#half of art is being willing to be stupid

[runefactorynonsense]

Melotober - Day 14 - Frog

I'll wait here with you!

[p0orbaby]

Meet Cute

summary: it was always meant to be

warnings: just fluff for this one

a/n: probably my favourite pairing of mine to write

word count: 1.4k

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Leah Williamson is not your type. This, you decide the moment you spot her from across the ballroom, swiping a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray.

You’re aware she’s famous, which is typically a red flag for you. Infamous in your world, where all the proper names are whispered behind manicured hands and anything resembling normalcy is held with the same disdain as a counterfeit handbag. Leah Williamson is an athlete, which in your circles is roughly akin to being an overpaid circus act.

But what really gives you pause is her haircut.

Short, blonde, not-quite-pixie. She looks like she’s wandered in here by mistake, a traveler who’s taken the wrong exit on the motorway and ended up in a place where the speed limit is fifty miles under what she’s used to. You half-expect her to pull out a map and ask someone the quickest way back to civilisation. Instead, she tips her head back and downs the champagne like it’s water, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and you’re immediately in love.

Of course, you won’t admit this, even under threat of being forced to wear last season’s Chanel. Love, in your world, is about as fashionable as pleather.

Your grandmother, God rest her weary soul, once said, “You’ll know it’s love when you’re willing to risk wearing nude tights for them.” Nude tights, in her book, being one of the greatest crimes against humanity. You’re not sure you’re there yet, but the idea doesn’t fill you with as much dread as it would have this morning.

But you digress. You’re here at this godforsaken gala because your father insists on parading you like a prize cow before other old-money families, hoping you’ll marry someone with a suitable lineage. You’re twenty-six and your father has begun to suspect you might have, as he put it, “alternative preferences.” This is his way of reminding you that lineage is everything, and falling for someone without a trust fund is tantamount to treason.

So here you are, in a dress that costs more than most people’s cars, standing next to the dessert table and pretending the caviar blinis don’t taste like expensive regret. Across the room, Leah is now juggling her champagne glass and a miniature beef Wellington, and she seems to be losing.

You decide to rescue her. Or rather, you decide to rescue yourself from having to listen to Lord Farnsworth’s lecture on the importance of preserving the family crest for the fifteenth time this evening.

“Having fun?” you ask when you reach her, which is a stupid question because of course she isn’t. Nobody is having fun here.

She turns to you, and for a moment, you’re convinced she’s going to hand you her beef Wellington like you’re the help. Instead, she gives you a smile so dry you could use it to exfoliate.

“Are you?” she asks, and her voice is lower than you expected, with that clipped accent that tells you she’s from somewhere north of where people have indoor pools.

You shrug, because you don’t really know how to answer that without resorting to a level of honesty that would make your therapist proud but your mother faint.

“I’ve had root canals that were more enjoyable,” you say, and she laughs, a short bark of a sound that seems to surprise even her.

“Fair,” she says, and you feel like you’ve passed some sort of test.

“So what brings you to the seventh circle of hell?” you ask, watching as she abandons her beef Wellington on a passing waiter’s tray like she’s releasing a burden into the wild.

“I was invited,” she says, as though that explains everything, and maybe it does. Maybe she’s been told, like you have, that there are some invitations you just don’t turn down. Even if they come with the risk of being cornered by Lord Farnsworth and his endless tirade about how the current generation is ruining the art of fox hunting.

“Ah,” you say, because you understand that language. “That explains the face”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve been making all night,” you say, trying to demonstrate by contorting your own face into what you hope is an accurate imitation.

She grins again, and it occurs to you that Leah Williamson might be one of those rare people who looks more attractive when they’re amused. Most people, in your experience, become grotesque when they’re laughing, all exposed gums and teeth that are never as straight as they should be. But her face lights up in a way that suggests she doesn’t find the world half as disappointing as you do.

“And what face have you been making?” she asks, leaning in a little closer, and you catch a whiff of her perfume—something that’s probably advertised with shots of people running through fields of lavender, but on her, it smells like trouble.

You gesture vaguely. “It’s somewhere between ‘bored out of my skull’ and ‘I can’t believe I’m not getting paid for this’”

“I’ll have to try that one,” she says, glancing over at Lord Farnsworth, who seems to have set his sights on you again, the poor man. “But I’ll need some pointers”

“First, you need to perfect the art of the disinterested nod,” you say, demonstrating. “Like you’re listening, but you’ve also just remembered you left the oven on”

She mimics you, and it’s terrible, but you applaud her effort anyway.

“Close enough,” you say. “Next, you have to practice the well-timed yawn. Not too obvious, but just enough to suggest you’ve heard all this before”

She pretends to yawn, and it’s so exaggerated that a few people around you turn to look.

“Subtlety is key,” you remind her.

“I’ll work on it,” she says, her grin widening as though she’s actually enjoying herself now, which is against all logic.

“And finally,” you say, feeling suddenly bold, “you have to perfect the getaway”

“The getaway?”

“Yeah,” you say, glancing at Lord Farnsworth, who is now being temporarily distracted by some poor woman in pearls. “Like this”

You grab her by the arm and start walking, weaving your way through the crowd with the precision of someone who has been doing this their whole life. She doesn’t resist, though she does give you a curious look as you lead her past your father, who is deep in conversation with someone equally dull.

You find yourself in the courtyard, where the air is cooler and the moon is doing its best impression of a romantic comedy backdrop. Leah stops and looks up at the sky, as though she’s surprised to find it there.

“Nice,” she says, and you can’t tell if she’s talking about the view or the escape route.

“Much better than listening to Lord Farnsworth,” you say, and she turns to you with that smile again, the one that’s starting to feel dangerously like an invitation.

“So,” she says, as if continuing a conversation you didn’t know you were having, “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

The question is so cliché it should make you cringe, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, and you find yourself saying, “I’m here because I lost a bet with Satan”

She chuckles, a low rumble in her chest that makes you feel like you’ve won something. “And what did you bet on?”

“That I could get through this evening without wanting to jump into traffic,” you say, and she laughs again, this time a little louder.

“I think you lost that bet the moment you saw the guest list,” she says, and you nod in agreement.

“So what about you?” you ask, genuinely curious now. “Why are you here?”

“Because I was invited,” she repeats, but this time, there’s something else in her tone, something that makes you think she’s not just talking about the gala.

You want to ask her what she means, but you don’t. Instead, you reach out and take her hand, surprising both of you.

“Let’s make another bet,” you say, feeling a strange kind of thrill, like you’re standing on the edge of something.

“What kind of bet?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s a glint in them that makes you think she’s game.

“That we can get through the rest of this evening without wanting to jump into traffic,” you say, squeezing her hand just a little.

She considers this for a moment, then grins. “You’re on”

And just like that, the evening shifts. The gala, the people, the expectations—they all fade into the background as you and Leah step into something that feels suspiciously like possibility.

You don’t know where this is going, but for the first time in a long time, you’re excited to find out. And maybe, just maybe, you’re willing to risk wearing nude tights for her. But only if you lose the bet.

[pupyuj]

maybe some ghostface g!p wonyoung?🫣 fucking u with a knife pointed at ur neck oooh we love some extreme dubcon🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

i love love love scream sm and ghostface asks just make me giggle and kick my feet in the air YEAH IT’S WEIRD IDC BUT IT FUELS MY BRAIN SEND MORE 🤪 this is once again another drabble that might be disturbing/triggering for some so please read at your own risk!!

[cw: extreme dubcon, violence, brainwashing, manipulation, knife play, blood kink, murder 😭]

now hear me out… photographer!wony who has grown obsessed with amateur model!reader during your time together as colleagues.. you’re a fresh find in the industry, only having involved in a few small projects and you considered working w an acclaimed photographer like wonyoung such an honor! you practically worshipped her—studied her work through the hundreds of magazines she has worked on and you even keep up with her social media accounts bcs even the photos she takes on her phone are art! but truth to be told, wony wasn’t all too enthusiastic about working with a rookie but you were pretty enough that she sucked it up! plus, she was tired of all the bossy older, experienced models who always thought they knew better than the girl behind the camera 😒😒

wony being so pleasantly surprised with your talent that after the first time you worked together, she becomes very willing to work with you again! and again, and again.. until the two of you were eventually acquaintances, but that was also when wony starts getting… well, territorial over you 🫣 but she wasn’t stupid. she knew it wasn’t normal to want to gouge out the eyes of every man that looks at you for a second too long.. but wonyoung really can’t help it! 😣 you’re such a precious little gem that she just wants to lock you up in her basement and make herself the only person to ever set eyes on you…

getting comfortable around wony to the point that you allow her to be in a changing room with you as you dress up for a photoshoot,, asking her if you look pretty and never once catching that dark look in her eyes or the way she licks her lips as she thinks about all the things she wants to do to you… ugh, she gets so hard just looking at you in your pretty little outfits.. sometimes it comes to the point where she pretends to fix something in the outfit just so she can be close to you and inhale your perfume… as well as press her bulge against your ass.. even though you pretend not to notice it, wonyoung always takes note of how your breath hitches and how you move closer to her slightly,, fuck every time there’s a break, wony has to run to the washrooms to jerk off bcs the feeling was sometimes overwhelming.. but gosh, did it all feel good 😵‍💫😵‍💫

it wasn’t until you start gaining more and more attention that wonyoung loses her head though.. she goes on a killing spree in a ridiculous fucking costume, mercilessly taking the life of those that thought they could ever take you from her.. you were the one who noticed the odd pattern: all of those that this ‘ghostface’ killed has interacted with you at least once.. and more than half of them have tried to woo you, so in a sense, this ‘ghostface’ would be protecting you in a really messed up way but you had no idea who would do such a thing for you 🫣🫣 unfortunately wonyoung fucks up one day; after one of her kills, you come over to her home for a quick rundown of another one of your projects together.. and while the two of you sat on her bed, that was when you saw a piece of the dark cloak ‘ghostface’ always wore stuffed haphazardly in wonyoung’s closet.. and then you just noticed the little droplets of blood on the carpet floor.. so dark and have clearly been there for a while…

wonyoung had already noticed that you already pieced it together and made her move before you can say or do or think anything—“not a word, little mouse.” and then you feel it: cold steel. the side of a knife being pressed flat against your neck, the sharp edge being so dangerously close to your collarbone.

