel better.

Along with his tweet was a selfie of you and Biz attached.

Luke barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Jack said coldly. Nico laughed it off but Luke could tell something was off by his brother’s tone.

As Jack stared at the photo of you and Biz, a mix of emotions swirled in his chest - anger, jealousy, and a hint of hurt he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge.

"Come on, man," Luke said, sensing his brother's mood. "You know Y/N is just messing with you. It's what you two do."

Jack locked his phone, shoving it in his bag. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm tired of playing games."

Nico and Luke exchanged a look as Jack stormed out of the locker room.

Meanwhile, you were on your way back to Newark, feeling a little guilty about the stunt with Biz. You hadn't expected it to blow up quite like it did. Sure enough a text from Luke confirmed what you were feeling.

LH: just a heads up, Jack is in a mood about the Biz picture.

Y/N: really? It was just a joke?

LH: I know and it was funny. But he’s being a little sensitive.

You asked Luke to send you their address, deciding to make a stop on the way home. He answered the door when you got there, an amused look on his face.

“The princess is in his room,” he said, motioning to what you assumed was Jack’s door.

Jack had just gotten out of the shower when you pushed his door open, his white towel wrapped snuggly around his waist.

“What are you doing here?” He asked sharply. You rolled your eyes at his tone.

"Heard you were throwing a tantrum," you said, leaning against the doorframe. "Thought I'd come see what all the fuss was about."

Jack's jaw clenched as he turned away from you, rummaging through his dresser. "I'm not throwing a tantrum. You can go back to hanging out with your new buddy Biz."

You sighed, moving further into the room. "Jack, come on. It was just a joke. You know there's nothing going on between me and Biz."

He didn't respond, just continued rummaging through his drawers with more force than necessary.

"Hey," you said softly, placing a hand on his bare shoulder. He tensed under your touch but didn't pull away. "Talk to me. What's really bothering you?"

Jack finally turned to face you, his expression a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "I had a bad game and then I’m getting chirped in the media, and then I log on to see the girl I’m into is hanging out with someone else.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at Jack. "The girl you're into, huh?"

He ran a hand through his damp hair, looking slightly flustered. "I mean... yeah. Isn't it obvious by now?"

You stepped closer, your hand moving from his shoulder to rest on his chest. "Maybe. But it's nice to hear you say it."

Jack's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "I'm tired of playing games, y/n. I want you. For real."

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his eyes. "What happened to the cocky player who was just trying to get me into bed?"

He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "That guy realized he actually likes spending time with you, farmers market and all."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Even when I'm giving you a hard time?"

“Especially then,” he said, bringing his lips down to yours. The kiss started soft but soon escalated, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging softly. “I’m still mad at you though.”

“I can think of a few ways to make it up to you,” you murmured against his lips.

#nhl imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine

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heliosunny · 1 day ago

Note

how do i convince you to write more yandere!sampo because that lucky egg fic made me feel things, it was simply too good

Leaving Sampo Koski had been the hardest mission you’d ever undertaken—not because of emotions, but because of how deeply entangled he had made himself in your life. You weren’t sure when it had started, but at some point, he had stopped being just an informant, a contact, a convenient source of intel. He had made himself a necessity.

His silver tongue spun stories that blurred the lines between truth and deception, his ‘coincidental’ appearances on missions became so frequent that you began to rely on him without realizing it. He always had an escape plan when things went south, always knew who was watching you, always seemed to be two steps ahead.

You thought you were the one playing him. You were wrong.

So you did what you were best at—you vanished. You cut ties, abandoned old haunts, and left no trace behind. You were a Stellaron Hunter, disappearing should have been easy. But the moment you set foot on Jarilo-VI for a new mission, you knew something was off.

It wasn’t just the way the citizens stared a second too long when you passed. It wasn’t just the uneasy feeling of being watched. It was the sense that this was all too perfect. Like someone had been expecting you.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't my favorite runaway sweetheart."

That voice- You turned sharply, hand instinctively reaching for your weapon, but there he was, standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against a wall with that infuriatingly familiar smirk. His hair caught the dim streetlights. He looked exactly the same—but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You’re back." Sampo continued, pushing off the wall with a lazy grace. "Though, gotta say, I’m a little hurt. No messages, no calls? After everything we had?"

Your fingers twitched around your weapon. "Get out of my way, Sampo."

His grin widened, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, hotshot. No need for all that hostility. I’m just a guy welcoming an old flame home, y’know?"

You scoffed. "This isn’t my home."

"Sure it is." His voice lowered, taking on a silky, dangerous edge. "At least, it was. ‘Sides, I had a feeling you’d come back sooner or later. Call it... intuition."

Sampo Koski hadn’t found you by luck. And if there was one thing you knew about him, it was that he never let something he wanted slip away twice.

----

Jarilo-VI was a cold, desolate place, but right now, that wasn’t what sent chills down your spine. It was the feeling of being watched.

This mission should have been simple: find information on your target, retrieve the asset, and disappear without a trace. But there was a problem.

Your usual informants were silent. No messages. No signals. No backup. Someone had gotten to them first. And there was only one person who could manipulate an entire city’s underground like this.

You’d spent months avoiding him, cutting ties, ensuring he had no leverage over you anymore. You thought you had finally freed yourself from his cloying, suffocating grasp. But deep down, a small, sinking part of you had known—if you ever set foot on this planet again, he’d know.

Still, you had no choice. He was the only one left who could give you the information you needed. Even if you knew he’d spin half-truths and lies, even if you knew he’d twist this into something that benefited him, you were desperate enough to take the risk.

So you reached out.

Meet me at the usual spot, sweetheart. We’ve got some catching up to do.

You could practically hear the smug grin in his voice through the encrypted message. You should have found another way. But now here you were, standing in the dimly lit backstreets, the cold seeping through your coat. You shifted your weight, scanning the shadows.

"You’re looking good, hotshot."

The voice came from behind.

You turned, already expecting the sight before you.

Sampo Koski, arms crossed, a grin playing on his lips.

"Cut the small talk, Sampo. I need information."

He whistled. "Oof, straight to business? No ‘hey Sampo, how ya been?’ No ‘wow, you’re looking handsome as ever’?" His grin widened when you didn’t respond. "Cold as ever, I see. But I like a challenge."

You clenched your jaw. "I don’t have time for your games. Do you have the intel or not?"

Sampo sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Always so impatient. But yeah, yeah, I got what you need. Turns out, your little target’s been making quite the mess down here. You wouldn’t believe the trouble they’ve been stirring up. Lucky for you, I happen to know exactly where they’ll be tonight."

You narrowed your eyes. "And you’re just giving this to me? No price?"

His grin turned sharper. "Oh, there’s always a price, sweetheart. But let’s call this a… favor. Just for you."

You didn’t like the way he said that. But you didn’t have time to argue.

"Where?"

Sampo tilted his head, as if considering something, before finally saying, "Old supply depot. The one past Rivet Town. Midnight. Come alone."

You committed the information to memory, but something in your gut twisted.

Sampo never gave things away for free. And he never told the whole truth.

So, with one last glance at the man who had once held you too close, whispered too many sweet lies, and refused to let you go, you turned on your heel and walked away.

As you made your way toward the old supply depot, the uneasy feeling in your gut only grew stronger. You didn’t like it.

You checked your weapon as you approached the rusted entrance, exhaling slowly.

In and out. Get the information. Get gone.

Yet, the moment you stepped inside, you knew.

You’d been played.

The depot was empty.

The doors behind you slammed shut.

Sampo Koski stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, a pleased grin stretching across his face.

"Ahh, you really do trust me, huh?" he drawled, tilting his head. "Warms my heart, sweetheart."

Your pulse quickened, but you forced yourself to stay still. He had the upper hand here. You had no idea if anyone else was lurking in the shadows, if there were more traps waiting for you.

"You lied"

Sampo placed a hand over his chest, mock offense dripping from his tone. "Lied? C'mon now, don't make it sound so ugly. I just… redirected the truth a little."

"Why?"

He took a step forward. You didn't move.

"Because," he said, "it’s been a while since we had some quality time. And I figured, well… you wouldn't come willingly."

Your grip tightened around your weapon. "And what exactly do you think is going to happen now, Koski?"

Sampo exhaled, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. "See, that’s what I love about you. Always thinking so far ahead. But let’s keep it simple, yeah? No tricks. No running. Just you and me… having a little chat."

"And if I say no?"

"Then, sweetheart," he murmured, "I’m afraid you’re gonna have a real hard time leaving."

This wasn’t just some mind game.

Sampo hadn’t just set a trap.

He had made sure that, this time… you wouldn’t slip away.

The second his words left his lips, you moved.

A quick flick of your wrist sent a concealed blade flying toward his shoulder—a distraction. You were already rushing forward, closing the distance in a flash, your weapon drawn.

Sampo barely dodged, twisting to the side at the last moment. The blade grazed his coat, a piece of fabric fluttering to the ground.

"Whoa there!" he laughed, flipping backward, landing light on his feet. "You sure know how to make a reunion exciting!"

You ignored the taunt, lunging again. This time, you aimed for his weak spots—his ribs, his legs, places that would slow him down. You had to end this quickly.

He was fast. But so were you.

For the first time, Sampo looked surprised. He wasn’t used to you fighting him with full force. In the past, you’d always held back—a mistake you wouldn’t repeat.

"Aw, c'mon, sweetheart," he panted, narrowly dodging another strike. "We don’t gotta do this. You and me? We had something special—"

You slammed your knee into his gut, cutting off his words.

Sampo stumbled back, coughing, but he recovered quick.

"Alright," he exhaled, wiping his mouth. "Guess we’re doing this the hard way."

Suddenly, the air filled with thick, blinding fog, Sampo’s signature escape trick. You pivoted, expecting him to run—

But he didn’t.

Instead, you felt something coil around your wrist.

A wire.

You tried to wrench away, but Sampo yanked hard, sending you off balance. A second wire looped around your other arm, pinning you, forcing you forward—right into his trap.

Before you could react, he twisted your body, knocking your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard. A weight pressed against your back before you could roll away. Sampo was on top of you, pinning you down, his knee digging into your spine.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tsked, tightening the wires around your wrists. "I gotta admit—almost had me there. But you should know by now, sweetheart…"

He leaned in, voice dropping to a purr.

"I never lose."

You thrashed, but the wires only tightened.

Sampo sighed dramatically. "Don’t give me that look. If you’d just behaved, we wouldn’t have to do things this way."

"Let me go."

"Can’t do that," he said smoothly, brushing some stray hair from your face. "Y’see, you keep running. And I keep chasing. It’s exhausting, really."

"But lucky for you, sweetheart," he murmured, "this time, I made sure there’s nowhere left for you to go."

You struggled harder.

But Sampo only sighed again, amused.

"Still fighting? That’s cute. But don’t worry…"

His lips curled into that signature, infuriating grin.

"I’ve got all the time in the world to make you love me again."

The last thing you heard was the sound of metal shackles locking into place.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #sampo hsr #sampo koski #sampo x reader #hsr sampo

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rotworld · 2 days ago

Text

Blue Moon

the treaty of aneptyra states that every witch must be partnered with a nightbound, but the system is far from perfect. some people slip through the cracks. some, like you, make it all the way to adulthood without ever arousing suspicion. unfortunately, all it takes is a single stroke of bad luck to ruin everything.

->an introduction to the "meanvamps" universe. contains mild gore, power imbalance, mind control and mild feral behavior.

Your office is about to be haunted.

It’s fixable. The lights dim and flicker but they still turn on. The cold spots are confined to one corner of the breakroom and those whispers you hear echoing in the vents are soft and indistinct, no intelligible words just yet. But management would actually have to do something to keep it from getting worse, and they’d rather fire off condescending emails about the “charm and personality of historic buildings,” as though you and all of your coworkers are collectively hallucinating the tap water in the restroom turning to black sludge, or the humanoid silhouettes that settle in empty cubicles at night.

The printers have started spitting out eerie images so you’ve started collecting them on the office corkboard, partially as a joke and partially as a cry for help. When things get quiet during the late shift, everyone gathers around to gawk like it’s an art gallery or a collection of Rorschach inkblots, musing over possible meaning in the smudges.