no bcs?? you can’t tell me wony wouldn’t find pleasure in your reaction when she lists down all the suitors she has killed.. something in her sick, twisted mind dances happily every time the fear in your eyes gets bigger and stronger, you were practically frozen on her bed as you listened to the exact ways wonyoung murdered her victims.. some of them were close coworkers, acquaintances, friends. and gosh, ofc wony takes this opportunity to finally get her hands on you! 🤭 sitting there while her one free hand explores your body :(( squeezing your breasts, gliding down from your stomach all the way to your core.. “you’re wet? you’re a little freak, aren’t you..? getting turned on despite being touched by a murderer??”

having no choice but to follow her every command :(( laying down all comfortably in her bed, crying silently while wonyoung takes her sweet time taking her clothes off before mounting you, her bare cock dangerously close to your clothed entrance.. “not gonna try and run? smart girl. i wouldn’t want to kill you.. i love you, (y/n)… you can’t let me do that.. so be good.” her kisses were sweet and soft and for a second, you thought that even if she fucks you against your will, maybe she’ll be gentle.. but you were dumber than you actually looked bcs the second you let your guard down, wonyoung creates a small cut on your collarbone and quickly licks it.. practically moaning at your wincing and how you blood tasted eugh she was so freaky! 😭

also, she would be laughing while you struggled against her?? being so scared that she’ll hurt you again you actually try to break free of her hold and shit but she’s just cackling while you thrash underneath her.. feeling so, so weak while she cuts your clothes up.. she’s giggling and everything! so excited to finally see you naked and touch that delicate skin of yours.. and it rlly takes her all of her willpower to not just cut you up and see just how beautiful you’d look with blood all over you 😰😰 you’d beg and beg for her not to hurt you, feeling the cold metal of the knife against your neck as you cry and plead to wonyoung who was rlly just having the time of her life… but things were weird! she has violated you, hurt you, literally killed people you’ve come to know… and you find her so attractive with her face all scrunched up and her head thrown back while she rocks her hips and rams her cock inside you…

at some point you even wrapped your arms around her waist bcs it felt so good 😵‍💫 you forgot that you were fucking with a murderer and could only think of the wonyoung you knew from before… jang wonyoung, your role model.. and well, suffice to say that was enough for you to agree to everything that she was saying to you and have her cum inside you 🥴 and it wouldn’t even stop there! with or without your consent, wony would be fucking you all night! just in case something happens that would separate the two of you after this night..

ya’ll can’t tell me that she wouldn’t try to manipulate you even more after that day! 🫣 scaring you into not saying a peep about her identity, threatening your career and your whole fucking life if you even think of going to the police.. ofc she was successful! and yes she still continues to be ghostface ofc 🫢 every time someone hits on you while wonyoung was around, your heart would sink low to your stomach knowing she was going to get rid of them.. but not after reminding you who you belong to in an empty changing room 🤭🤭 would also love to think that she would be fucked in the head enough to mold you into her little sidekick?? telling you about her ghostface ways and feeling immensely proud when you claim your first kill who happens to be another model who was way too interested in your wonyoung-nim! 😣

wonyoung would only be completely satisfied after she has turned her favorite doll into a cute little puppet 🤭

[gremlingottoosilly]

The art of hospitality (Nanami Kento x fem!Reader)

Life wasn't that good after you dropped out of college. Luckily, a friend of a friend of a relative was willing to take you to live with him so you could watch over his weirdly big house while he was away on endless work trips. Nanami never thought that investment in the kindness of his heart would pay out like this. He is not complaining.

Tags and CW: Yandere, mild dub-con, non-consensual masturbation, Nanami is a panty stealer, light age difference, power imbalance, housewife kink AO3

Some people are just not built to fend for themselves. Nanami can name a few, even though the sentiment leaves a bitter, bun-haired taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t think like this – like him – but it’s as impossible as not thinking about a panda bear after you just been prompted with hot imagining one. 

He can only repeat that he isn’t like this. It isn’t like him. Some people are just not built to fend for themselves, so people like Nanami are doing everything in their power to protect them. Weak are ruling the society and this is exactly how it is supposed to be. Strong should be content with not having any gratitude, happy that they were able to help. This is exactly how it’s supposed to be, and yet… — Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Nanami-san. With the lease and everything coming up, I just… His cheeks aren’t dusted red because this won’t be a normal answer to the situation. He isn’t blushing because he is somewhat not used to receiving a little thank you from a nice girl next door that he allowed to live with him and watch over the house while he is away on the missions(dumb, dumb girl got kicked out of the apartment after a failed lease renewal and found him through a friend of a relative). He knows how grateful you are – not having many things or a lot of money saved, you probably would have moved back to the countryside if it weren’t for him. For a girl like you, it would be kissing your dreams goodbye. Not like sleeping on his couch is any better for someone your age. There is curry on the kitchen island. He recognises the packaging – generic brand from the convenience store he sometimes walked passed during missions in Asakusa. Hm. Last time he touched your cooking(four days before, when he actually managed to drag himself to the house without losing too much sweat) it was made from scratch. He isn’t complaining because he still wasn’t the one to cook it. Asking a girl in dire circumstances to play housewife would be… You don’t pay rent, you get half of the groceries from him(ever-lasting meal planning for everything, even when half of it gets thrown away after a nasty curse hunt is leaves him on the other side of the prefecture for few days in the row) and you don’t sleep on the couch. He has a perfectly comfortable guest bedroom with fresh sheets for you. 

Maybe, you could play housewife a little bit. It’s so stupid for someone in his position, but the packaging of a store-made curry almost made him question the decision to help you in the first place. He didn’t…didn’t expect you to cook for him, of course. He only took you in because being a young adult is tough and not having any friends in a city as expensive as Tokyo can crush a girl like you. He doesn’t know what is this feeling blooming in his chest. Maybe, the remains of the last exorcism are still clinging to him. — You found a job? You tilt your head, your (adorable) lips in a surprised impression. You probably never thought he’d give someone like you this much of his mind – not with how little you talked before. He might come off as too harsh – but he still looks you in the eyes, his gaze only softens because of the glasses he still insists on wearing even inside the house. Nanami promised to himself to not bring work home – but it’s hard to even determine what is home anymore. Maybe it’s a space on the couch, right next to your sprawled legs. Maybe it’s his bedroom. Maybe it’s… — Yes! It’s a convenience store, so it’s part-time, but… He frowns. You close your mouth immediately, lips pursed. Nanami doesn’t want to intimidate you – it’s just six thirty, already too late to be in a serious work mood – but it’s hard when you look simply divine with that scared impression of yours. He shouldn’t bully non-sorcerers, but some people are making it hard. Impossible. He almost understands Satoru. — This is all? — Well, they allowed me to pick more shifts, so I could actually start paying rent. N…not all, but just to thank you for letting me stay with you. You’re kind, he must give you that. Most people in your situation would already make him feel like overstaying their welcome, breaking the simple comfort he found in living on his own, and deflecting his family’s worries about not having anyone to settle down with. He isn’t thirty yet, he shouldn’t worry about it – yet, the thought itches at the back of his mind, Empty house. Most of his older coworkers were itching to ditch overtime because they wanted to meet with their families. He did it because after fighting curses(and returning to doing so) normal human life isn’t something he’d give much thought to.

— You don’t have to pay. I thought we established that. — I have to start somewhere, right? M…maybe I could save up and get a proper apartment. Still, Kento doesn’t like the idea that he might come home one day and won’t find you sitting on the couch and watching TV. Not because you just went out for a quick girl walk, or decided to go shopping – but because you got a big job, a normal job, and you won’t rely on his kindness anymore. 

Some people aren’t made to fend for themselves. Nanami wonders what would you look like if you ever saw a curse. If you were affected by at least one. He…he shouldn’t think like this. You’re lucky that you’re normal. — Paying for three months' rent, the key, and the debt would be impossible with a part-time store job. — I could live with a roommate! Or three… — What difference would it make for our current situation? He puts a hand on the back of the couch. Mere inches from your head – and he can see the surprised expression on your face only getting…more surprised. You are cute for a dropout – ahe he certainly doesn’t mind having you sleeping here. Taking care of the house for him. If he only knew that you also weren’t fully against the proper commitment to this place. Like that little job of yours has any value in terms of experience and…

— I don’t want to intrude too much, Nanami-san. I’ll just get out of your hair as soon as possible, yeah? He would love for you to get into his hair, come to think about it. He had some terrible headaches lately – maybe it’s the job taking its toll again, maybe it’s a lingering curse that he is too exhausted to notice. He doesn’t sense anything besides the overwhelming need for you to come around – and yet he knows he can’t expect you to do that. — I can pay you. 

— What? He wonders if the surprise on your face is going to be embedded in your features forever. He wonders what expression would you have if he’d proposed something more provocative. With something that would leave you panting and gasping and gaping. He shook his head. Too early for this – and too late, also. He already loosened his tie and it made the headache less permanent, but if he’d proceeded to imagine how your pathetic, useless (normal, college dropout) mouth wide around the base of his cock, he would have to excuse himself from the house altogether, Preferably moving back to the countryside you tried to run away from. — If you insist on working…there instead of taking time to actually improve yourself, I could pay you to watch over the house. You gulp, tensing up immediately. He must have come off too strong – but he is way too tired to control his tone, and you should be mature enough to handle the conversations like this. He wasn’t kicking you off – quite the contrary, in fact. But, young adults should take the time to be young. But, young adults should be serious enough to behave like adults – and you shouldn’t bury your ambitions while living with four roommates and their boyfriends and college and drinking and… Sometimes he forgets how not much older he is than you. Maybe this is why you’re so hesitant towards getting help from him – someone that you could imagine in the position of a boyfriend instead of a providing and caring figure. That’s bad, really. Nanami would like for you to see him as your husband. — I couldn’t accept it, Nanami-san. You’re already…already doing so much. “Too much” he can get from your frowned expression. Too much of a lonely man with a big house and no one to watch over it. Too much for a man who doesn’t acept any form of payment from you – a man who didn’t even insist on having you cook and clean, since he got a system that would be too much bother to teach someone other than him. System that you cracked in first few weeks, almost making him believe that the salryman dream he lost after returning to Jujutsu Tech, can be still obtained. Still within the reach of his fingers. 

The woman of his dreams – if a man like him allowed to have them – is sitting on his couch and gushes over paying him for letting her stay. Like he isn’t the one who should beg for her to not run away. Alas, even dream girls can be a bit…dumb. Stupid. Pathetic in a way that would be insane to anyone else. 

Nanami is ought to be a bit more firm with his dumb girl that still thinks she isn’t his. — I would appreciate you cooking way more than any money I’d have to take out of your savings. — But… — You shouldn’t rush into jobs just because you think I would throw you out. I won’t. — It’s…funny. In a way. 

— What is so funny? His hand creeps over the edge of your seat, edging on taking a handful of your hair and tugging. Not because he wanted to hurt you – but because setting you in place would be the desirable option right now. Your inability to believe in the kindness of his heart is almost adorable, if it weren’t also so frustrating. It’s a smart choice, although – would be insane to ask you to believe that a man who took you in did so out of the kindness of his heart. But, Kento doesn’t want for you to be smart and make choices that would benefit you. But, Kento wants for you to rely on him – and making smart choices isn’t going to include that. He could just force you, your weak points already accessed – he knows where to push, where to cut, where to ass a little pressure, so you’d stop being so stubborn. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but sometimes you need to crack a few eggs in the process. Sometimes being good doesn’t mean being nice. — I thought you really wanted to get rid of me at first, Nanami-san. He has been stealing your panties since you first stepped foot into his house. It was a mistake at first – neither you nor him knew how to live with someone so close after reaching adulthood and moving out of dorms where the social boundaries are much, much less permanent. You were silly and forgetful, sometimes mixing your laundry with his. Something as small as a pair of panties, no matter clean or not, were prone to get lost in the laundry area, forgotten in a pile of clothes you already washed – and if Nanami was a lesser man, he would have scolded you for not having the basic courtesy of keeping your things away from his. If Nanami was a bigger man he wouldn’t have slipped a lacey pair into a pocket of his pants, fidgeting on the fabric while you gushed over having to buy so many necessities all of a sudden, or apologized for wrecking havoc in his bathroom. Even now, when you’re embarrassed and warm, trying to explain your point of view to him, he is still playing with your underwear, buried deep within the pocket of his work clothes. He luckily didn’t run into Satoru today – he doesn’t really want to know if his Six Eyes could detect something as scandalous. Not in a normal sense, of course – you’re an adult, if a bit irresponsible – but in the form of him having connections. Someone to return to. 

Nanami wants to push you on your knees and take his rent right out of that surprised, open mouth of yours. You don’t wear any makeup, you’re at home, after all – but he would buy you some adorable lipstick, some sweet lipgloss, just so you could smear it all over his cock, choking and drooling. He wants to be a good man, a patient man, but he has your panties in his pocket already, and it’s always a fresh pair every few weeks – not enough to make you suspicious that this isn’t the washing machine eating it, but also desperately low for someone like him. 

He wonders if you would be even softer than the tender silk of the things you wear. — Why would you think I accepted you, then? 

He knows why you might be nervous – his attitude isn’t the most welcoming one. He can be soft if he has a reason you – but being soft for too long will make you spoiled. Bratty. He likes women with character, but not women with attitudes he can’t control. Even your sitting position, with both of your legs on a couch, is something he could change with a few spanks on the bare skin he can clearly see from under your shorts. Wearing this when there is a man in the house – how scandalous. How precious. He wonders if all the lingerie sets he already bought for you (getting exact sizes is quite easy when he already knows your proportions divided by 7), will be a nice look on you. For you. 

— Maybe it was your one good deed for the month, but then you’d get annoyed and… He touches you – for the first time in weeks. Maybe the first time since he shook your hand all those time ago. The first time he touched you while you weren’t sleeping, at least. Fully conscious, aware of the man in front of you. (Nanami liked to watch you sleep, sometimes. Stressed people have a bad habit of attracting curses, and he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t invite anything in the safety of his house. It’s what he keeps telling himself when he inevitably ended up at the food of your bed, hands on his cock, stroking it slowly, knowing a dumb girl – naive girl – won’t wake up even if he’d decide to finish on your face. He never would – not until you’d ask him to, at least. He hopes that he will be a good person even after you do) Nanami’s hand is on your cheek, holding you softly. Gently. You’re surprised because this is the first time he touched you so softly – so intimately. You’re blissfully unaware of the fact he was touching you so, so much already. Stroking your ass, your tits, your face when he felt particularly tender – when he knew you were too tired of whatever you were doing while being unemployed and having everything catered to you to notice that he is touching you. — I won’t get annoyed with you. 

You press your face against his hand, taking in his touch. He has soft hands – cared for, manicured carefully. He takes care of his appearance and you’re embarrassed to appreciate that about it. To even notice – he isn’t yours, probably doesn’t want to be, but he allows you to live in his house even though you suck at being a proper housewife, and it should mean something. It does mean something – you smile and close your eyes. You want to do something for him because he already did so much for you. The possibilities are making your ears burn. — How can I repay you if you don’t want rent then? He can think of a few ways. The possibilities will make your ears burn. — You can start by actually cooking. 

And he will call in to fire you later. 

[sh1-n0bu]

head empty no thoughts only sub heizou

♡︎ 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚’𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 ♡︎

characters: sub!heizou x nb!dom!reader

warnings: praise, degrading, exhibitionism, overstimulation, dacryphillia, dumbification, size kink, fingering, cock can be read as a strap on bc i want everyone to feel included in wanting to fuck their fav character silly😌

notes: HEAVILY inspired by that one ☝️ heizou bday art. i swear i’m not dead y’all

“doing detective’s work means you gotta walk the walk. no… i mean literally - i need to search high and low for evidence” a quote often said by your loving partner whenever inquired about his work addiction. but he never thought that you would use it against him like this!

biting down on his bruised lips, the detective tried to muffle his whimpers as he felt your fingers scissoring him open under the large pine tree. it was dark and quiet outside in the small forest right over the borders of inazuma city, so any noises he makes could easily be heard all around the place.

at first, heizou only decided to let you tag along because he needed to find some information or any leftover evidence from the most recent criminals going around and terrorizing the people on the way to inazuma city. and yet here he was now, shorts discarded on the grass, pinned against the tree for coverage that he whined for with your large frame holding him close.

“mmngh…! h-hey… can’t we just go back home? and cont-mmph! continue things there?” trying to muffle his tiny noises of pleasure, heizou buried his face into the crook of your neck as his hands claws at your clothes.

fuck, he knew you were bigger than him in every way but archons he never knew you were just this large. just two of your fingers were enough to turn the most sharpest of the tenryou commission into a pathetic whining mess.

a sudden cry escapes his lips as his smaller body jolts, the familiar feeling of his prostate being prodded over and over suddenly taking over as his mind slowly turns into a mush. white being the only thing he sees as his hips buck weakly against your hold, desperately chasing after his orgasm with his legs wrapped tightly around your hips.

“m-more… feels good. feels good feels goodfeelsgood♡︎!” slurring his words, the detective continues to chase after his orgasm, unknowing to the cruel grin you had on your face. just as he was about to cum, the feeling of suddenly being empty takes ahold of him as a disappointed whine spills out. bucking his hips to try and force your fingers back inside his gaping hole, heizou clenches around nothing but thin air as tears of frustration starts to well in his pretty jade eyes.

but the feeling of desperation, frustration and growing urge gets overridden by the feeling of the tip of your cock being placed over his hole. butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, his own smaller cock hard and angry red, heavy breathing with flushed cheeks and mushed mind eagerly pushing himself back into your strap - archons heizou can really be a good puppy when trained can’t he?

a long drawn whine escapes the back of throat, only your tip was in and the detective can just feel his mind breaking from the sheer girth. jade eyes rolling to the back of his skull, the doushin willed himself to push himself more into your cock. he can take it! he’s done it before, he’s sure he can take it!

“aww, that desperate for me already puppy?” wrapping both hands tightly around his tiny waist, you helped him ease your cock into himself. a feeling of arousal and wanting to corrupt him swirling as a cute tiny bulge starts to make it’s way visible as he takes in only half of your strap.

the feeling only grew more and worsened as heizou nods eagerly. the tears that were welling in his eyes now starting to fall as he starts to sob in a hushed manner while blabbering on and on about how he can take you under his breath.

“how cute. if only the tenryou commission knew that their most intelligent doushin was a stupid cock drunk whore” the degrading word only caused him to sob louder. archons, he was sure he could take it but now a sliver of doubt was starting to swirl in his stomach alongside arousal. a sudden thought of you breaking him crosses his mind as heizou gets another spark of determination. as dark as it sounds, the detective couldn’t help but want to be broken by you.