“Looks like a human heart, I think,” Monroe says.

Cindy shakes her head. “Really? I think it’s a palm tree. With skulls for coconuts.”

“I kinda see a cat,” Devon says. He squints over his coffee mug. “A cat with a gun.”

“With a gun?”

You stare at the misshapen thing. You know exactly what it is but you pretend you don’t. “Praying mantis, maybe?” you say.

Monroe sighs and rubs his temples, trying to smother a budding headache. “We shouldn’t have said anything about the printer. They’re just going to say printers always act haunted. And they’re right.”

“Maybe we should send them some pictures next time,” Devon says. You all nod, and you all know it won’t make a difference. Inspection and cleansing services aren’t cheap. Nothing will change until absolutely damning evidence rears its head, probably when someone gets mauled by whatever coalesces from the unnaturally dark shadows growing like mold in the breakroom. If the company’s smart, they’ll sell the building just as things start to boil over and make it somebody else’s problem. If your coworkers are smart, they’ll take all their emails and creepy print-offs to a good lawyer and sue this place into oblivion for endangerment and concealment of a haunting.

It’s a mess, but it’s not your problem. You’ll be long gone by the time that happens, onto the next town.

“Hey, uh, guys?” Your boss, Bryant, rushes over and you expect a problem because you’ve suddenly become “guys” rather than “team” or “buddies” or “my favorite people,” whatever faux-friendly corporate bullshit he usually calls you. To your surprise, he’s not here to chew you out for chatting on the clock. In fact, he doesn’t say anything right away. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder, twice, three times, tugging at his company lanyard and ID nervously. “Hey, so. I know there’s been some, ah, stress in the office lately. And I just want you to know that I hear you, and I am absolutely willing to pass along any of your concerns—”

“Is this about the thing in the bathroom?” Cindy asks.

“The—I’m sorry?”

“The thing,” Monroe says, “in the bathroom. It moves when you’re not looking at it. We told you about it months ago, did you finally see it?”

Bryant looks back again and you follow his gaze this time, starting to worry. He leans in, lowering his voice. “Which one of you called him?” You share silent, searching glances with your coworkers. Nobody seems to know what he’s talking about. “There’s a fucking fed outside,” he hisses. “And he wants to interview everybody who’s here right now—”

“Excuse me.”

The fed is inside, as it turns out, strolling between the cubicles with his hands in his pockets. Bryant looks like he’s going into fight-or-flight and your coworkers aren’t sure what to make of him. You stay behind everybody else and hope that he can’t distinguish your racing pulse from Bryant’s. Hauntings, potential or otherwise, fall outside the jurisdiction of human authorities. This guy isn’t a normal fed. He’s wearing something that looks borderline military, a black tailcoat with a collection of small, shiny symbols emblazoned on one shoulder, a golden canary embroidered on the left side of his chest. His ID is in its own leather case, his name and face printed on a little white card.

Canary Task Force, it says above a headshot with the same sideswept black hair and olive eyes. Edmund. No last name listed, because he doesn’t have one. Most nightbound don’t. “My apologies for intruding,” he says, stiff and formal. “I’ve been dispatched as part of an active investigation. My name is Edmund. I’d like to speak with each of you privately before you leave this evening, if that’s no inconvenience.”

If that’s no inconvenience, he says, as if he can’t hold you here as long as he wants. He sets up in the conference room across the hall. You can see his silhouette moving on the other side of the frosted glass. Bryant gets called in first and the rest of you convene around the water cooler.

“You think he’s here about the haunting?” Cindy asks.

Devon shrugs. “He said ‘active investigation.’ Sounds like something else. Probably doesn’t hurt to mention it, though. The CTF loves stuff like this, especially if they get to punish somebody.”

“We should bring him some of our printouts. You want the gun-cat or the dead spider?” Monroe jokes, nudging you with his elbow. You don’t answer. You’re too busy staring at the carpet, trying to get your breathing under control. “Uh. You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting this.” You can’t fucking believe this! You’ve kept your head down, you’ve stayed busy, you’ve avoided attracting attention to yourself as much as possible, and yet here’s a CTF agent sniffing around your workplace, about to get you alone with him. He doesn’t know, does he? He can’t know. Nobody knows. You’ve been in town for three months at the very most, smoothly left the last one by accepting an office transfer. This can’t be happening.

“They kind of freak me out, too,” Cindy admits. “They’re so intense, right? Like the way they look at you…” Devon cuts her off by clearing his throat, glancing pointedly across the hall. You can’t hear what’s going on in there but nobody’s screaming for help yet. Bryant comes out looking a little bewildered but still in one piece.

“Excuse me, Miss?” Edmund leans out of the conference room doorway, nodding to Cindy. She stands up shakily whispering ohshitohmygod and tells you to water her daffodils if you never see her again. You consider slipping out while everyone’s distracted but that’d put you on the CTF’s radar if you’re not already. You’ll have to get through this interview. And you can—you will. You picked this city for a reason. If Edmund gets suspicious, he’ll have to investigate further, poke through your files and follow your paper trail to its eventual dead end. You’ll have skipped town by then, gotten a different name, changed your hair, whatever it takes to disappear again.

Cindy’s interview passes quickly, or maybe you’re just so panicked you’re losing track of time. She rejoins your group huddle with a small frown. “Huh,” she says, sounding dazed and a little hoarse like she just woke up. “It wasn’t that bad, I think?”

“Next, please.” Edmund is at the door again, looking right at you. Cindy gives you a pat on the shoulder in encouragement. You’d much rather take your chances jumping out the third floor office windows but you swallow hard, steel yourself, and head for the conference room.

Edmund smiles in what you imagine is supposed to be a friendly gesture as he shuts the door. He sits much closer than you’d like, taking the chair beside you rather than sitting across the large circular table. His posture is painfully formal like he’s posed for a professional photo, back straight, legs crossed to one side, hands joined in his lap.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

No shit. “Uh. Yeah,” you say. You don’t look at him. Should you? Is it more suspicious if you don’t? You glance up and then quickly back down again. His stare is unsettling. You’ve heard that the keen senses of the nightbound are a double-edged sword. They have to train themselves to filter extraneous stimuli, ignoring anything beyond their current focus so they don’t get overwhelmed. You have his undivided attention right now. He’s observing everything from the way you nervously squirm in your seat to the slightest twitch of muscle in your jaw. He can probably smell your sweat. He can definitely hear your heartbeat.

“Don’t worry. This is going to be a fairly routine interview. You’re not in any trouble.”

“Oh,” you say, feigning relief. Does it work? Are you convincing enough? You wish he showed any emotion beyond cold scrutiny or exaggerated concern. “Great. Okay. What do you wanna know?”

Edmund slips back into his affable mask, that same too enthusiastic if that’s no inconvenience smile from before. “All the usual things. Your name, to start. Are you local to the area or did you move here recently?”

You give him your most recent alias, the name your coworkers know. The rest of your answers are just as easy, and some are even the truth. You’re new in town, you’ve worked here a couple months. Night shifts in a company call center, nothing special. He asks about your commute, about your colleagues, about your boss. Easy, too easy. You see the curve ball coming before he even makes the pitch and you’re ready for it.

“Apologies, but I’m required to ask,” he says, smiling insincerely. “Are you a witch?”

You’ve practiced this in the mirror a thousand times. You pause, just long enough to sell the surprise, the confusion, a wry little smile that asks, who, me? “Uh, no,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Too awkwardly? You tone it down. “Do I look like one?”

Edmund stares at you blankly, unimpressed with just a hint of annoyance. Good. Perfect. Maybe he’ll leave sooner. “Moving on, then. I’d like you to tell me more about your coworkers.”

You don’t let yourself linger on the relief that rushes through you, not wanting him to sense it. You’re not in the clear yet. Yes, you like your coworkers just fine. No, you don’t really know the day shift people. You’re not very social and you like the quiet, almost-empty office. No, nobody’s been acting weird lately. That’s a strange thing to ask, you think. You wonder what this “investigation” is all about. But you keep answering and Edmund listens intently, drumming his fingers on the table. You’re not sure when he started doing it. Ta-ta-ta-tap, like he’s bored or restless. Fine by you.

“Does anyone in the office seem unusually tired lately?” Edmund asks. Ta-ta-ta-tap. “Maybe you’ve noticed someone coming in late, or calling in sick often?” Ta-ta-ta-tap.

You let your confusion show but you keep your apprehension to yourself. “I don’t think so. I mean, we’re all pretty worn out by the end of our shift,” you say, drawing the words out and glancing at the ceiling to feign careful consideration. You’re a little too focused on minding your own business to notice what anyone else is doing. And even if you had, you wouldn’t tell this guy. Bryant would rat you out in a heartbeat but the rest of you are sworn to secrecy.

That’s a huge red flag, though. He’s definitely looking for someone, but who and why?

“I see. Just a few more questions and I’ll let you go.” Edmund smiles. Ta-ta-ta-tap. The noise was a little annoying at first but now you hardly notice it. It’s kind of nice to listen to, something other than the low hum of the air conditioning. More questions, easy ones, about the minutiae of your work schedule. When does your shift start? When does it end? What’s a typical evening like? Gradually, you sink back against your chair in a comfortable slouch, relaxed, calm, tired. Really, really tired. You can barely keep your eyes open. Ta-ta-ta-tap. Edmund says something but it’s just noise, wordless murmuring you could fall asleep to.

And then he asks, “Are you under?”

“Mm. Yeah,” you say. You feel like you’re floating. Drifting away somewhere. Edmund opens a notebook and starts jotting something down, his free hand continuing that same, soothing rhythm. Ta-ta-ta-tap. A sudden realization settles more firmly into place. You can trust him. You feel absolutely certain of this, more sure than you’ve ever been about anything. He’s not your enemy. You think you were afraid of him before but that feeling is far away now, distant and forgettable. He’s here to help. He’d probably help fix the haunting if you told him about it.

“You told me about the haunting already,” he says. You did? You can’t remember. “You did, just now. One of your colleagues also explained it in detail. You’ve endured that for long enough and I’ll inform my superiors so it’s handled promptly.” His pen pauses over the paper and he looks at you. His eyes scared you before, but they calm you now. You were completely wrong about him. You can tell him anything. “That’s right, you can. That’s all you have to do right now. When I ask you something, you answer and tell the truth. Simple enough, right?” You nod. You can do that. It’s so nice of him to make things easy for you and take all the complicated thoughts away. “Now, I have to ask you some questions. I know it’s silly, but they’re the same questions I asked you before.” That is silly, but you don’t mind. “One more time. Your name?”

You say it. Your real one this time, not the alias you gave him before when you didn’t realize you could trust him.

He regards you strangely, frowning a little. Was that wrong? Did you make him unhappy? “No, not at all. Thank you for telling me. I have more questions about that, but we’ll come back to it later.”

He asks the same things he did before just like he said he would. You answer everything the best you can. You don’t want to disappoint him. You see him making notes, scribbling quickly. Where are you from? How well do you know your coworkers? Have you noticed any of them behaving strangely? Some of your answers are different now but he tells you that’s okay, everything is okay. Ta-ta-ta-tap and your worries dissipate before they’ve properly taken root.

“And are you a witch?” he asks, a question which makes something inside you lurch like you’re about to fall. You’re not sure why. It’s not hard to answer.

“Yes,” you say.

Edmund pauses. He looks up from his notes and stares at you. His expression is complicated. Too complicated for you to think about right now, so you don’t. It’s okay. Everything is okay. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? To confirm, you said you’re a witch?” he asks slowly. There’s that feeling again, that yanking nausea, your heart plummeting in your chest. That smooth, easy current carrying you through mindless tranquility seems choppy and dangerous now. That soothing ta-ta-ta-ta-tap makes you flinch. You shouldn’t listen to it. He’s trying to drag you back under again. “It’s okay,” he says softly, so softly. Everything is okay. You can trust him, can’t you? You can tell the truth.

“Yes. I’m a witch.”