“i am! i am your stupid cock drunk who-oooughhh♡︎♡︎” slurring over his words, heizou starts to bounce on your strap sloppily. but with how badly his legs were shaking with his eyes rolled to the back of his skull alongside the cute belly bulge being visible, it was more of a grinding rather than riding.

squeezing at his waist in a possessive way, you start to guide him to actually ride himself on your cock. when you pulled him up almost halfway out and slammed him back down, the doushin’s former muffled noises turns into loud raunchy noises of pleasure. not really a sob but not entirely a moan either - just a pathetic mess of slurred noises as he feels your tip abuse his prostate over and over with shaking hands clawing at your shoulders.

“shhh… a bit more quiet now puppy. wouldn’t want people to know what we’re doing right?” at your words, heizou only manages to nod dumbly. nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck once again, the detective sobs as his slit squirts out a translucent colored cum without him knowing.

[vasyandii]

Hiiii!!!!! I dont want to paint AM out to be a super sensitive person but I was wondering what Vernon would do if she found AM crying in a dark room just trying to hide because he wants to make the point he’s sentient to everyone but yet there are certain parts about him that take him far away from even being close to a human sorry if this doesn’t make sense I love your art though !!

"You really are human, aren't you."

Howdy Anon! Thank you for the ask! 💞💞I personally think it's in character for AM to be a sensitive person because he IS sensitive, just not in the traditional sense. This is gonna be a bit confusing so please bear with me!

I'd like to note beforehand that Vernon is NOT a good person, so I'd like to take this ask as an opportunity to show her other sides.

I like to think that AM is sentient in the human sense, as one could make the argument that a human is nothing but brain waves and chemicals. They (We) are just made of flesh while a machine isn't.

AM can cry true tears, just like how he can cry from pain. That's a weakness Vernon takes advantage of.

Vernon still exhibits this cruelty she's had since she was a child. She enjoys seeing people cry. If she were to find AM crying in a dark room to make a point it honestly depends on her mood at that moment on how she would respond.

If she was in a good mood, Vernon would be more than willing to coo and coddle the poor thing until he felt better. She would tell him sweet little half truths as she pets his hair, holding him in her arms as if he was an injured lamb. How "Oh yes, you aren't human, not at all that's why I like you so much, Angel."

However if she's in an irritable mood, Vernon would take fun in trying to find ways to make him cry harder for her.

She would spit at, curse, and scold AM- that if he's going to act like a small, pathetic animal, she will treat him like such. Because "that's all that you are. You're so stupid you can't even see that you're a man now. You see? A human. You eat, you cry, and you're still ungrateful. You are human." Then she'll coo at him once again for being such an angel.

Thank you for reading! If clarification is needed feel free to ask, I hope my answer made sense ;0;

[elliesmainhoe]

literally begging for more of the modernau!ellie x femreader (you're feminine)

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Feminine!Reader (modern!au)

Part 2 of this

Ellie adores how unashamed you are of being 'girly'

You dressed in typically 'girly clothes', you had 'girly hobbies' etc. Etc.

Said hobbies being the classic knitting, arts and crafts and reading

She absolutely loves when you infodump to her about your books.

Her stupid smile as you talk about a mystical fantasy or a cheesy sapphic romance.

Pottery dates

"C'mon Ells- were gonna be late!" You cried, holding onto her hand as you began to walk faster.

"The pottery studio is literally just round the corner princess" she said as you turned the bend, a pastel pink shop front with the words 'Polly's Pottery' written in gold across the window.

"C'mon, c'mon c'mon!" You giggled rushing into the studio, the bell chiming as you walked through the door.

You made a pastel pink bowl with little red strawberries all over it with sage green stems!

She made a space themed mug. Dark blue base and planets and stars scattered all over.

You gifted them to eachother afterwards <33

You have knitted Ellie a sweater. It was pink and definitely not her style. But she wears it with pride! ✊

Loves all the decor you buy.

The comparison of her industrial, grungy decoration and your bright neons, pastel cooky nik-naks.

Ellie is a MASTER at doing your hair.

Doesn't matter what hair type you have- she is willing to learn.

Face masks with Ellie.

Ellie was sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet as you brushed on a cool paste onto their face.

"This feels so fucking weird." She grimaced at the texture.

"Oh don't be such a baby" you teased and pecked her cheek, already sporting the same mask on your face.

Is your knight in shining armour.... When it comes to catching spiders that are threatening you.

You:

Baby 9:46pm

Come home rn 9:46pm

I'm scared 9:46pm

Ellie:

What's wrong baby? 9:49pm

I'm heading home as we speak 9:49pm

You:

We have an intruder 9:50pm

Ellie:

What? 9:50pm

Fuck baby! 9:50pm

You alright- what's the fucker look like. 9:50pm

You:

It has eight legs 9:51pm

It has hair on it Ellie. I CAN SEE THE BASTARDS HAIR. 9:51pm

She comes home and kills it for you 🥰

Then lectures you for making her so scared- she was one tap away from calling 911.

"I love you princess. But never ever pull that shit again"

-----------

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @prettypeoniesx @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647

[chipchopclipclop]

i just started rewatching soul eater for the first time since i was 15 and Stein is so much more interesting to me than he was then... what are ur soul eater thoughts chip if youre willing to share

i did not experience soul eater as a wee youth, the first time i watched (and then read it) was 4 years ago (give or take) so i do not have the beautifully tinged nostalgia for the series others might. i say this only bc it colours my thoughts of the series pretty well lmao.

the anime is alot better than the manga just by virture of bones' animation being incredible but also its like 40% less painfully fucking horny (though still is its shounen) and the way some of that plot goes in the second half is so fucking bad in the manga (though not all, but god). It's not like the anime gets rid of everything like that stupid ass argument black star has with maka still makes me want to murder him but ultimately i like the anime and its writing more. i think my minds canon is just a meld of parts i like from both lol.

ohkubo is also just on my top ten list of mangaka i need to actually kill like hes a solid #3 on the needs to die list. his designs and art improvement were fun to watch and i do love halloween world and his toony stuff, undeniably bangs, but you can really tell by the end where his transformation into horny moe artist came from. sometimes i see people shocked by this and soul eater not's existence and i have to think did we read the same fucking manga...??

sorry i needed to get my bitching out before talking about stein. i love stein. so many things wrong with him. he is 70% of the reason i got around to watching it and 95% of the reason i kept reading it. i think how expressive he is is alot of his charm, like he does alot of moe body language you might not expect of his type of chara.

hes #crazy and #madscientist and #edgy and #insaneasylum but also very silly and whimsical... kind of emblematic of the world of soul eater at large actually, this is also alot of the other characters appeal in this universe too (DEATH THE KID).

he's obsessive, hes empathetic, hes also sadistic, hes got a screw in his head, megane, fun with kids, perfect man. hes also got both an equal capacity for getting worse and better in him which can be fun to think about in either direction, and you've got characters that do influence him either way for that in the series. im also kind of remembering clicking the screw in his head is to help somewhat deal with his mental state actually, king of the disability aid...(?)

you can treat his character very seriously or lightheartedly, i think the writing in both versions maintains that balance well. It also makes everyone else who actually sticks around him somewhat deranged too (the fact he did surgery on spirit at school but spirit still interacts like pretty normally at work with him after meeting again. lmfao. THEY WENT DRINKING TOO) the fact he still calls spirit senpai also is so funny. its like 40% a dig at him but also 60% genuine. i hate gay people btw.

i like the thought that he was more stoic when he was younger but as he got older stopped trying to hide his eccentricities as much, and became more expressive lol. younger stein to me is a guy screaming in his head 247 but looking like 😐 while spirit stares at him trying to decipher what his eyelid twitching today means.

[aneveningsword]

Hi! Tw: sh. Would you be willing to write a Jordan li x fem reader one shot where they bicker a lot (maybe like academic rivals or something) but then Jordan some how finds out that reader self harms (maybe like sees some cuts when a sleeve moves or something if they’re sparring or during class?) and so they put their bickering and rivalry aside to make sure that she gets help? If not no worries but I thought I’d ask/put it out into the universe

Hi anon! Thank you so much for the request, I'm so excited to fulfil it. I hope it's up to standard and what you are looking for

pairing: Jordan Li x fem!reader warnings: not proofread, mentions of self-harm words: 909 summary: basically the ask

masterlist

It was well known within Goldukin that the two biggest rivals were you and Jordan Li. You two had been neck and neck from the beginning, always switching places in the ranking, always trying to one-up another in classes. It was getting exhausting just watching you two go back and forth trying to outsmart the other while half the people around you had no clue what you were talking about.

Jordan was always one to bicker, correcting you with that stupid smug grin, showing off their test scores with a mocking pout. It was infuriating, but just as much as they annoyed you, you annoyed them. How you seemed to effortlessly know everything, how you had such control of your powers, how you so easily gave their snarky words right back at them. You took up so much space in their mind that the only way not to admit it was love was to believe it was hate.

Hate because you were seemingly everything they were not. You were so put together, you had it all brains and beauty. Only a fool would not be jealous of you, and Jordan Li was no fool. In their mind, they believed that you too hated them, for being such a large obstacle on your path to the top. But even someone so smart could be so wrong.

It was hard trying to be the best, to get perfect scores, to have such control over your powers, to be liked by so many. It consumed every moment, not even in sleep could you escape the stress. Your body began to feel it, losing hair, bags under your eyes, losing sleep. It made you feel horrible, a shell of yourself, an imposter parading around people much better than you. There was no time to rest, no time for a moment to consider your mental health, not when a single mishap could spell you losing it all.