Terror shocks you awake. You feel like you’ve narrowly escaped drowning, tense and gasping, skin tingling unpleasantly. You bolt out of your chair, sick with fear. Edmund is on his feet just as quickly, hands raised in a pacifying gesture.

“It’s alright,” he says gently, like he’s talking to a spooked horse. But it’s not alright. Everything is fucked. Your life is over. “This is…completely out of my jurisdiction. Not my department at all.” Somehow he looks just as lost for words as you are, just as blindsided. His eyes dart to the door behind you and you know you’re both thinking the same thing, planning a swift exit that doesn’t alarm your coworkers. “You’re not registered in Skelveross,” he says. “Do you know how I know that?”

You don’t answer. You don’t care. Your eyes scan the room in a frantic and useless search for exits.

“Because there’s a database, and I have every name and face that’s in it memorized. It’s not as long as you might think.” He takes a half-step forward and you stumble back, heart in your throat. “Something tells me you’re not registered anywhere,” he says, sounding almost pained. “I don’t know how that could’ve happened, but we can fix this. You just have to see the Council. In fact, I could escort you—”

“No,” you say hoarsely. You’re not going to cry in front of him even though your whole world is crumbling. You’re not.

Edmund seems surprised by your refusal. He flinches at your interruption, frowning tightly. You see him thinking. Weighing his options. Eventually, he smiles, and this one is terrifyingly real. His coldness thaws and he is awed, hopeful and brimming with adoration, looking at you like the most precious thing in the world. He finally lowers his hands and his posture relaxes, leaning casually against the table. “Understandable,” he says. “I wanted to ask you a few more things, but I suppose that can wait until next time. Your shift ended half an hour ago, didn’t it? You’re probably exhausted.” He’s careful, angling his body so you don’t see him settling one hand against the surface of the table, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already gone.

You don’t care who sees you sprinting full speed out of the conference room or what they think. You barrel into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. He let me go. The thought cycles through your mind on a panicked loop. He let me go, but why? He should’ve been faster. Is he starving? That can’t be right. He doesn’t have to be partnered to have access to blood. Maybe he knew how it’d look, a nightbound chasing after a terrified human after being stuck in close quarters together. Predation charges don’t usually stick but it’d be a headache and a PR blunder for the local Council, a potential stumbling block the next time they want something from the human authorities. In that case, the smart thing for him to do is wait. Reassure your coworkers. Leave calmly.

Then come after you while you’re alone, without any witnesses around.

The only thing that keeps you from sprinting all the way to the train station is the need to keep a low profile. You’re minutes from every nightbound in the city knowing your name and where you work and probably where you live. You fidget restlessly at the platform, racking your brain for a way out of this. Seven hours is too long to hide and wait for sunrise. Go home and pack? No, no way, they’ll check there first. Showing up at the airport is a bad idea but maybe you could hitchhike? Leaving town is just the start. You need to get out of the territory entirely to shake the CTF.

You toss your phone in the trash without a second thought. It was a burner anyway. They can fish it out if they want but your call history is all business and your texts won’t tell them anything more than what Edmund already got out of you. Could you catch a bus? There’s a cheap intercity service with a terminal downtown, but you’d need to leave tonight. Edmund might not be able to chase you when dawn rolls around, but you know the CTF playbook: encirclement, then slowly closing the noose. They start at the edge of the territory and work their way inward, setting up barricades and strangling the highways with checkpoints that will slow traffic to a single-lane crawl. It usually takes a day or two for the Council to wrangle approval from the human municipal government to start closing roads and getting their hands on surveillance footage. You can’t wait around to see how fast they manage it this time.

The glowing sign of a car rental business lures you in. That’s your best bet, you think, especially since it’s some dingy fly-by-night company that takes cash and doesn’t ask too many questions. The only problem is you’re not the only one with the same idea tonight. The line is short but slow, a kid who doesn’t look old enough to even rent a car himself slouched behind the counter. The dingy off-white of the wall clock is seared into your eyes, the sweep of the minute hand seeming purposefully cruel in its slowness.

The automatic doors are overly sensitive and misaligned, squealing open for a sufficiently strong breeze. You always look, just in case. You yawn and stretch, making a show of your exhaustion to mask your fear, and take another look around. It’s fuck off o’clock on a week night. Nobody around but the desperate few, people who look tired, pensive and a little bit haunted. The man ahead of you in line takes a phone call that’s nothing but hissed whispers. A couple who came in after you doze against each other’s shoulders. A fluorescent light tube winks and buzzes. The shadows are too thick to trust. When you finally have your keys and a pamphlet of paperwork you won’t read, you all but sprint out the door.

You’re flinging the driver’s side door of a silver hatchback open when you suddenly break out in a cold sweat. It’s the feeling of being watched cranked up to its maximum, skin-crawling intensity, the ghostly weight of a predator’s gaze raking down your back. It’s fine. It’s fine. You start the car and check the rearview mirror a few times as you pull out of the lot. Somebody’s just coming out of the automatic doors in what looks like a uniform but you’re too far away to tell for sure. You turn on the radio and try to calm down. Somewhere along a quiet country road, you hear what you think is the start of a storm. Something like thunder but soft still, far away. Heavy gusts of wind.

“…lo? Hello? Can you hear me?”

You almost swerve into the guardrail. It sounds like someone’s right next to you, whispering in your ear. You swear you can feel their breath tickle your skin. But there isn’t. The passenger seat is empty.

“Please slow down. You’re well over the speed limit.”

“Edmund?” you say. Your voice is remarkably steady for how terrified you feel. “Wh—how—?”

“My mesmerism is…slow.” You feel a nervous twinge in your chest. Embarrassment? Sheepishness? These aren’t your feelings. They’re his. “But it also takes much longer to wear off. Right now, you and I are connected, although it’s tenuous given the distance between us.” He must be out here somewhere, trying to find you. You don’t see any other headlights yet. “You feel…afraid. And lonely. You’ve been on your own for a very long time.” You don’t dignify that with a response. You feel soothing warmth, like Edmund is trying to embrace you, but the sensation doesn’t last. You’re too furious to be soothed by the very thing that wants to cage you.

“What would it take to make you look the other way and pretend you lost me?” you ask.

You feel his dismay like a cold trickle, unpleasant and distressing. “I’m only going to ask once,” he says, tone hardening. “Pull over.”

“Fuck you.”

“Then I apologize in advance. I’ll try to be careful.”

The wind picks up again and the thunder seems closer, but it can’t be a storm. The sky is clear, a waxing moon shining through a thin gauze of clouds, trees motionless at the roadside. You look back again, searching for a CTF vehicle, and that’s when you see it—a moving shape in the dark. Not a vehicle at all but something alive. It’s big, you think, like a horse, an elk, a stampeding thing but sleeker and gaining on you. You can barely make out any details with nothing but the glow of your taillights haloing the thing’s frightening shape, but you think you see large, reflective eyes and horn-like protrusions, dark fur and sinewy limbs stretched wide.

Wings, you realize. That noise is the sound of the thing flying, soaring after you with predatory grace and agility. It shrieks and its voice is nails screaming down a chalkboard, a painful shrillness that makes you wince and slam your foot harder on the gas. You hear it screech again and see it darting and swooping through the air behind you, struggling to keep up. The road goes blurry through your angry, helpless tears and you drag your palm across your face. You’ve had nightmares like this before. Getting found out, cornered, chased by nightbound, torn to pieces or bled dry in a fit of rage, dragged before an unfeeling Council that sentences you to a life of servitude beneath something so ancient it no longer understands what it means to be human.

Your connection with Edmund has become a headache-inducing stream of pleading and hissing and primal desire all at once, no stop stop slow down not safe listen not going to hurt you listen need you need you NEED YOU!!

The thing lets out another horrible screaming noise and you see it coming, descending, closing in on you like prey. It rams into your car hard enough to send you screeching off the road. You hit the ditch too hard and at the wrong angle, still trying to straighten out and stop yourself from slamming into the trees ahead. The car starts to lean and tip and you realize you’re about to roll, crash, die—

The collision comes before you expect it, a thunderous slam on the passenger side that dents the door and brings you to a sudden stop. All the air in your lungs rushes out in a wheeze, your head spinning. You’re in shock. You shouldn’t be upright, you think, probably shouldn’t even be alive. Something drags over the hood of your car with jerky, animalistic movements, claws scraping steel, a translucent, fleshy membrane squealing across the windshield. The doors are locked but that doesn’t matter. The driver’s side is wrenched open, the door torn off the hinge and flung skittering and sparking down the road. The thing looms just outside, lowering its head to examine you. You look back at it, the two of you studying each other in tense silence.

Yes yes yes have you now, you hear as bright, smothering joy floods your thoughts, safe you’re safe you’re with me safe now.

This is a hunting form. Like many nightbound, its shape is something like an enormous bat. It has a short, curved snout and small daggers for teeth. Those things you mistook for horns are large, conical ears that twitch and swivel. Its body is covered in black fur, a thick patch wreathing its neck like a lion’s mane. One of its arms is crooked, you notice, and starting to swell. You’re alive because it threw itself at your car to keep it from flipping over. You want to hate it but you can’t tear your eyes away from the fresh wound, the way one wing droops like a ripped sail. It did that for you, without hesitation.

You’re dimly aware of things happening beyond the two of you. Car engines rumbling. Tires scraping the cement. Black CTF vehicles blocking off every escape route, stylized canaries emblazoned on their sides. Doors rumble open and slam shut. You could fight if you really wanted to. You could try to push your way past the thing, run for the trees. You wouldn’t get far. It’s over, you know that. You can’t make yourself move. You’re so tired of running, of leaving every place you go and every person you meet, of changing yourself over and over again, living as a stranger because the real you will bring nothing but trouble. You want a bed that’s yours. A place you can always go back to. A person who knows you and cares about you—who would love you even if your blood was the same as anyone else’s.

There’s a sick sound of cracking bone and the leathery squeal of skin reshaping. The thing grunts as it twists itself into a smaller shape, fur receding into sweat-soaked skin. When it settles, Edmund is kneeling there naked and panting. Without his uniform, you can see the marks littering his body. Lashes and claw slashes, burns in gnarled, spotty patches, old bullet wounds that healed into puckered scar tissue. He runs a hand through his hair, his carefully combed bangs now disheveled and sticking to his forehead.

“This is overkill, isn’t it?” you say as more headlights blink over the horizon. Thirty, maybe thirty five CTF agents in total when you do a rough headcount, watching them watch you. A lot of them are making phone calls. Reporting to the Council, you assume, piecing together all the identities you’ve lived under in the last few years. “All this for one witch.”

“You’re worth it,” Edmund says. Even winded and still struggling to catch his breath, his voice has a hard, determined edge to it, absolute and unshakable conviction. There’s no reasoning with someone who’s so sure they’re right. “I know you’re afraid. But this is going to be—”

“Shut up.” You tilt your head back, letting out the breath you’ve been holding. “You have no idea what’s about to happen to me. You can’t possibly understand.” Edmund frowns. He looks at you the same pitying way one might look at a waterlogged kitten or a child crying on a playground, some small, sad thing in need of rescue or protection. You can’t stand it, so you lean back in your seat, close your eyes, and savor your last moments of freedom with tears spilling down your cheeks.

The Skelveross Dusk Council meets in Harrow Creek, a city near the heart of the territory. It’s an hour drive from where Edmund ran you off the road, plenty of time for you to break down completely in his backseat. He looks physically pained by your distress, clearly uncomfortable as he murmurs useless platitudes about how good it’ll be to “put this all behind you.” He stops twice to crack open the cooler sitting in the passenger seat, sipping from a blood bag kept on ice, and that lets him use his broken arm without wincing. By the time you’ve exhausted yourself into listless apathy, you’re in what might be a historical district surrounded by brick buildings and manicured lawns. You don’t have to ask where you’re going. There’s a behemoth of Gothic architecture looming ahead, a cross between a cathedral and a courthouse. The white stone exterior is adorned with decorative arches, crescent moons and birds in flight, ancient symbols of the nightbound.

Edmund clears his throat awkwardly and doesn’t quite make eye contact in the mirror. “That’s the Council building,” he says, gesturing with a nod. “The CTF offices are right behind it if you, ah. Ever need anything. I’m not sure how much you know about this area. You can think of Harrow Creek as the ‘capital’ of the territory. Skelveross is a small region, comparatively speaking, but it’s extremely well-defended. You’ll never have to worry about hunters here.”

He keeps glancing back at you, maybe hoping you’ll say something, show interest, ask him a question. You don’t. You watch the Council building and its spire bell tower grow steadily closer with dread cold and heavy in your stomach.

Edmund offers to put you under mesmerism for the meeting and seems taken aback by your shock and revulsion. “I thought it might help. You’re so nervous,” he says. You’d like to scream, but you settle for an exasperated glance and follow him inside.

The Council building is dark like a tomb. There are no light fixtures, no candles or lamps. The weak, watery light that seeps into the mazelike corridors is the glow of street lamps filtered through stained glass, too dim for you to properly take in your surroundings. You cross paths with other nightbound only rarely. Most are CTF agents who exchange greetings with Edmund before continuing on their way, but you spot others just waiting around, sitting outside of offices or filling out paperwork.

A pair of double doors waits at the end of a long hallway, old wood carved with intricate swirls and floral patterns. Each has a spot of vandalism, deep gouges where the etchings have been obliterated by repeated slashes. “The Dagaric family crest was once displayed upon these doors,” Edmund says solemnly. “They were removed centuries ago to symbolize our transition to a democracy. This is no place for tyrants.” Nightbound politics. You don’t want to know. Edmund pushes one of the doors open and steps aside, holding it for you. You see darkness broken by islands of light, candles lining a grand staircase. The wax is red, the puddles they melt into thick like coagulated blood. A chandelier adorned with dangling crystal strings glows with golden dusklight. This is all for you, prepared for your arrival. The nightbound need no light.

You descend between rows and rows of red velvet seats, most of them empty. The nightbound in attendance are clustered at the very bottom, seated before a raised stage platform. You catch glimpses of grandeur in the flickering candlelight; a Victorian patterned carpet, curtained alcoves with sculptures and glass display cases, a mural on the ceiling of winged figures in lurid embraces. This might have been a theater of some kind once, an opera house that entertained the nightbound nobility of bygone eras. You can’t imagine how much blood has soaked the floor over the years.

There’s a table on the stage, long enough to accommodate the five nightbound seated behind it. The Dusk Council, you assume. They’re not much different from how you imagined them, stern-faced and imperious, dressed like Victorian lords and ladies in stiff coats and billowing sleeves. They’re all chatting when you walk in, the conversation light and casual with a bit of quiet laughter, but they fall silent when you’re halfway down the steps. That’s when the ones on stage spot you and Edmund. Nightbound eyes gleam in the dark like an animal’s. You fight an instinctual surge of terror when they all turn to look at you, points of silver light following your every move.

“Edmund,” one of the Council members says, nodding. “Well done.”

Edmund bows his head and you roll your eyes. ‘Not his jurisdiction,’ my ass. At the bottom of the stairs, you find two seats that have been left open in the very front row. Edmund waits for you to sit before taking the open spot beside you, as if running could get you anywhere now. Your name is spoken. Your real name, in full. You flinch. Nobody’s called you that in a long time. One of them passes a stack of papers down the table and they take turns giving you incredulous looks.

“We must apologize for the disorganized manner of this meeting,” one of them says. “Your situation is unusual and we don’t have all the information we normally would. For a witch to reach your age without proper registration, even as a latent, is simply unheard of. I don’t suppose you’d tell us if you’ve been staying with other unregistered kin?”

“I haven’t seen my family in years,” you say.

For some reason, this confuses them. They look at each other, then at you, then back at one another with some whispering. You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Edmund is giving you that misty-eyed veterinarian with a sick dog look again and you wish he’d stop.

“Are you aware of who currently holds the title of Lord Regent in Skelveross?” you’re asked.

You stare at them. “Am I supposed to know that?” you ask. More worried looks and muttering, papers shuffling and being passed around.

“This is highly irregular,” one of the Council mutters. “Highly irregular. And without records, I’m not sure how we can make a proper match.”

“They’re not walking out of here unpartnered,” another says firmly. “That’s much too dangerous.”

You clench your armrests in irritation. “I was doing fine, you know,” you tell them. “I was just living my life. Sometimes it was tough, but that was your fault. When I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, I was happy. I didn’t need you.”

They don’t care. They keep talking in hushed tones, gesturing in your general direction from time to time—all but one. The one in the middle, two Council members on either side of him, sets his papers down and gives you his undivided attention. This one is ancient. You can sense it. His face has the same unnerving, ageless quality as all nightbound, neither soft and youthful nor particularly wizened, but his eyes pin you in place. You expected something more like Edmund, a gaze sharpened with piercing, predatory focus like a wolf who isn’t quite hungry yet, but this one’s eyes are like no living thing found in nature. Nothing is meant to live that long, to see that much and remain unchanged. He stands from the table with effortless grace, his chair scraping the floor as he pushes it out behind him.

“Then surely you can prove it,” he says.

The sudden silence feels like a warning. The Council stops their overlapping conversations to look between the two of you in muted shock and dismay. “Wh—prove what?” you ask.

“You said you do not need us. An extraordinary claim, but I am open to a good argument.” He holds your gaze as he walks slowly down the length of the table and around it, coming to stand directly in front of you. He’s dressed like a CTF agent but the tails of his coat are longer, the waistcoast beneath a shimmery, midnight blue brocade. His hair is just long enough to tie back in a low, short ponytail. “You have survived the treacheries of the world without the protection of a partner thus far. If you can prove to me that this was a matter of skill rather than luck, then I will let you walk away. You will not be pursued.”

“Lord Regent,” someone stammers behind him. He stops them with a curt wave and watches you carefully.

This has to be a trap. There’s no way he’d risk letting you go. But the Council is exchanging worried glances now and Edmund is trying desperately to make eye contact in your periphery. Don’t, he mouths, the word faintly echoed in your waning connection. The Lord Regent—the title sticks in your mind just long enough for you to think that this is a bad idea, that you shouldn’t be doing this, that this might actually get you killed—cocks his head to the side, awaiting an answer. He smiles, and you see red.

“Good,” he purrs, watching you unceremoniously haul yourself up onto the stage. He removes his black gloves one finger at a time and then shrugs off his coat, letting it crumple on the floor.

“Lord Regent, do you really think this is—?”

“I would like to take this opportunity to reopen a discussion started earlier this evening,” he says smoothly.

Your blood is boiling. He doesn’t seriously think he’s going to hold a meeting right now, does he? You can’t remember the last time you were this angry, your face hot and your hands balled up into shaky, sweaty-palmed fists. You’re outmatched, you know that, but you want to hit him at least once. You want to feel his nose crack and shift under your knuckles, want to see that cocky sneer swallowed up by bruises when you knock his fangs out of his mouth. You throw yourself at him with no plan, no strategy, nothing but searing anger, and he neatly sidesteps your fist. He’s still smiling when he lunges forward and it all happens too fast for you to see or understand—a hand grasping your shoulder, a leg sweeping you off your feet, and then you’re spinning, landing hard on the wooden stage with all the air knocked out of your lungs.

“What is our greatest obstacle in ensuring a witch is properly registered?” he continues, turning his back on you. You wheeze furiously, struggling to push yourself up with your elbows. “I will tell you: it is the witch themselves. Concealment is an epidemic of such staggering proportions that we have lost entire generations. This wayward child knows nothing of the world they rightfully belong to. How many have gone unpartnered because of this? How many live and die beyond our reach?”

He must hear you stand up. You’re slow and clumsy, your head throbbing and your shoulders sore. The stage creaks beneath your unsteady feet and your pulse thunders in your ears. Your vision swims and your stomach quivers with dizzy nausea. You shouldn’t be on your feet but you push yourself forward, one shambling step after another, driven by hate and fear and desperation unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Your hand wraps around his shoulder, squeezing. Under black silk sleeves, you feel steely cords of muscle. He turns just slightly, just far enough for you to glimpse the smile on his lips. And then he has you, a hand clutching the back of your shirt, another grasping your sleeve, pulled close to him like you’re dancing but only for a moment. Then you’re weightless, the room tilting, the floor rushing up to meet you. You land on your back and there’s an awful animal noise like something shrieking half-dead in the woods at night, and it takes time for you to realize it came from your own mouth.

“Lord Regent, please.” That sounds like Edmund, you think. You aren’t sure. You can’t even lift your head to look. There’s murmuring all around you, words you can’t understand with the ringing in your ears. Trying to get up again makes you feel like there’s shards of glass ground up into your muscles, pinpricks and sweeping pulses of pain. You’ve got nothing left. Even turning on your side is a monumental effort, a mistake that makes your side prickle and burn.

You see him. The Lord Regent. His back to you. You see the rest of them, too, standing from their seats with stern, solemn faces, Edmund biting his lip so hard a rivulet of blood trickles down his chin. Your fingers twitch, arms outstretched and hands splayed limp. No. You have something left. You can’t control it and you don’t fully understand it, a true last resort, but you have something. You try to clench your hand into a fist again but it just curls weakly. You smell it first, just faintly, a paradox of odor—sharp, permeating, yet featureless, a scent that isn’t. The chill in your nose on a frigid winter day. You feel numbness and tingling. You see magic, weak and unfocused, gathering at your fingertips. It shivers like a mirage.

This is a bad idea. You’ve been on the run too long and you’ve never had lessons, no mentors, not even a chance to practice. The magic spins into a miniature vortex, a whirlpool of distortion in the air, and you feel it growing, getting hungrier. It might kill you. It might kill everyone here. It might bulldoze through this auditorium like a wrecking ball and leave a gaping wound of all your last furious thoughts behind, a haunting the size of an office building—

The Lord Regent lunges for you, one hand wrapped around your throat in a firm, choking grip. You don’t have the strength to stop him. You try to hold onto the magic but it’s fizzling out, unraveling in your hand. He’s so close to you now. Pinning you down with his body, straddling your waist. His hands are not perfectly smooth. You feel bumps and ridges against your throat. Scars. Calluses. His eyes are a stormy blue. His lips are moving and you can’t hear him, can’t hear anything over the static in your head, but somehow you know what he means to say.

"That’s enough."

You breathe slowly beneath the loosening pressure of his thumb. You can feel yourself slipping under. His mesmerism is subtle but it’s stronger than Edmund’s, a wave of stifling calm washing over you. No matter how hard you cling to your anger, it fades like dying embers. You don’t want to fight anymore.

"I do this for you. For all of us. We will not survive alone, you or I. Someday you will understand."

Time passes, but you’re barely aware of it. Everything is softness and delight. Sometimes the pain will come back, needling at your back and sides, but it’s chased away with a soothing whisper and a hand stroking your head. Gentle fingers massage your scalp and you bury yourself deeper in the warm comfort of the moment. You surface gradually. The Lord Regent gives your mind back piece by piece. Awareness first, the realization that you’re kneeling. That there is a cushion under you, keeping your legs from the hard ground. That you’re at his side while he sits at the Council’s table and he wants to keep you there—forever if he could, just like this, drifting and happy. That someone is speaking, and that he is petting you like a beloved, loyal animal, stealing glimpses whenever he can.

You pull your head out of his lap slower than you’d like, mindful of the ache in your neck and shoulders. He gives you one last look, smug and satisfied, and then returns his attention to the rest of the Council. “Loathe as I am to admit it, perhaps you have a point,” he says, sounding contrite. “I cannot claim impartiality. Someone else should draft the proposal. We will hold the vote another time.”

“We appreciate your understanding, Lord Regent,” one of the others says. “No disrespect is meant, but perhaps it is best to approach this with the benefit of time and distance. None of us are as clear-headed as we should be tonight.”

“Indeed. That just leaves us with the matter of placement.” All eyes are on you again. The Lord Regent frowns thoughtfully. “Young nightbound take priority. And yet, I cannot in good conscience partner a fledgling with a witch so…volatile.”

“May I address the Council?”