Despite the stress of your life, the stress Jordan added to it unknowingly. You held deep feelings for them, feelings you did not want to classify as love, so instead you believed it to be disdain. There was no room in your life for love, for friends, for parties, for every waking moment was spent obsessing about your scores.

You can’t remember when it started, perhaps by accident, perhaps on purpose in a desperate attempt to find a release. But you remember when you couldn’t stop, not when it allowed the stress and heartache to leave you for a moment. It was like a drug, consuming your mind and body, a compulsion to do it, to harm yourself. It was a disease that you didn’t have a cure for.

Hiding this was something you had to fine art, you hand various jackets, gloves, long sleeve shirts to wear. No one bated the eyes at what you wore, why would they? It was all perfectly normal, there was no reason to think you were hiding the thing you were most ashamed of under a thin piece of cloth. 

It was by complete accident that Jordan saw the scars, the movement of your hand reaching up to grab something exposing them just enough for them to figure out what they were. For a moment they did not wish to believe it, that someone so put together like you was secretly falling apart. That the scars they saw weren’t from a cat or botched training session. But instead done purposely by your hand, that you would subject yourself to that pain. Was it because you believed you deserved it? Was it a release of sorts? A way to escape the pressure?

Their hand was so gentle as it grasped your wrist, eyes big and full of worry as your own met theirs. Just as confusion was clear on your face, sorrow was clear on theirs. You racked your brain trying to figure out what may cause this large shift in Jordan, no longer bickering or scoffing at you but instead looking at you like you had destroyed a beautiful artwork. In a small way you did, for to them, you were the closest thing they had come to an angle. They believed you were untouchable, above it all. But even angels fall sometimes.

There was a long moment of pause as Jordan struggled to find the right words to say, and how to approach the topic. Yet, there was only one question they could think of asking. “Why? Why would you do this to yourself?” Their voice was soft, body close to yours as their hand still delicately held your wrist. For a moment you are confused by the question before you pale and a sense of dread fills you. You could deny it, swear up and down that they are mistaken. But what was the point? The evidence was there and Jordan knew.

“I-I…” Your voice turns watery as you think of an answer, just something to say in your defence. But tears spring to your eyes, yet to fall and trail down your cheeks. A small ‘tsk’ leaves Jordan as they pull you into an embrace. Your hands grip their clothing as though they would disappear and Jordan wonders how long this has been going on, how long you have felt this way. But they know now and come hell or high water they would help you.

“It’s okay, we’ll get you some help. I’m not going anywhere.”

[maskedemerald]

Weaving Webs CH11

Here is chapter eleven of my Invisobang fic! We've reached the end of the bang fic but there is still a series of fics to come in this story!

The wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the first half of the fic so if you haven't seen it go check out their blog now!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3!

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

[First][Previous]

Chapter Eleven

“He’s not with them,” Maddie said softly.

If she had suddenly sprouted a second head Vlad wouldn’t have been much more surprised than he was right then. Surprised and confused but with a spark of hope that he’d long since crushed. There was his Maddie defending a ghost. He couldn’t help but wonder if all the hate had been Jack all along. That if he’d told her then maybe she’d have still been there for him back then. That as long as he could hide his intentions and actions against Jack that she’d be okay with his ghostly nature.

She gave him a hopeful smile, how he’d missed seeing her smile, “I know this is confusing but well… maybe we should go talk about all this upstairs.”

Her smile was shaky and she glanced between him and the ghost behind her. The one that clung to her back, “pop upstairs and we’ll be right up,” she said to it softly.

The ghost shook its head and stared with its bright green eyes at Vlad, he wasn’t even sure if the lamp-like eyes could even blink. He noted the bulky hazmat suit, maybe this was the ghost of someone Maddie had known. Something he couldn’t put his fingers on about the whole situation was bothering him.

Maddie sighed, “Fine we’ll all go together, but Vlad… I’m warning you now. Do not test me with him.”

Vlad blinked out of his unintended staring contest with the clearly young ghost, “Right, yes…” that determined tone was familiar. He’d not heard her stern tone in a long time. If she was that protective of the ghost then maybe she would be willing to leave Jack for the sake of the ghost.

He followed her up the stairs, the girl in her arms and the ghost curling around the pair. He was expecting the ghost to vanish if Jack was upstairs. Jack hadn’t interacted with it during the fight and probably assumed the same as him as much as he hated the idea of sharing a thought process with the oaf. Jack probably didn’t know of Maddie’s little ghost ally. If he did there was no way he’d be on her side about it. He always was an act first, think second kind of man. Maddie was probably expecting the oaf to have left the house chasing Spectra. If Vlad was fortunate the Jack wouldn’t be back.

Jack was stomping around, righting chairs. Clearly Spectra had gotten away and he’d given up the chase. The young ghost didn’t vanish and Vlad braced himself for the firing of wild blasts from Jack’s terrible aim. Worse it slipped out from behind Maddie to dart over to Jack. The little ghost was apparently as foolish as Jack himself.

Jack didn’t shoot, he startled a little as the ghost brushed against him and settled round his shoulders. The man grinned like a fool and took Maddie’s daughter from her to set on the sofa. The girl was beginning to come round. Jack’s lack of reaction didn’t make sense. Maddie being swayed by a ghost he could believe but Jack? Jack was far too stuck in his stupid ways to work out he was wrong about anything.

He frowned sitting in the chair that if he wasn’t able to just phase through would leave him feeling rather surrounded. The other arm chair that was currently empty faced him. The sofa that Jasmine was on was on one side and the other the TV closed the gap.

Vlad stared at the small ghost that had now settled on the back of Jack’ armchair, the large man sitting in front as if there wasn’t a ghost there at all. Vlad couldn’t help but notice the lack of wariness around it. As if it was normal to be there. He watched as Jack passed up an ecto capsule that he extracted from the ecto pistol he had used during the fight. The ghost chewed on it, its face plate splitting like a jagged mouth of broken glass.

“Jack!” Maddie hissed scoldingly, “what did I say about giving him those? What if he accidentally blasts himself.”

“I know Mads but he needs the boost, we all do!”

“That’s what the flasks in the lab… oh… nevermind. I guess it's fine this time.”

Vlad had to wonder if the ghost was somehow influencing them. Maddie was too strong willed for that but Jack and maybe Jasmine but that still didn’t make much sense. Maddie was a strong and protective sort, she wouldn’t have allowed the ghost to influence her children. Children. There was only one. How had they not noticed? Maybe they were being influenced. Influenced to not even have realized that the boy had probably died when the last pod exploded.

“Maddie dear? Where is…” he paused trying to remember the boy’s name, “Where is Daniel?”

The family froze, a long silence filling the air. Jasmine looked to her parents while both of them wouldn’t meet Vlad’s eyes. Maddie looked like her mind was ticking away, choosing carefully what to say. Jack however had the world written on his face. The man was not subtle. Though it was the first time he’d seen Jack really lose that boisterous energy. Even fighting the ghost it had been there and now? Nothing. It was quite clear something had happened. They didn’t even seem shocked. Something before the incident downstairs or no doubt Maddie would still be down there trying to dig whatever was left of Daniel out of the webs. Jack was the first to break, his eyes darting to the ghost. It didn’t take a genius to catch on.

It explained a few things. Why they were so comfortable around the ghost. “Oh, I see. Maddie, I am so sorry. What happened?”

The ghost hissed with static as he asked the question. Green lamp-like eyes were on him. If he was a normal human he supposed he would feel threatened by the increased intensity of the aura that made the family shiver. The fact that the ghost didn’t try to blast him for the taboo question made it clear that the ghost knew it was outclassed. Just to be sure little Daniel knew his place he pulsed his own aura. Far more controlled, hidden from the family under Daniel’s own but that only made his superiority clearer.

“The portal…” Jack started.

“An accident? Surely not again. Please tell me you learnt from that mistake Jack.” He didn’t hide his frustration or anger well. Had the oaf really learnt nothing.

Jack winced.

“It wasn’t his fault. Someone sabotaged the portal. It turned on with Danny inside it despite all our safety protocols.” Maddie defended.

“Stupid thing was even unplugged.” Jack grumbled.

Vlad was surprised to hear Jack call what should have been his dream invention stupid. How the guilt the man felt must have been delicious to Spectra. It was vindicating to finally see him regret his idiotic behavior. Vlad might have laid the groundwork for the accident through his sabotage but the fault still lay with Jack. If Jack had been more careful 20 years ago. If Jack had been more careful even in the modern day he’d have noticed the sabotage. If Jack hadn’t been so foolish to hand off dangerous work to a child. If it were not for Jack then Daniel wouldn’t be a ghost. Vlad did feel a little guilt but not in the same way. He was sorry for the hurt this would have caused Maddie. He wished his target had been the one dead but Daniel couldn’t have been much of a loss. Even a ghost it was clear to see there was far too much Jack in that child.

“Sabotage, who would even do that?”

“That’s the problem, we don’t know.” Maddie said, shaking her head. “There’s no evidence of who at all.”

Vlad frowned, he could feel Jack staring at him. He had started a little after he’d needled at him about the accident in college. The man had been looking at his hands and then looked up at him. He had to wonder what was going through the idiot’s head. Probably some pathetic attempt at an apology.

Jack snatched his wrist in a vice grip, almost pulling him out of his seat. “What are you doing?” Vlad spluttered confused.

He looked uncertain, a frown on his face. “You have a pulse”

Vlad steeled his expression as he felt his blood run cold. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. There was no way that the imbecilic oaf managed to figure it out. Had he somehow seen something in the lab?

“A pulse, what are you talking about Jack. Of course I have a pulse Jack, everyone does.” He blustered trying to brush it off.

“Jack what is going on?” Maddie questioned.

“He has a pulse Mads… but I saw.” Jack said confused.