A new voice speaks and a new, unsettling silence falls over the auditorium. You see a nightbound walking down the aisle, already halfway down the steps. You didn’t hear him come in but that’s not surprising. Even now, his footsteps are nearly silent. The others recoil when he draws near, trembling and wide-eyed. They respect the Lord Regent, but they fear this one. You can’t see him clearly until he’s nearly reached the bottom of the steps, stepping into the glow of the chandelier. He’s stunning. Long dark hair tumbles over his shoulders and frames sharp, androgynous features. He wears a long, trailing garment, form-fitting at his chest but loose and flowing below the waist like an evening gown, clinging sleeves of black lace adorning his arms. His footsteps are slow and graceful as he glides down the stage.

“Athanasius,” the Lord Regent greets. He’s the only one who doesn’t look scared shitless. He inclines his head in a slight bow, smiling like there’s a joke you’re missing. “It is rare for you to grace us with your presence these nights. Please, speak.”

Athanasius surveys the Council with a quick glance back and forth. Each of them flinch in their seats. Some avert their eyes, clinging to their papers in desperation for something else to look at. Then he looks at you and your breath catches in your throat. His gaze is paralyzing. You’re reminded of the unnerving feeling you got when you first saw the Lord Regent, the incomprehensible abyss of time within his eyes. This one is old, too. Maybe even older. “As you know,” he says, his voice soft and irresistibly sweet, “I have a convenire, here in Harrow Creek. We recently had a new arrival. They are all young, but the newest is by far the youngest. He was sired during the last Waxing Nights.”

You expect to hear muttering here, discussion, disagreement, but there’s nothing. Not a word from any of them. It feels like the entire auditorium is holding its breath. The Lord Regent hums, considering. “Ah, yes. The dissenter’s child.” You glance between them, trying to piece together what’s about to happen to you. A convenire—that’s just what nightbound call it when a bunch of them live together, isn’t it? “That would indeed solve several problems at once.”

The rest of the Council gradually thaws from their frozen terror, a few of them offering weak platitudes and agreements. You have no idea what they think of this, but you see more paperwork emerging from somewhere, hear the rapid scribbling of ink pens. They seem eager, at least, for him to leave. “It’s a bit unusual,” one of them says. “But so are the circumstances. Perhaps this will be a good match.” Several of them glance at you briefly with sad, pitying gazes.

“Very well.” The Lord Regent offers you a smile. Maybe it’s genuine. Maybe it’s not. You can’t tell, but he sounds far too excited. “Wayward child,” he says, his tone solemn and official, “you are hereby sentenced to sacramental service within the convenire of Athanasius. You shall defer to his judgment and you shall submit to his authority before all other nightbound. You shall offer your blood to all members of the convenire without complaint or question. Should you perform your duties satisfactorily, you may earn the sacred gift of partnership. May you find peace and fulfillment in your service.”

You inhale shakily. That’s it, then. You belong to someone. A packet of papers are passed down the table, signed by each Council member. It makes its way back to the Lord Regent, who stamps it with an ink seal. That’s all the fanfare there is, and then they start talking about something else.

“Shall we go?” Athanasius is standing beside you on the stage. The suddenness of his proximity should scare you, but you don’t have the energy to be afraid anymore. “Unless you would like to stay longer,” he says. He smiles, teasing you gently. As though this is something you might find humor in. You watch him sink down to one knee. The folds of his gown gather in a puddle beneath him, dark like shadows. “I will not pretend to understand how you feel nor will I feed you sweet lies. Sacramental service is a punishment. The fledglings in my care have suffered greatly and they will likely inflict this suffering upon you. They do not know what else to do with it. You will be housed, fed and protected, and you will have your own quarters, but I know that means little to you now.”

You hear him but you aren’t really listening. Tears spill down your cheeks and you do nothing to stop them. You flinch when Athanasius lifts his hand, catching a droplet trickling by the corner of your mouth.

“There is a car waiting for us outside,” he says. “Can I trust you to cooperate, or will you make this difficult?”

“I’ll make this as difficult for you as I can,” you promise him. You hold his gaze no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. You don’t back down. “You won’t know peace. By the end of this, you’re going to hate me as much as I hate you.”

Athanasius laughs, melodic and clear as a bell. His hand traces the curve of your jaw, thumb stroking your lips. “How delightful,” he purrs, “that you think there will be an end to this.” He leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead. There is no gentle easing, no subtle nudge of mesmerism, just the maw of thoughtless oblivion swallowing you whole.

#rotpeach writes #meanvamps #this is pretty long and will also be posted on ao3 later tonight if youd rather read there

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kedreeva · 3 days ago

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HI!! It's the guy who asked about the medical mice stuff, I wanted to THABK YOU!! for your answers:) seriously informative and I appreciate it! I figured as much that culling is a massive part of it, instead of vet stuff, and I'm alright with that! I've familiarized myself with how important culling is, keeping the future mice as healthy and as unprone to diseases as I can is a big goal for me, I think. I currently own chinchillas and BOY I know how expensive vet treatment can get, I can only imagine how much more it'd be for tons of mice. And the hassle.

I had no idea disease testing was a thing though! That's interesting, but man that doesn't seem that.. worth it, with the points you mentioned. And sucks that most breeders will start over if most of their colony gets something Bad but I 100% understand that. I'll definitely be sure to research up more on everything to have on hand when I inevitably have to deal with mites, and I'll definitely make it a point to be very vigilant with health checks and quarantine:) and also 100% do a ton of research in getting good founders, thanking you a TON right now!! As I've mentioned before I really do want the best for these future guys

Sure no problem!

More under cut because culling discussion again

And honestly if you're starting with decent stock and being careful about quarantine for anything you add... You're really unlikely to have to cull much for health unless you get wildly unlucky. I've had these lines for a few years and the VAST majority of culls are population (males I don't need, pinks from larger litters, young females that don't get adopted before I need space again, older breeders that retire and don't get adopted etc), failure to thrive (ie, scrawny babies that just don't make it if left alive), and feeder quality mice (temperament issues). The biggest health problem I'm dealing with is when mice that have siamese/splash blood get a tumor/cyst or two as they get old. Old age masses are one of the hardest things to get rid of because you don't see them until the mouse is nearly done breeding. Outside of masses, I've had mites once (twice if you go back 25 years to college), pinworm once, and coccidia twice (once in the whole colony, once in quarantine but I still treated the whole colony just in case), one malocclusion, two head tilts (one of which was a circler), two URIs, a couple of cloudy/ulcerated eyes (can happen when they scratch themselves), and a couple penile prolapses way back at the start of the siamese line. I've had one line collapse (the tricolor line) due to bad founding animals. And that's across over two decades of breeding! And I can count them because I remember each case because it's unusual to have lots of health problems with mice, if you've been careful with initial stock, selection, and biosecurity.

What I'm trying to say is, don't be too anxious about it. While it will come up, and you'll have to deal with it harshly when it does, it's also not likely that you'll be up to your ears in health issues on a daily basis or anything.

Good luck with them and feel free to ask if you have other questions!

#asks #anon asks #mice

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karalovesallthegirls · 7 months ago

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Also have another “first words spoken to you are on your skin” soulmate AU idea where Kara is a journalist assigned to shadow the controversial CEO of L-Corp for the day. It’s a big deal for her to get this assignment, so of course she trips the second she’s near the other woman and tries awkwardly to redeem herself.

The CEO stares at her almost in shock, and then says nothing. At all. Ever, for the entire day.

Kara spends hours following Lena Luthor around trying to fill the silence, but no amount of questions get her to talk. Lena almost seems to be running away at some points - like she’s trying to lose her? - and the few times she’s managed to catch her actually talking to someone she goes silent the second she sees Kara.

She asks around if Miss Luthor is usually like this and everyone looks at her like she’s crazy. Apparently she’s the only one who gets the silent treatment. By the end of her first day shadowing she’s walking away with half a page of observations and not a single quote. Miss Grant is going to kill her.

But that’s okay. It’s fine, this isn’t over. She has four days of shadowing ahead of her and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t finish this with a quote from the woman herself. It’s only a matter of time.

#what if you were an over stressed billionaire who feels like your existence must be a constant apology for the sins of your family #and you’re about to be followed around and studied by some no named baby reporter sent from a fashion magazine #you’re battling the migraine of a century you have five crises to settle all at once and also that baby reporter just said your words #the ones you’ve carried for the last decade - the ones you’ve feared and hoped for ever since #and it’s wonderful probably - this is what people dream of - but the problem is you just don’t have time for this #you can’t have your big soulmate moment #not right now. definitely not with this reporter. it’s not the right time #so I guess those words will just have to wait until it is time #if you can someone manage to resist. it’ll be hard #she does seem like someone it’d be really easy to talk to after all #good luck to you both #soulmate AU #Supercorp #fun shenanigan that I shan’t be writing #mine

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toamonster · 3 months ago

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Hey American Roblox community, have you seen the new updated Terms Of Use for roblox? Because I took a quick peek and uh:

That doesn't look good. I don't know if this was part of the terms from before the 6th of november, but in case it wasn't and/or you weren't aware of this part of the terms of use, now you know.

Be safe

#roblox #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #I recently got an account 'cause pressure seemed really cool and I wanted to try it #And it was really cool and fun! but now I'm considering never playing it again because of this #I'm not even american but if a company tries doing this kind of thing (hoping they will get away with taking people's rights)#then it just shows the true colors of the company and I don't want to support that #why not just make products that people wouldn't have a reason to sue over (unless it's freak accidents in which case I would hope you would #want to make it right???)#sorry to all you americans- I know you don't need more bad news/problems on your plate- but I thought it best to make you aware of this #good luck and be safe

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mymarifae · 2 years ago

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this is what antoya looks like btw

this is really import🐜 to me and i hope i explode

#colorful palette if you don't give an and toya more one on one interactions i swear to go.d #they're best friends too they're so cute and fun... just two girlfails #i'm going to have to make the antoya content i want to see because i looked at the tag on twitter and exploded #toya is not suave or charming while an swoons over him toya doesn't know shit or fuck about romance #he's AWKWARD. and QUIET. and BLUNT abd way too earnest for his own good like he says really emotionally touching things sometimes right #but it's embarrassing because he's not trying to flirt or anything he's just saying what he thinks he has no filter #however his extremely blunt straight-faced earnestness does catch an off guard and turns her into a flustered mess.#she's usually the suave one in relationships she gets people and navigates social interactions easily #but she's still learning how to read toya so everything he does and says just makes her go ?!?!?!?! AAAAAA 0////0?????#which is absolutely embarrassing for her. because toya's not aware he's doing anything he's just standing there #an voice: AKITO WAS HE FLIRTJNG WITH ME OR NOT HE INVITED ME TO A CAFE AND SAID 'IT'S A DATE THEN' IS IT A DATE? ARE WE DATING? AKITO HELP #and akito's like now you know how i've felt for the past two years. he's your problem now good fuckin luck 😌#and an kicks him.#anyway i should make a masterpost of these animals vs the prsk kids but that will take a long time #dogs

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fairy-angel222 · 10 months ago

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𝐒𝐈𝐗 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 ft Gojo Satoru

— Six years. He’s loved you for six years. He was too young back then but now he’s not. And he plans on showing you that.

᧔♡᧓ Semi Yandere! Gojo x Fem! Reader

᧔♡᧓ Content: age gap (gojo’s 21 n reader is 27), obsessive behavior, smut, pussy eating, porn with some plot, cheating while in talking stage, petnames, praise, breeding, baby trapping, manipulation, gaslighting

᧔♡᧓ A/n: reader always saw gojo as a brother since he was so young, and never really developed feelings for him. it was just lust taking over when they fucked

Six years of friendship with your current best friend. Six years in which her little brother Gojo has had a crush on you. Six years of you only cooing with a giggle as you ruffled his fluffy white head of hair before calling his doting nature cute.

Six years.

Six years that he’s waited for you, becoming more of a man for you. Working out, gaining experience. It was all for you.

You’re twenty seven now, barely any different since the first time he met you. Your soft features still as beautiful as ever and your body just as perfect as he remembered. He’s studied you over the years. Every single time you came over. Studied your patterns, your every move, your likes, your dislikes, he’d even gotten to know your type.

He’d loved you since he was fifteen.

But he’s not a little kid anymore. He’s grown. Twenty one years old. Mature enough to be yours, to take care of you. He deserved you after waiting for so long. And he would show you. Show you that you needed him just as bad, craved him as much as he craved you. He’s the one for you, you just had to open your eyes and see that.

Gojo knows you feel at least a slight bit of attraction towards him. Hell, you’d called him handsome so many times— even though it had been strictly platonic— that you have to had felt something.. right?

On his eighteenth birthday you were there with him, his friends and his sister. He’d even brought a girl, introducing her as his girlfriend to try for a reaction out of you. But you didn’t bat an eye, you were genuinely happy for him. It made his jaw clench, but he was reminded of why he loved you. You were so sweet and caring. A big smile on your face as you embraced him in a hug, giving him the present that you’d been so excited to get. It was something that he had wanted for a while. A part of you saw him and his sister as the siblings you’d never had.

He didn’t need your gift, of course. He had enough money to buy anything he wanted. But it being from you made it special.. so so very special. Especially since you had listened to him. And it was his turn to return the favor. The random expensive gifts never stopped, every time you came over for the next three years it seemed that there was always something wrapped and waiting for you. Somethings just never change, you thought to yourself, piecing together that the boy’s crush had never left.

Then his gifts started getting more and more.. well, whatever you’d consider those matching lace sets that were accompanied a little note that made you swallow hard. Followed up by short dresses and eventually fancy shoes and purses to match. Not to mention the collection of jewelry you’d gotten from him.

Then he was.. less subtle, sending small smirks and winks your way. Finding any excuse just to be next to you or let his hands innocently wander during a hug.

You were not going to tell his sister. You didn’t want there to be any problems between them. You also couldn’t just start coming over less, she was like family to you. So you let his harmless crush continue.

…

Gojo swears luck was on his side, the universe wanting to make things easier for him. You had a boyfriend, a guy you worked with who was a good five years older than you. Like he said, you had a type, and he checked out none of these boxes. He knew everything about the dude, and he knew that he was not good enough for you. He tried to warn you, but what did you do? You smiled at what you took as him being worried about your well being.

So when you came knocking on his front door, flinging yourself into his sister’s arms as you cried into her shoulder. He knew. That asshole had broken your heart. He’d deal with it. He’d truly make the guy regret hurting you.

You were at his house all week, falling into the stage of the break up where you sat in your room (with their house so big you were bound to have one if your own) watching tv with a tub of ice cream and a string of adorable laughter. Anything to take your mind off the sting in your chest.

Then you were out. Everywhere. Going to clubs and parties with his sister just as you two did when you were a little younger. It was reckless, what if you got hurt? What is someone tried something? You were a sight for sore eyes after all. He would make sure to never let that happen. It was why he always accompanied you, whether you were aware of it or not. It was no surprise that you were never able to get laid, despite all the ogling eyes set on you.

…

Gojo leaned against the bathroom’s door frame as you emptied your stomach’s contents into the toilet in front of you. Small moans of displeasure filling the room as your body slumped against it. After math of a night full of drinking.

His arms were folded across his chest, muscles bulging through the tight black fabric which was paired with grey sweats which hung lowly on his hips. Gojo chuckled, pushing himself to stand straight before walking over to you. Stooping down to your current height with the shake of his head. “You should know better than this baby.”

Your brows furrowed, opening your mouth to question him before your head was over the bowl once more. Tears welling in your eyes at the massive headache that had sprung to life. “Shh shh shh baby.” He whispered, “let it all out, you’ll feel better soon.” He soothed, pushing stray strands away from your sweaty forehead while stroking softly at your hair. Whispering little words of encouragement as he held you, smiling sadly when the hug caused you to break down in his arms. No doubt reminding you of your recent breakup.

“Here, i brought you some panadol.” He reached for the two pills and the cup of water on the counter. Letting you sit with your back against his chest as he guided them up to your mouth, bringing the cup to your lips right after. “Here, drink it all okay?” You nodded, swallowing down the water along with the pain relievers. Gojo’s lips pressing softly to your head as he continued to stroke your skin.

You’d fallen asleep. And he’d laid you down on his bed instead of yours. Tucking you in and leaving you to rest.

Downstairs he found his sister, an empty cup sat in front of her along with the pill bottle. She’d clearly been hungover too. “Where is she?”

Gojo gave her a knowing look. “She’s sleeping.”

“Where?”

“My room.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing, not liking the way she was watching him. Was she really that selfish over her best friend.

“Satoru.. she’s twenty seven. You need to get over this stupid little crush of yours and go find someone your own age. She doesn’t want you, she never will.”

Gojo seethed, fists already at his side as he stared angrily at his sister. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Satoru come on-“

“No.” His voice was firm, he didn’t look angry anymore, he looked hurt. “Just.. shut up, please.” A part of him knew that maybe he’d just never be enough for you.

…

Making his way back upstairs Gojo had a plate of pancakes, bacon and eggs along with a glass of hot tea. He walked into his room to find your eyes only just fluttering open with the small stretch of your body. Blinking your eyes to adjust to the bright light while taking in your surroundings, realizing immediately where you were, and who was standing at the door.

“Oh.. Satoru, hi.” Your voice was timid, embarrassed to have been seen in your drunken state by the boy.

“Hey, how’s your head? I brought you breakfast.” He set the food down near the bed before taking a seat next to you. Allowing his fingers to play with the fallen hair from your bun.

“T-thanks.” You nodded, shifting to sit up before grabbing a strip of the crispy meat.

He wouldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop staring at you. And you smiled in his direction, “thanks a lot, i should really get back to my room though.”

He shrugged, “or you could just stay, it’s not like we’re doing anything.” He grinned. “Yet.”

You couldn’t help the way your cheeks heated up at that statement. “It’s okay, i think i’ll just-“

“Stay. Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll even put on your favorite.” Reaching for the remote to search for your favorite show. You bit your lip nervously, not understanding how he could act so normal after all the inappropriate gifts and advances.

His smile never faltered as his hand ‘accidentally’ found yours, slipping his fingers into your own. Not allowing you to let go even if you tried.

…

The next few days were.. good. Gojo had assumed that everything was going well. They were going well, until you decided to ruin everything.

Toji Fushiguro.

A forty something year old man with two children. That’s who you were talking to. Gojo didn’t appreciate how hard you making things for him. You were supposed to be his and he was supposed to be yours.

He was tired of waiting for you to come to him, so he went to you. Knocking on your door with vigor and a small scowl. When the door swung open you were mid-laugh, Toji coming into view behind you with a glass of champagne in hand.

“Seriously? You’ve been ignoring us for him? Him?” Gojo accused pointedly, “My sister misses you, she’s been crying. A lot. Says you’re choosing a guy over your friendship.”

His jaw was hard as he fed you lies through his teeth. Watching your eyes widen as you pondered. Were you ignoring your best friend? You’d seen her just earlier today. You guys had hung out, gone for lunch. Talked about who you both liked with big smiles and non stop giggles. It didn’t feel like anything had changed. “I.. I didn’t realize- i’m sorry.” You didn’t know what to say, it made zero sense. But why would he lie?

Gojo silently cheered as you sadly asked Toji to leave. Giving him a small kiss on the cheek and promising to call him tomorrow. He was not very happy about the last part, but at least he was alone with you.

As soon as he left Gojo marched into your apartment. Nearly falling over his two feet when the scent hit him. Your scent, stronger than ever, that sweet strawberry smell that he’d grown to love.

“Satoru, i didn’t-”

He couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. “It’s okay I forgive you.” Turning around for his hand to snake to the back of your neck, heart rate speeding up as he crashed his lips onto yours.

You whimpered in surprise, Gojo controlling the kiss as he backed you up against a wall. His lips quickly traveling down to your neck in desperation. “You know, i’ve waited so long. So fucking long. Waited for you. For us. I’ve given you everything, i’ve done everything. But it’s just never enough is it? You’re just too ungrateful huh baby?”

You moaned loudly. “Satoru.. what are you.. hmm.”

“I’m taking what’s mine baby. Taking what i deserve. I’m not a little boy anymore. I’m a man. I can take care of you.” His lips moved with force, sucking harshly at your skin as he kissed down your chest, free hand roaming to your ass with a squeeze. “I’m old enough to be yours. This isn’t just some crush anymore. I fucking love you.”

You could feel your heart pounding as he uttered the words you wished he hadn’t. “Satoru we can’t.. your sister’s my best friend. I’m still older than you.”

“She’ll get over it.” He breathed, making quick work of your tank top that clung deliciously to your tits. “We’re both consenting adults now aren’t we. If you tell me to stop, i’ll stop.”

Your mouth went dry, lips parting to demand him to go but you couldn’t. You didn’t want him too. What was wrong with you?

“So what will it be baby? Stop? Or don’t stop?”

“Don’t stop..” You mumbled in shame, avoiding his eyes as you looked away. Gojo’s fingers dug into your cheeks, forcing you to turn back to face him.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I said, don’t stop.” You said a little louder, cheeks burning up under his touch.

“Good girl. I knew you were playing hard to get.” He grinned, “You love the chase as much as i do.”

Gojo’s arms hooked under your thighs, lifting you onto him before reattaching your lips. Carrying you to your bedroom to drop you onto the sheets. Lips never leaving yours as you both hurriedly undressed. He was addicted to you, and having you set fire to his veins. This was all he’d ever wanted.

Gojo dropped to his knees before you, kissing lightly at your pussy before enclosing it with his mouth. Tongue lapping you up hungrily as you moaned, fingers finding his hair with a tremble.

“Satoru— feels so good, haah.” You breathed, Gojo burying his face between your legs with a tight grip on your thighs. Allowing your legs to wrap around his neck as he devoured your sopping heat. You were so sweet— just like everything else about you. And he couldn’t help but rut against nothing as more blood rushed to his cock. Finding pleasure in getting to taste you after years of jerking off to the image.

He’s seen your room more than you, always snatching a pair of anything he could find. Just to be able to hold you in any way or form. Feel you on his skin. Touch something that had already touched you.

Gojo pulled away with his face glistening, “Learned how to do this just for you baby. Wanted to be good for our first time.” He smiled lazily, eyes dark with need as he got back to work, sending muffled groans into your bundle of nerves while you mewled loudly. Back arching with the curl of your toes before trying to pull away.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Gojo growled lowly, fingers digging painlessly into your flesh as he pulled you impossibly closer, tongue flicking at your clit before his lips closed around it. Sucking and swirling the sensitive bud into his mouth with a satisfied hum. All while you cried out above him, moans getting louder each time you called out his name.

It was like music. The sweetest song ever. Hearing you moan for him, moan out of pleasure, need, lust. Knowing that it was him making you feel so good. He almost came right there, determined to give you the best orgasm of your life with just his tongue. You tugged at his strands, your vision blurred in the nearing of your high.

“Satoru— o-oh fuck Satoru, ‘m gonna cum. Nngh, you’re gonna make me cum.” You moaned noisily, lewd slurps and sloppily kisses filling your ears as he made out with your wet pussy.

Gojo loved how much you were squirming, your legs tightening around his neck as you screamed. You actually screamed. He made you scream. His tongue was awaiting when you began to shake, toes curled and eyes rolled back as you squirted nonstop. The clear liquid gushing onto his face and tongue in long streams.

You whined at the overstimulation when he licked a stripe up your pussy. Collecting every last bit of your sweetness before standing up. You were panting, hard. And Gojo felt accomplished as he smirked. “Has any older man ever made you cum this hard baby?”

Your head was dizzy, trying to bring yourself back down to earth as you blinked up at him with the shake of your head.

He scoffed in pride, “Now try telling me that i’m too young for you now.”

Gojo was quick to lay you flat on the bed and crawl in on top of you. Consequences of your latest activities still fresh on his chin and chest. There were so many positions he wanted to take you in, but first he wanted to see you fall apart under him. See your face contort into one of pure bliss when he started pounding into you.

“You ready for me?” He husked, impressive cock already swiping up and down your slick filled folds. You nodded, looking up at him through your lashes with parted lips. “Ready.”