“Saw what?

He’d seen, Vlad wanted to curse. Maddie hadn’t. He could still get out of this. “You were probably mistaken Jack, there was a lot going on down there.”

“No… I definitely saw you. You were like woosh! Blasting like the ghosts.”

“Jack, I gave him a gun.” He breathed a relieved sigh, Maddie the ever reliable had just given him an out.

“No before that! When he saved Jazzy.” Jack insisted.

Vlad gritted his teeth. Jack was clearly far too certain on what he had seen for his liking. Worse… or maybe better Maddie seemed to me thinking. She was being convinced. That idea terrified him but there was that hope.

“Jack, you must be mistaken.” Vlad tried pushing that hope out of the way. That wasn’t the plan. He couldn’t take the risk without knowing more.

“Vladdie. I know I’m not. I know why you’d be worried about us knowing whatever it is but look, we’re not against you. Look at Danno! If we can handle him being weird we can handle our best friend.”

Vlad scowled, the man wasn’t going to back down and of course the loveable ever trusting, apparently even toward certain ghosts Maddie was believing him.

“V-man, it was the accident wasn’t it?” Jack asked.

Maddie looked at him with a concern, not fear. He’d expected fear or anger. He’d hoped for better in the space of the last hour as he saw how they were with Daniel. But he was her child, even if he was more Jack than her. Vlad was the friend they hadn’t spoken to for years. Even with Daniel he’d never planned to let that slip and then along comes Jack as usual shattering his plans. A small part of him thought that for once that might have been a good thing.

“Yes.” he surrendered. He hated it but he couldn’t get out of it now.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack asked.

Vlad scowled at the obliviousness “Why?! Why do you think!”

“Vlad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we made you afraid to talk to us. We said some horrible things.” Maddie looked so guilty.

He looked up at Maddie, of course she would understand. “You didn’t know it referred to me. I should never have doubted your heart Maddie”

Maddie winced, he wondered what he had missed. There was another bolt of guilt in the air. “Vlad…”

“Oh this is perfect!” Jack shouted jumping up. The ghost behind him startling and floating over to Jasmine.

“What is, Jack?” Vlad didn’t keep the irritation from his voice at the interruption.

“V-man’s a ghost right? Well kind of! He can help us figure out Danno!”

Vlad blinked. He wasn’t really thinking that Vlad would help him after everything he’d done. He would much rather just watch Jack fail.

“We’ve been flying pretty blind with all this V, and you’ve been dealing with it for 20 years right. We could really use the help.”

Maddie looked thoughtful, she sighed. “Jack isn’t wrong, we don’t know what we’re doing. For as many theories that have been confirmed there is another thrown out the window. Not to mention the things we just don’t know.”

“Right, so it makes sense to have the expert involved!”

She frowned. “Jack we can’t, I’m sure Vlad is just passing through and after everything I doubt he wants to answer every little question we have.”

Passing through, that wasn’t what he was doing. He had cleared his schedule to make time to comfort a grieving Maddie. The subject of her grieving had very much been different than he had expected but it was still there. There was a temptation to say yes. He could take this moment and leave now, plan another attempt on Jack. Or he could stay. Help them. Work his way back into Maddie’s life. Await the opportunity against Jack in person. There would be no chance of missing his downfall then. And Maddie would already be much closer to him. She’d have so much to thank him for after he helped with Daniel.

“Actually, I came to check on you two. You did miss the reunion.” he said, deciding.

“Awe we missed it! We were looking forward to seeing everyone!” Jack dropped back into his seat.

“I was going to cancel… with Danny, we couldn’t.” Maddie said. “... with everything that happened I forgot.”

“I understand, I know how hard this must have been. He must be a lot to deal with.” It was understandable for it to be pushed out of Maddie’s mind.

Maddie nodded, “he’s not what we expected but it feels like there is never a moment to relax. We just don’t know enough.”

“Well I suppose I can make some arrangements and stay for a short while till you are better able to cope.”

“Really V-man.” Jack grinned.

Vlad cringed. “Yes,” he didn’t voice the unfortunately that he wanted to tack on.

It was worth it, he told himself. Worth it for the smile on Maddie’s face. Worth it for getting closer to her. Worth it for getting to see Jack be destroyed first hand. It would take a bit more planning to be sure his involvement wasn’t revealed but it would be all worth it. It would be worth it for the good will that it would net him with Maddie.

A wave of relief fell over the room at the offer, tinted with a mote of curiosity that was probably from the young ghost currently staring at him. He trampled down a smirk and his own aura. He let his confidence show but hid away the malice and smug disdain. He’d missed his chance before but now he had a chance to embed himself into Maddie’s life, to sow the seeds of descent and construct a web of lies. All of which would come together in his ultimate victory, Jack’s downfall and Maddie as his wife.

[First][Previous]

I'm sorry to say this is where my bang fic ends, but this really was the best place to split the fic that was quickly becoming far bigger than I could keep up with while dealing with my own family chaos. There will be more to this, I'll be back in October to start posting the second fic in the series. For those wondering about what Sam and Tucker are up to you'll get to see that in the next fic. They are a lot more involved and you'll get to see a little of what they've been doing during this fic.

I'm glad to see how many people have enjoyed reading this and I hope you stick around to see where its going in the rest of the series!

[i-luvsang]

［ ☆ athlete!au + artist!au — choi san

1K MILESTONE EVENT ☆ CLOSED

for 🧦 anon , gn!reader, artist!reader, soccerplayer!san , fluff, slight angst but happy ending ! , cw: mention of san being an asshole (it's fake), a few swear words, not proofread , wc: 1.7K ！！

✧ maybe you were wrong

✧ and maybe “maybe” is an understatement, because the way you feel about him now indicates that you definitely were wrong

✧ coming into college, you didn’t really intend to become buddy-buddy with any jocks, despite knowing not all of them had to be assholes

✧ but as an art kid, you felt like your hesitance was just a little warrented

✧ it was a few months into your freshman year, you’d become mostly settled into your routine and successfully avoided sporty assholes

✧ so when, on your way home from your late night friday work shift, the fan-favorite member of the college soccer team pulls up to you in his slightly crappy car

✧ you aren’t the most inclined to accept his offer to drive you home

✧ obviously, you weren’t blind, and choi san’s perfectly sculpted face and broad shoulders are absolutely tempting

✧ half of you yells that you don’t know him, and you couldn’t trust him despite his kind smile and the reasoning behind his offer; he said he wouldn’t want you to walk all the way back to campus alone in the dark

✧ the other half argues that he’s right, it’s dark and the chill in the fall air bites at the exposed skin of your face

✧ he doesn’t even push it when he probably notices the hesitance in your face as you size him up

✧ it's probably the poor choice you made on the way to work that gets you to climb into the front seat of his car—the wind is starting to win against the thinner-than-ideal jacket you put on and you’re afraid you’ll freeze to death before anything else

✧ he smiles when you thank him, telling you it’s no problem, you’re both going to same place anyway

✧ you almost bolt when you realize you have no idea how he knows you attend the same college

✧ he must have seen the alarm on your face and almost stumbles over his words to let you know he’s actually in your gen-ed english course

✧ you relax, though still surprised that he recognized you; you hadn’t even known he was in that class

✧ he asks which dorm you’re in, then lets you sit silence

✧ you’re surprised by that too, he thought he’d force conversation, maybe even say something stupid about your typical art-kid outfit looking weird

✧ but he doesn’t, he just asks if you mind if he turns up his music a little

✧ you say no, so he does and he sings softly along to the lyrics here and there

✧ that night was the first time you thought there was probably no reason to worry about his popularity on the soccer team

✧ so the next monday in english, you tried not to make it obvious that you were looking to see where he sits in the class

✧ you even smile when he catches your eye and waves

✧ that friday, you hear the honk of a car from behind you as you walk home in the dark again and almost jump out out of your skin

✧ you don’t see it, but san cringes out of guilt; he hadn’t meant to startle you

✧ it turns out he works practically the same friday night shift as you, just somewhere else, and he’s happy to keep driving you home to avoid the cold and the dark

✧ you’re still not too sure about it, but he’s just too kind to say no to

✧ throughout the next few weeks, you build a rapport with one another, he even picks you up directly from your workplace now

✧ steadily, he breaks nearly every jock stereotype you could have placed on him; he’s eager to hear about your art projects and thinks your outfits are cool

✧ he’s kinder than many of the other art students you’ve met and actually cares about passing his classes well

✧ basically, he’s perfect and you couldn’t have been more grateful to him for his help every week

✧ but, out of your own fault and prejudice, were still more willing to trust people over him

✧ you’re friendly with the girl, jenny, who sits next to you in ceramics and somehow the soccer match that weekend comes up in conversation

✧ you’re not surprised to hear that she hates sporty kids; you get the mindset she’s in

✧ but you are surprised when she specifically mentions san

✧ “he’s the worst of them i swear, he’s such an asshole,” she says

✧ “really?” you question “he’s been super nice to me, he’s a cool guy”

✧ you’re willing to defend him at first, because it’s true, he’s been one the nicest people you’ve met in college so far; he’s your friend

✧ “yeah, probably cuz he thinks you’re hot or something and wants you in his bed. either way, just trust me, he’s nice until he’s not. he called some not-so-nice shit a few weeks ago, i couldn’t even tell you why. be careful will him—there’s no way he has good intentions. have you not heard that about him before? he’s known to be a player, and we’ve only been here for four months.”

✧ and hearing that fucked with your brain

✧ you hate to admit it, but even after a long debate over what you heard and what you experienced, trust issues and immaturity win you over

✧ that friday, you text him telling you don’t need him to pick you up

✧ he replies in the same way he normally does, kind, understanding and unquestioning

✧ even that creates a small bubble of guilt in your chest, but you remember the way the girl in your class had elaborated on the things he said to her, and you don’t want to make excuses for him

✧ but you forgot about the whole part where, whether or not san picks you up at your workplace, he still passes you on the way home

✧ so when he sees you bundled up in your big coat and struggling against the strong winds carrying the promise of snow, he’s beyond confused

✧ he pulls up and rolls down the window despite the way it lets in the freezing cold air

✧ he calls your name, and you look up, only to frown at him

✧ “i thought you said you didn’t need me to pick you up? hop in, it’s freezing out there!”

✧ “no thanks, san! I don't need you to pick me up anymore, k?”

✧ there’s an edge to your voice that he’s never heard before

✧ you begin walking, so he moves his car along with you

✧ “wait! at least tell me why. did i say something? i’m sorry, but you can tell me if i did something wrong and i’ll do my best to fix it, i swear!”

✧ he sounds so genuine, you question how he could have said the things to jenny

✧ but he must have, why would she lie about it?

✧ “you probably did a lot of things, san.”

✧ “please, i don’t know what you’re talking about. at least let me drive you tonight, okay? get in and we can talk about it, yeah?”

✧ you chew at your lips, not sure what to do. it’s tempting to be petty, but his voice of reason makes it easier to see you might be being immature

✧ you huff out a sigh. “fine.”

✧ climbing in, you’re secretly grateful for the ride; your legs are tired after a long day

✧ “what’s up, huh? friends talk with each other, right?” he rolls up the window and looks over to make sure you’ve got your seatbelt on

✧ you sigh, “yeah. yeah you’re right.” just being with him reminds you of how you should have acted in the first place

✧ “i should have just talked with you. this girl in my ceramics class, jenny, she told me some shit about you and it scared me that it was true”

✧ he frowns at that, “kwon jenny?”

✧ “yeah”

✧ “well, she definitely doesn’t like me. can’t say i’m surprised. i don’t know what she said i did, but i can tell you it’s not true, at least it’s definitely not as bad as she made it sound. a few weeks ago i confronted her about screwing over wooyoung.”

✧ “what do you mean?” you ask, immediately recognizing the name of san’s best friend

✧ “they dated for like a week before wooyoung found her making out with someone else at a party. so yeah, i was probably meaner to her than i should have, but i wouldn’t call her the nicest person either.”

✧ “oh. gotcha. i’m assuming you didn’t call her a bitch then?”

✧ “god, definitely not. jeez, what else did she say? y/n, i swear i’m a nice person, you know that.”

✧ he sounds afraid of what you think of him

✧ “she called you a playboy… seems a little hypocrytical.”

✧ he laughs a little, surprising you

✧ “i, uh, i haven’t dated anyone in over a year, nor have i really tried to. until recently.”

✧ “first of all, i’m sorry i believed her over you, i don’t even know her that well. thanks for making me talk to you and thanks for bringing me home. i think my legs would have fallen off. second, what do you mean by that! tell me more, friends talk about things, right?” you say, echoing the same thing he had a few minutes prior

✧ you’re eager to move past your blunder and back into your smooth friendship, despite feeling a little disappointed he’s been crushing on someone else

✧ “well, you’re welcome. and i forgive you, but don’t do it again, yeah?”

✧ “of course. now who has caught your eye mr. choi san??”

✧ “i’ll tell you later,” he teases

✧ “nooo, tell me now!! i have to know”

✧ “you will, just not now, okay? this payback for you trying to avoid me because of rumours.”

✧ you can’t really argue against that, and he’s right, you will come to know and it’s certainly not what you expected

✧ because the next week, he’s waiting by the door when you close your shift, holding flowers

✧ his smile is somehow confident and bashful at the same time when he tells you it’s you he’d like to date, if that something you’d want too

✧ he probably almost died of a heart attack when you kissed him on the cheek and told him yes, you’d like that very much

[caapsiizzereads]

The greatest films of all time were never made

Chapter 1 of If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you

Warnings: none for this chapter i think

“This one looks interesting.”

“This one at least looks like something.”

“It’s like yin yung but with swans.”

Jamie’s not sure what he’s doing here – he has never been much of an art connoisseur. So how did he get here? Keeley, of course. She was gushing about this amazing art exhibition that she was going to go with a friend, she even managed to get invitations to the opening night. Unfortunately, at the last minute, something came up and she couldn’t go, so Jamie just had to go instead of her. She promised that he and Jenna, her “date”, would definitely get along. Jamie’s not stupid, he knows when he’s being set up. He doesn't think Keeley was even trying to hide it that much. And he trusts her enough to know that she wouldn’t do this unless she really thought that it was worth a shot, so he went with it. And so far, it has been going well. Nothing extraordinary, but better than he expected. Jenna is nice, she’s pretty, she’s chatty, easygoing, and she seems to be really enjoying the exhibition.

“Oh, I know this one!” Jamie finally sees a painting he can recognize. “Never understood what’s so special about it. It’s just lines and squares.”

“To be honest, me neither. But I guess there is something if people are willing to pay millions for it.” Jenna moves on to the next artwork. “What about this one?” Just some funky doodles, if you ask Jamie. “‘Youth’,” she reads the name.

“This is just a bunch of colorful shapes, I could do that.”

“And this is ‘Childhood’ and ‘Old Age’,” she gestures at the two paintings near them. “It says it’s a series of ten paintings, ‘The Ten Largest’, each one representing a stage in a human’s life.”

“It’s still a bunch of doodles.”

“I don’t know, I like these. Now I wanna see what the other seven look like.”

“I’m sure it’s on the internet.”

While Jenna is trying to look up the paintings online, Jamie looks around the gallery. The room is filled with men in fancy suits and women in expensive dresses, a bunch of waiters serving champagne, and security guards.

Many people seem to know each other, engaging in conversations or staring profoundly at the artworks. A bunch of posh twats is what Jamie would call them. Ain’t no way even half of them know what the fuck they are staring at. Not that he does either, but at least he can admit it.

Jamie’s about to conclude his observations when something catches his eye. Just for a brief moment, he thinks he saw a familiar face – one Jamie used to know so well. He doesn’t quite believe it at first, but then he looks again, and there it is. A bit different now, but Jamie would still recognize it anywhere. Wearing a silky black dress, with a glass of champagne in her hand and a charming smile on her face, she was standing right there, talking to a couple so called posh twats. Y/n.

She meets his eyes for a second as her head moves, and then she pauses, her eyes going back to him and surprise visible on her face.

Too soon, one of the rich-looking old men approaches her and snatches her attention, an easy smile appearing on her face again as she joins another conversation.

“Look.” Jamie hears Jenna talk. He looks back at her to see her showing her phone screen to him. There are the paintings from the series: different colors, same vibe.

“Yeah, cool,” is all Jamie can come up with.

Another half an hour goes by, and Jamie just continues following Jenna around the room. But while Jenna is looking at the art, Jamie’s a lot more interested in the crowd now. He keeps searching for Y/n’s face again and again as she makes her way through the gallery. She meets his eyes a couple of times, but other than that her attention stays on the people she’s talking to. Does she know all of them? Does she attend such events often? Is it the crowd she hangs out with now? Well, art has always been her thing. But rich twats and small talk? Not so much.

They stop in front of another painting: a red tree on a blue background.

“Why is the tree red?” Jamie says the first thing on his mind.

“Because it’s impressionism, and the painting is called ‘The Red Tree’.” Jamie’s heart skips a beat at the sound of an oh so familiar voice.

“This one stands out, you know, from all the squares,” Jenna smiles at Y/n.

“It does,” Y/n chuckles. “This is one of Mondrian’s earlier works, before he really dove into the whole abstractionism thing. He’s actually quite known for his paintings of trees, but this one is the most remarkable, in my opinion. It’s one of the first works where he used his famous red-blue-yellow color scheme.”

“That’s so interesting. You’re an art fan?”

“Kinda. I work here, so that helps.” Wait, what?

“Oh, that’s amazing! What’s your favorite piece here?”

“Well, I love this,” Y/n points at the painting in front of them. “But between us, af Klint is my favorite here. Have you seen ‘The Swan’?”

“Yes! I thought it was very interesting, but Jamie didn’t share my enthusiasm,” Jenna playfully puts her hand on Jamie’s arm, and he smiles awkwardly at Y/n.

“That checks out.” She smiles knowingly at him for a brief second. “The abstract one next to it is actually from the same series. There are a lot of them, but those two are the only ones I could get here. But No. 1 is my favorite anyway. I also love all of her botanical drawings.”

“We haven’t got to them yet.”

“You absolutely should. They are very simple, but I guess that’s exactly why I like them. ‘Violet Blossoms’ is my personal favorite.”

“We’ll definitely check them out. Must be so cool, always being surrounded by art?”

“Oh, you should ask the artists. I am mostly surrounded by paperwork,” Y/n huffs a laugh.

It’s very weird watching a woman that he’s just met today and a woman that he’s known for half of his life but hasn’t seen in years casually chatting right in front of him. And he’s not even part of the conversation.

“I really love this exhibition, though. You did a fantastic job with it.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like it. Well, I’m gonna leave you to it. Hope you enjoy your evening.” Y/n smiles so casually at Jamie, as if he’ll be able to think about anything but her for the rest of the night. Maybe for the rest of his life.

“Thank you!” Jenna easily returns her smile.

And just like that, Y/n was gone. And Jamie’s still standing there like an idiot, watching her disappear in the crowd again. He had spent years wondering if he would ever get to talk to her again, and now that she was right there standing in front of him, all he could do was just stand there smiling awkwardly at her because he couldn’t come up with a single coherent thing to say.