You both shared a drawn out moan when he nestled his cock past your tight entrance. Feeling him graze your gummy walls before reaching deep within you.

You felt so good, so tight.. warm. And he felt so deep, so big.. perfect.

“This pussy was made for me.” He grunted with a loud groan, slowly speeding up his pace till he was fucking into you with no end. Hips snapping into yours as his cock kissed your spot, prodding at your cervix with every hard thrust. “Fuck- look at how well you’re taking me. Fucking swallowing me all the way in.”

You only moaned in response, teary eyes meeting his sinful ones as he molded you around his cock. Making sure that you knew nothing but the shape of him, the feel of him, when you were done.

Letting out the whiniest cry, your arms reached up around his shoulders, clawing at his skin when you felt your stomach tighten.

You could feel him so deep, the roll of his hips allowing his fat tip to curl up and kiss exactly where you needed it most. The fast pace pulling short screams past your swollen lips.

“Satoru— haah, you’re so deep. I love it s’ much Toru. So m-much— ahh.” You couldn’t think straight, your brain only registering the way he was sliding in and out of you. It was all you could think about in that moment l, the way he felt.

Gojo watched you fall apart, just like he wanted. Your glossy eyes closing as your head fell further into the pillow, unable to control your noises as you got closer and closer.

“You don’t know how hot you look right now. I love seeing you like this. All for me.” His voice cracked, cock twitching in an aching cry to get its release.

“S-satoru, ‘m so close. Gonna cum again.” You choked out, nails piercing into his broad back as your hands roamed down.

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess f’ me again hmm? All that denying me, making me feel like our love was one sided. You put me through a lot you know.” He shook his head. “If only you knew the lengths i’d go for you.”

His eyes were crazed, and a shiver raked through your body at his words, whimpering as you succumbed to the building pleasure with a mewl. “O-oh fuckk.”

“Nuh uh, baby. Apologize to me first then you cum.” His tone was firm, serious. He wanted to hear you say it.

“Ahh, ‘m sorry Satoru— ‘m so so sorry. You’re goid enough f’ me. Mature enough. You’re perfect. Please let me cum. I need to cum.” You cried, the man on top of you pretending to ponder your words which went straight to his cock before smiling darkly. “Go ahead baby, cum for me.”

Your body shook as you yelled out his name, your surroundings becoming blank when you began to squirt messily, again. The intense orgasm seeming to stun all of your body’s systems as you failed to come back down. Gojo’s continued thrusts keeping pleasure flowing through your sensitive body.

“I love you so much baby. I always did. It makes me so happy that we can finally be together. Fuckk— ‘m all yours. All yours.” He buried his face in your neck, his own eyes closing shut as his body trembled, stilling inside your warmth before you felt his cum pumping into you in spurts. The thick substance coating your every wall in white.

“And now you’re mine.” He didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you in hopes of you two being connected forever. There was one thing he knew and you forgot. You hadn’t taken your birth control in a while, and a part of him hoped that you had seen this coming. That you wanted it. But one thing remained true either way, he was never letting you go.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo

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lilacgaby · 5 months ago

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title: family matters

pairing(s): husband!toji x reader, son!megumi x reader

summary: megumi wakes up with a nightmare, toji doesn't want to move, so he solves his own problem.

your face was smushed up against toji's chest as you slept deeply. your arm slung around his waist and your legs tangled in his as you breathed him in.

he was awake though, playing with your hair as he let the sounds of your muffled sighs against his chest and the white noise of the fan slowly drift him to sleep...

until the sound of the door creaking made him jump slightly, quickly moving to soothe you in case he startled you.

megumi shuffled in, rubbing his eyes as he walked to the corner of the bed. "dad?"

toji sighed as he layed his head over to look at him, you usually handled this kind of stuff since he felt awkward. "what is it kid?"

"i'm scared." megumi admitted, his voice sounding choked like he'd already been crying.

"y' all right. we're right here 'gumi, so there's nothing to worry about." toji comforted, having his full attention on megumi. he reached his hand out to hold his shoulder and shook it.

"nothing will happen to you or your mom as long as im here. got it?"

megumi sniffled and shook his head in a nod. "'kay.. but can you come tuck me in?" he asked, grabbing toji's arm in a pulling motion.

"no way kid. your mom is sleeping right on top of me, and 'm not moving 'til she wakes."

"dadd." he whined, tugging his arm with all his might to try and get him to move. "you have to, it's what mom does!"

he knew it well, how you'd immediately get out of bed any night he came to lay in his and soothe him to sleep, most nights he'd wake up alone and find you holding megumi as you slept in his bed.

"well i'm not your mother. you're a big kid already, you can do it yourself."

"but i want you to do ittt." he started to shake his arm, which was jostling you in return.

"hey stop it kid, ya wanna wake your mom up?"

"nooo. hurry up!" he said, finally letting go and stomping his feet.

"i'm not moving kid, so tough luck."

megumi pouted and decided to..

flip him over. as he started shoving toji over with all his might, you obviously fell under him first. with toji's weight completely on you, you woke up disoriented and confused.

megumi, now with a bunch of room for himself, jumped in and held your arm to his chest, smiling victoriously.

"what-- what's going on?"

"this brat is so stubborn, he's just like you. go back to sleep."

"huh..?" you were being lifted up by toji and so was megumi. he settled you in the middle with him and megumi at your sides.

"good night. don't say i don't love you brat."

you fell asleep confused but comfortable, and megumi only stuck his tongue out at toji before going back to sleep with you.

toji was now playing with your hair while watching over the two of you, the sight of your chests rising and falling with every breath you took comforting him.

he hung his arm around you, holding your hand. laying his head on yours, he placed a hand on megumi's hair, ruffling it slightly.

his heart felt warm as he fell asleep, dreaming of you. oh and his son was there too.

he woke up to the sounds of rustling as megumi woke up, early as possible. he started to tap on your shoulder until toji moved his hand away from you groggily.

"what?"

"i'm hungry."

"for crying out loud kid, no!"

...

he got up to make pancakes for you three, extra whipped cream for megumi as he handed them out.

megumi was sat in your lap happily munching away as you paired yours with a cup of coffee, still half asleep.

toji ruffled megumi's hair, making him let out a small "hey!" as he moved over to kiss you, making megumi scrunch up his face.

toji moved to sit beside you at the counter, his hand supporting his head as he looked over at you two.

"you're a headache y'know that?"

"don't be mean to mom." megumi said, his mouth full.

"i wasn't talking about her, kid!

#sighs deeply.. anyways #toji fushigro x reader #toji drabbles #toji x you #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji fluff #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk drabbles #toji oneshot

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inkskinned · 9 months ago

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how odd, to watch the creative writing exercises of angry men in the comments of instagram. you noticed it first in the comments of conventionally attractive women - but then it started appearing everywhere else, too.

a young man talks about what lunch he's packing his wife. there is a little story under it, with 300 likes, fabricated from nothing. "this is pointless. if you treat her like this, she will take the lunch to her office and fuck her boss and divorce him and take all his money."

you scroll. a young woman talks about what lunch she's packing for her husband. it is always uglier when the subject of the video is a woman, you've noticed. "you sit on camera and you smile and you are cheating with the neighbor and then you're going to lie about being sexually assaulted by your husband and -"

you stop reading. it has 567 likes.

where did this even become a thing? people making up stories in their head, disgusting long-winded assumptions about intention and sexual disgrace. the evil twin of fanfiction.

like - it's just a lie. it's a lie that they are telling, baldfaced and assumptive. the undercurrent is of course misogyny, but the trouble is that they're so fucking certain. that's what makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. there is this pervasive, inventive desire for them to be right. that they must be right. all women are cheating, lying, gold-digging bitches. no exceptions.

in the reverse, when women say i'd rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man - men funnel in from the sides. they defend each other with a vibrance and capacity for empathy you wish applied to like, the other half of the population. a man could be saying i absolutely did kill her and these creatures in the comments would rise up with king shit. she made it happen. they love each other to the point of this sick strange self-gaslighting, a fervent and unhinged cognitive distortion. all men are good, wonderful people. all women are terrible, conniving, seditious, annoying.

and when did it become okay to just, like... say that kind of a thing? at one point, you find yourself typing out a witty and snappy retort. why are you spending so much time fantasizing about other people babe. but as you stare at the screen, some part of you pictures this man in public, saying these things to your face. his soapbox, high and mighty. his mirrored sunglasses and his empty life: tired and lonely.

what a sad and horrible loop he's locked in. he is terrible to women, so women don't talk to him, which he uses as an excuse to act more terribly. he blames this "failure" on women, rather than on his behavior. it cannot be that he is the problem (that the solution is to just put his ego down and accept women as equals) - he begins to invent a sculpture to replace the flesh frame of each person he sees.

it isn't just a woman posing on the beach. it is now a slut with a desperate need for each person to crave her body. it isn't just a woman yelping with surprise during something upsetting. it is a hysterical, unhelpful cretin who will probably make things worse instead of better. it isn't a person.

someone's very sweet wedding vows get moderate attention on instagram. in the comments, a man says good fucking luck you'll waste your life providing while behind your back she's absolutely fucking the best man. this will be so cringe in 2 months when she walks out on you.

you think - is that what you need to be true? is that what you need to happen, for the world to make sense to you?

#writeblr #every time i see these little creative writing projects i see red lol #girl go write a novel or do ur homework or something.#if youre gonna lie on the internet at least stop badgering women. do it in the privacy #of your poor sad reddit boards

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ohisms · 3 months ago

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✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts based on varying types of demands &. requests . adjust phrasing as necessary . this prompt WILL likely be updated in the future . )

don't say a word .

don't leave me here .

meet me at our spot tonight .

follow me and stay close .

don't beg , it's pathetic .

can you ( tie / zip ) this for me ?

stop lying to me . tell me what you did .

put that down , you don't know what it ( is / does ) .

get out of my sight .

stop pretending you know what's going on .

find a first-aid kit . quickly !

don't get yourself killed .

leave them to me , just go .

just admit that you love me .

just admit that you hate me .

come here , let me look at you .

( name ) , don't make me do this .

drop your ( weapon ) .

stay here and wait for my signal .

don't just sit there , move .

take this and run , don't let anyone have it .

pretend you're my ( partner / girlfriend / boyfriend ) .

don't look , you'll give us away .

don't say another word .

stop pretending like you care .

go make sure the coast is clear .

take this with you . it's a good luck charm .

don't tell anyone about this .

if anybody asks about today , lie .

stop looking at me like that .

tell me you love me .

just kiss me , already .

keep your eyes on the road .

stop crying and calm down .

come with me . there's so much we could do .

wear the ( dress / tie / item ) i gave you tonight .

show me how you like to be touched .

hold my hand .

kiss me , make it look real .

look at me . how many fingers am i holding up ?

will you marry me ?

just slow down for a minute . what's going on ?

take a deep breath , you need to calm down .

get out of here , ( name ) !

draw your weapon .

go rest . i'm not asking .

take a step back .

give me a straight answer .

be polite to our guests .

look me in the eye and say that again .

put your feelings aside for a moment .

keep close to me .

here , let me see that .

look up at the sky .

get out of here , i don't want to see you right now .

stand up , this isn't over yet .

close your eyes and count to ten .

smile for the camera !

keep your head down .

( name ) , let me past .

listen carefully to what i'm about to say .

don't just stare , come in .

stop laughing , this isn't funny .

take this and hide it .

don't make a sound .

put your hands up .

quit causing problems everywhere you go .

just admit that you don't know what you're doing .

stop right there , i mean it .

don't say that name aloud .

just trust me , okay ?

stop acting so childish .

call the police . now .

tell me you love me , even if it's not real .

take a good hard look .

stop the car , ( name ) .

don't make eye contact .

stay out of trouble .

just do it already , we've waited long enough .

hold me tight , and never let me go .

finish what you started .

tell me what you know .

just stay away from me .

turn around . slowly .

don't be scared .

put it down before somebody gets hurt .

stop pretending , i'm tired of the pretending .

grab me my ( item ) , will you ?

don't make assumptions .

put this over it to stop the bleeding .

get to safety !

wipe that look off your face .

secure the area .

keep an eye on them .

look at yourself in the mirror .

run . run and don't stop .

eat . you haven't touched your food in days .

#inbox meme #rp meme #rp inbox prompts #inbox prompts #ohisms

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thatbitchery · 2 months ago

Text

FUN PHRASES TO ADD TO YOUR 2025

I'm just not sure I asked, you know?

With that face?

But what even gave you the confidence?

That'll be 10k.

I don't appreciate that.

Mhm. And?

Could you just not?

Sir?

In this economy?

I would rather die actually.

Why did you think I'd be receptive to that?

What about it?

Yeah. Anyway -

I think you should leave

And I would want that because?

But why did you pick me for this exactly

Can you say that louder? Didn't get you.

What does that mean?

You should be

Okay

But why would you even

Why?

*Silence*

I don't think I can explain enough how much I don't give a fuck honestly

It's 7 a.m

In my own cellular device??

Ah I'm actually not qualified for that, but good luck

I'm not sure you should be talking to me about that/ I don't think we have the kind of relationship where you can tell me that

You should speak to your therapist about that

If I find time I'll try to

I want to see what you just said written on paper

Do not speak to me that way

nah

And if I beat your ass, then what.

Uh huh so Imma block you? Im going to block you yeah

Through the WiFi I pay for?

You're being really brave for someone within slappable distance you know

No aftercare? Am I just a text to you?

My mom said no sorry

Well there's no sleep for the wicked so there's that

Exactly what do you want me to do about that and why should I

I'm going to be so real with you right now my guy I want you to just not talk, you know. Try the shush. Please. / Have you considered the shush? The no talkie. The zero words. The no verbal. Would you like to try?

You could say otherwise but you would be wrong. Because I am right.

I'm going to lie to you rn

My brother in Christ no just no

I'm not telling you

Well one of us is the problem and it's not me so

Uh huh use your words. We know our words, let's use them

immediately no.

Do you want to die

I don't get paid enough for this / my salary doesn't cover that

I would rather sink to the bottom of the ocean and calcify over millions of years

Is that some kind of fetish

but why me

My insurance doesn't cover that

You could've just stopped at the first word but okay

You're telling me you thought about that and said fuck yeah this is a good idea. That's what you're saying.

What did you just say to me

Condom/ birth control adverts going hard these days

We used to be a proper country

In the year of our good lord 2025?

Have you considered having some shame

Is that a defect or

Tbh I'd just kms after that but to each their own I guess

When does this end

Which God did I piss off to end up here

Did I do this to myself? Is this my fault?

Is the common sense in the room with us

Can someone check if this is allowed/ legal?

idk I just feel like violence could solve this

The worst part is you're talking to me

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5sospenguinqueen · 1 month ago

Text

Am I The Problem? | Franco Colapinto x Williams! Reader

Summary: After finding out you were going to be teammates, you and Franco have very different reactions. Franco is prepared to worship the track you race on whilst you do everything to ignore him. Until it becomes impossible to

Warnings: angst, swearing, the loss of a family member, a suggestive comment

Requested: Yes by anon (full request)

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

williamsracing just posted

liked by jensonbutton, jackdoohan and others

francolapinto dream reality

18,200 comments

williamsracing welcome to the team. we’re so excited to have you become part of the williams family

user1 so they’re replacing logan, an f2 driver promoted to f1 too soon, with an f2 driver promoted to f1 too soon?

officialmpmotorsport we’re very proud of what you’ve achieved this season, and good luck in f1

user2 this doesn’t feel fair. he’s getting a seat (amazing) but will be paired with a driver who doesn’t want him there

dennis_hauger 👏🏻👏🏻

user3 has anyone checked on yn? she was always so happy to be racing alongside her childhood friend, and now they don’t even get to finish the season together

yn_ln just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and others

yn_ln i knew i was going to have to say goodbye at some point but i never expected it to be so soon. i couldn't have asked for a better teammate but at least you’ll always be my friend. i’ll miss you so much, lo lo, but i will be there supporting you wherever you go next

23,096 comments

logansargeant 🤍

→ user4 signs of life!

→ user5 the fact that she is the only person he has responded to

user6 even when she’s devasted, she stays respectful. literally the perfect role model for girls in karting

user7 chat, do we think yn will stay with williams next year?

→ user8 i don’t think she even wants to stay with williams for the rest of the season

→ user9 she looks so miserable any time she’s with them/james vowels

user10 poor franco. she didn’t even congratulate him on any of the posts

→ user11 because she doesn’t have to

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yn_ln posted a new story

logansargeant replied wow so i really am easy to replace → yn_ln lo, no… → logansargeant how many more times are you going to fall for that? → yn_ln dickhead → logansargeant the internet was right. you are the personification of satan → yn_ln 🖕🏻🖕🏻

oscarpiastri replied haha the heart eyes are winning you over → yn_ln you can’t say anything, lando lover → oscarpiastri 🙄

user12 replied girl, did you cover up James’ face? 😂

francolapinto replied is that me??

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Thumb scrolling down your feed, you couldn't stop the wounded look twisting your face. Numerous tweets glanced back at you, informing you that your teammate’s fans had a very low opinion of you. Was it really a shock that you wouldn’t like journalists hounding your teammate? Had you truly been that mean to him that signs of basic human decency came as a surprise?

The door to your driver’s room was cracked open slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the disconsolate body that shuffled past. A cap covered his usual mop of curls and his head hung low. All he wanted was to hide away in his driver’s room. Away from the hustle and bustle of the garage. All alone.

“Franco.”

A soft voice broke him from his sorrow. He’d never heard it say his name before, and he’d certainly never heard that gentle tone directed at him. His head snapped up in disbelief. Spinning around, he moved too fast and stumbled slightly. A pink flush decorated his cheeks, realising he’d just embarrassed himself in front of the woman finally talking to him. Your head poked out of the gap between your door and the wall. Almost hesitant to bridge the space between the two of you. You weren’t even fully aware of when you had moved, or decided to talk to him. But here you were, staring at his brown eyes, widened with scepticism.

Committing to your actions, you pushed yourself into the hallway. Unused to such close proximity to you, Franco took two shaky steps back. He could almost feel the wall behind him.

“I heard about your grandfather. I just wanted to offer my condolences.” Your teeth pulled at your bottom lip. “The media were out of line this morning.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Uncomfortable silence stretched between the pair of you. A need to fill it swelled within you.

“Nobody would blame you if you needed the day off. It’s not like we’re going to win any points in the Sprint.”

“I bet you’d like that. A race without me,” his tone was sharp, edged with grief.

It was a stark contrast to the light, playful timbre you’d become accustomed to hearing around the garage. Hurt briefly flickered across your face, causing him to almost regret his words. But he’d had enough.

He was tired. He was hurt, and he was not in the mood to be treated like he wasn’t there. Every day he hoped that you would finally speak to him. That you would smile at him, or share the glowing personality you had around the rest of the Grid. When he was still in F2, he’d been lucky enough to spend a day or two with you, and you’d been so warm and inviting. But, the person he was introduced to when he replaced Logan Sargeant hadn’t shown any sign of the person from before.

“Wait, what? No. Franco, I just… Look, I found out from Twitter and-”

“It’s not like you give me the chance to tell you things in person.”

Rubbing your hand over your face, you pondered whether you were doing more damage than good. All you wanted was to make amends, and not treat him like shit on a shitty day. Realising you couldn't make things worse, you decided to own up to your less-than-stellar behaviour.

“Franco, I just wanted to say… I don’t really know what to say. Other than that, I am so incredibly sorry for the way that I’ve acted these past couple of weeks. Believe me, I’m not proud of my actions, and it’s been made very clear to me that I could be ruining your dream.”

Your feet very subtly shifted closer to him, and his body was acutely aware of the smaller window of space between the two of you. The hairs on the back of his neck raised when the scent of your perfume invaded his nose. He loved that smell.

“I’ve been so terrible to you. The internet knows that I’ve been terrible to you. And what makes it all that much worse, is that it doesn’t really have anything to do with you.”

Franco watched you inhale deeply before barrelling forward with your heartfelt apology. Your nose had pinkened from the exertion of your speech. Franco decided it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“The truth is, I was angry. I was angry at the team, and the management, and the way they treated Logan was horrendous. But I didn’t realise that I was then doing the same thing to you, and I’m really sorry. I’m aware that none of this justifies my behaviour or makes it right but I just need you to know how much I regret what I’ve done. You’re so talented, Franco. If you had joined the team at any other time, I would’ve been flattered that you were so excited to be my teammate. I still am and-”

“Querida, breathe.” Franco’s lips curled in the corner. A small smile but the first time he had done so since yesterday. “I get it. You’re sorry. You were still mean though.”

Your heart fluttered at the affectionate term he’d used. After years of working with Spanish drivers, you’d picked up a few words here and there. Unfortunately, his following words ruined any hope you’d felt.

Scuffing your shoe against the floor, you avoided looking at him. “I know. I know. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you.”

Franco reached out, taking your hand into his. His palm was warm and heated against your cold, almost clammy one. He was endeared by how nervous you seemed to be. At his touch, your head finally lifted to look at him. You were taken aback when your eyes met his, realising he was already staring at you.

“You could always give me your seat.” He let out a booming laugh at the look of shock on your face.

“Oh, I get it, you’re winding me up.” You pushed him away from you but your combined hands just ended up pulling you into him.”

“I wasn’t lying in those interviews. You really are one of my idols. It’s going to take a bit more than a tantrum for me to be mad at you. However, if you really feel you need to make it up to me, I’m not going to object.”

A body turned the corner, causing you to leap away from the Argentinian. His eyes twinkled as he did his best to keep his face neutral. You scrambled to compose yourself when John, your physiotherapist, glanced between the two of you. He raised his brows before walking past you and into your driver’s room.

“You have 30 seconds, Yn, to finish your conversation and get your ass in here.” He closed the door behind him, allowing you some privacy.

Franco turned to walk away, knowing you liked to run on a tight schedule, and not wanting to infringe on that when you seemed to be making a shaky form of peace.

“Dinner!” You blurted out, voice bouncing off the white plastic walls.

Staring at his muscular back, you watched his shoulders shake with silent laughter before he turned back to look at you.

“What about it?”

“Do you eat it?” How were you making this worse!?

“Yes, every day.”

He wasn’t making this easy on you.

“Maybe, if you’re not busy this evening, I could buy you dinner when we get out of here.”

“It would have to be early. I don’t know if you know this but I have a very busy day tomorrow.”

“I think I prefer not talking to you.”

“I’d love to have dinner with you, Cariño,” Franco smiled, “so long as you don’t spend the entire meal sullenly glaring at me. It seems to be a habit with you.”

An irritated shout of your name sounded from inside your room, reminding you that you were well past your allotted thirty seconds.

Not wanting Franco to have the last word, you looked at Franco before you entered your room. “I’m not sorry that I snuck an LS2 cap into your pile of hats to sign.”

His face turns from pure adoration to unadulterated offence. “That was you?!”

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yn_ln just posted

liked by jv.f1, lewishamilton and others

its_yn my boy 💕

23,431 comments

williamsracing took team bonding to a new level

→ francolapinto i aim to please

user13 i knew that episode of team torque was carrying a different kind of tension

→ user14 no because he was so giggly and she was giving him full on banter

→ user15 let’s not ignore how she kept blushing when she caught him looking at her

user16 she fell victim to the heart eyes

→ yn_ln how could i not? have you seen how intense they are?

user17 oh no because now how do we tell who the biggest simp is

francolapinto my lips are still waiting for that kiss

→ yn_ln come here then

→ francolapinto 🏃🏽🏃🏽💋

→ user18 oh no. now we have to deal with this instead

logansargeant excuse me but where is his shirt in that last picture

→ oscarpiastri completely scandalous behaviour. reported

→ yn_ln piss off the pair of you

→ logansargeant @/oscarpiastri pay up. she did my thing first

→ oscarpiastri technically she did my thing first

→ francolapinto she did both in the same day

→ yn_ln franco!

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requests open. they may just take a while

coming soon; max taste part 3 and toto thirst

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @iloveyou3000morgan @justaf1girl

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