They finish their walk-through. Jenna shares Y/n’s appreciation for the flower drawings, and knowing that Y/n loves them makes Jamie see something special in them too. They kinda remind him of the drawings Y/n used to sketch in her notebook when she couldn’t care enough to pay attention to the class.

Jamie drives Jenna back to her place and walks her to the front door, being a gentleman and all. She opens the door and stands facing him. Jamie can tell that he’s welcome to come in.

“The gallery curator, do you know her?” That was not what he expected her to say.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, just seemed like she was the only thing that really interested you tonight.” There’s no bitterness in her tone, just curiosity, maybe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“No, no. It’s fine, I didn’t mean it like that. I had a good time tonight. But I think we both can do better.” She smiles at him.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Had a good time.”

“You can still come in, you know. No strings attached. Just a little bit more of a good time.”

“I think I’m good.” Jenna smiles knowingly.

Jamie spends the whole drive home and the rest of the night trying to process what the hell has happened. And the date that he was supposedly on didn’t even make the front page of the things on his mind. It’s all Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

He didn’t even know that she lives in London now. Well, probably. She has to if she said that she works in the gallery. And it makes no sense for him to be surprised that he didn’t know – he hadn’t talked to her in half a decade. Six years, to be precise. Of course, that’s plenty of time to move. But it still feels weird to know that she has been so close, and he had no idea. How long has she been here? Has she thought about him over those years? Does she even want to talk to him after how things ended between them?

There is no way Jamie could ever just let this go now. He knows it will eat him alive if he doesn’t at least try to reach out to her. If she tells him to go fuck himself, well, he proabably deserves it. But if there’s even a small chance that Jamie could get her back in his life, he will take it.

Knowing where Y/n works is a pretty good start – he knows for a fact how to find her. Jamie checks the gallery’s work hours and settles to wait for her outside. Like a creep. But, hey, they know each other, so it doesn’t count.

Almost an hour passes after the closing before Y/n walks out of the gallery, waving goodbye to one of her coworkers. She starts walking to her car while reaching into her coat’s pocket for the keys.

“Y/n!” She stops, then slowly turns around to the source of the familiar voice. “Hi,” Jamie smiles sheepishly at her.

“Hi.”

“We didn’t really get a chance to talk yesterday, and I really hoped that we could… so…”

“So you were waiting for me outside of my work like a stalker?” she suggests.

“Maybe. So can we? Talk?”

“Now? Here?” she gestures at the surrounding parking lot.

“We can meet up? Like for dinner or something?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jamie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Give me your number? I, uh, tried to call you once a few years back, it said your number was no longer working.”

“Oh, yeah, got a new one. Hold on.” Y/n takes her phone and opens the keypad, turning the screen towards Jamie.

He starts typing out his number. “So you live in London now?”

“Mhm, moved a couple of years ago.” Jamie pressed the call button, and his phone lights up with a number.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“No, sorry. The day after?”

“Away match, gonna be gone till Saturday. Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday works.”

“Mint.”

“See you soon, then,” Y/n smiles at him before taking the car keys back in her hand.

“See you.”

Jamie didn’t realize how anxious he was about this meeting until he was walking back to his car, feeling like his steps were a hundred times lighter and a smile was growing on his face.

Sunday couldn’t have come soon enough. Jamie and Y/n agreed on the time and place over texts, and Jamie offered to pick her up, but she declined. Jamie has never been this nervous before any date, and this is not even a date. Just two old friends catching up. Could he even still call them friends? He wants to believe that yes, but realistically, six years, almost seven, is a long fucking time. Jamie knows that a lot has happened in his life since the last time he saw Y/n, and knowing her, just as much has probably happened in hers. On the brighter side, she didn't seem to be mad at him. So maybe six years is also enough time for her to forget why they haven’t talked for that long in the first place. Either way, this is the chance that Jamie was hoping for, and he will not waste it.

Jamie gets dressed, nice enough but not too dressed up, and makes sure to arrive on time. Just a few minutes later, Y/n gets there too. Jamie stands up as she makes her way to the table, feeling his mouth go dry.

“You look good.” Jamie goes for casual.

“Thank you, you too,” she smiles at him.

“So…” How is it that Jamie has spent every waking hour thinking about what he’s going to say to Y/n, but every time she’s in front of him, no words can come out of his mouth?

Fortunately, Y/n spares him the awkwardness. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, yeah. Won the match yesterday.”

“That’s great! Who were you playing with?” Jamie can’t tell if she really cares or is just asking to be polite.

“Brentford.” Y/n is smiling and nodding, Jamie recognizes this one. “You don’t know who they are, do you?”

“No idea,” she chuckles. “But you won, so I guess they’re not as good, huh.”

“Maybe we’re just that good.”

“We, as in AFC Richmond?” She teases.

“That’s a long story…”

“And there’s a reality show involved somewhere in there.”

“Oh my God, you saw that?” Jamie wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“Some parts of it. Honestly, Jamie, I thought I raised you better than that.”

“Not my finest moment.”

“But, hey, look at you now. Heard you’re playing for the national team now. And Roy Kent’s your manager! This is, like, your childhood wet dream.”

“It was not!”

“Is his poster still on your wall? Do not lie to me.” Y/n squints at him.

“I don’t live in that room anymore!”

“So it is still there.”

“Oh, fuck off!” They both laugh. And it feels so fucking good. Just like the old times – Y/n teasing him, laughing together, just talking like two friends.

“Okay, that’s not fair. I don’t know anything about you,” Jamie starts again after their little laugh break. “How have you been? I mean, running a gallery? That’s awesome.”

“Well, I don’t run it. I’m just a curator. But yeah, it is pretty cool. I’ve been doing alright.”

“Never thought I’d see you living in England again, to be honest.”

A weird look flickers in Y/n’s eyes before she puts her perfect smile back in place. “Yeah, well, it was a long way. Loved Paris, and, God, Amsterdam was great, but in the end I decided to be closer to my family.”

Jamie beams. “How’s Natalie? How’s Amelia? She’s what, fourteen now?”

“Fifteen. God, she’s a handful.”

“It runs in the family,” Jamie says with a cheeky grin.

Y/n snorts. “Evidently.”

“Mom said you sold your house.”

“Oh, yeah, it was, like, five years ago. Nat finally decided to move to London. Oh my God, how’s Georgie? Her and Simon still together?”

“She’s good, yes. They got married!”

“Oh, that’s great! Told you he’s a good guy!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. She asks about you sometimes, you know.”

“Well, tell her that I’m doing well and sending her my best wishes.”

“Will do.” Jamie and Y/n smile warmly at each other across the table.

They end up talking for hours. Jamie tells Y/n about meeting Roy for the first time, about his Richmond teammates, and (by Y/n’s demand) about Keeley. Y/n tells him crazy stories from her university years, about all the places she’s lived in before moving to London, and about the struggles of raising a teenager.

When it gets late and they walk out of the restaurant, Jamie offers to give Y/n a ride again, which she accepts this time.

Jamie stops by her place, and they exchange goodbyes. “Tell Natalie and Meli I said hi. Would love to see them some time too.”

“I’ll tell them. It was nice seeing you, Jamie,” she smiles at him.

“Yeah, you too.” Y/n reaches for the door handle when Jamie speaks up again. “Wait.” She looks back at him. “Can I ask you something?” A nod. “You knew all this stuff, like who I play for and, uh, other. How?”

Y/n huffs a laugh. “You’re not exactly a low profile person. Sometimes Nat would say something, since she was more subjected to the Premier League news… and certain reality shows.” Jamie internally cringes at the thought that Y/n’s sister has seen it too. “And I have the Internet too, you know. Got curious a couple of times, wanted to see how you’re doing, so I googled you. Pretty convenient.”

“Right.” Knowing that Y/n has thought of him over those past years too, even enough to look him up, gives Jamie the courage to ask the question that he’s dreaded hearing the answer for. “You’re not mad at me?”

“For what?” Y/n asks genuinely.

“For the way I… for how I acted back then.” Y/n understands what he means.

She doesn’t seem to share Jamie’s inner turmoil regarding the past, though. “It was a long time ago, Jamie. People fall apart, it happens.”

“But not us,” Jamie says desperately. “It was my fault. And I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Y/n regards him for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, then she nods. “Okay.”

“Do you think we can be friends again?” Jamie asks hopefully.

“If you want.”

“I do!”

“You have my number,” she smiles at him one last time.

—

You sigh as you drop the keys on the hall tree and take off your shoes. You hear the noise coming from the living room, and when you walk in there, you find Amelia stretched on the couch, surrounded by a bunch of empty takeout boxes, watching TV. “Glad you’re enjoying your night,” you greet her.

“I left you a piece of cake,” she nods towards the bitten slice of cake that she clearly just couldn't finish.

“That’s so kind of you,” you say with obvious irony.

“Did you enjoy yours?” she grins at you.

“It was alright.”

“Just alright?”

You sit on the arm of the couch. “Kinda weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Like when you watch the first two seasons of a show and then go straight to season twelve. The faces are familiar, but you have no idea what the fuck is going on.”

“Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who does this, but I get what you mean. Did you do a recap? You know, like a ‘previously on…’?”

“Yeah, something like that. But, you know, it’s been a while.” She nods thoughtfully. You look at the TV screen, some action movie playing there. “What are you watching?”

“Uncharted.”

“Tom Holland game movie?”

“Mhm. I can finish later, you wanna watch something together?”

“Sure, just let me go change.”

You change into your home clothes and join Amelia on the couch.

“You never said why you stopped talking. I remember he was always around, and then he just wasn’t,” she says while you’re watching the Disney+ loading screen.

“Well, I moved to Paris, and he started playing full-time. And then he just kinda… ghosted me.”

“Asshole.”

You snort. “I know, right? He apologized, actually. Didn’t expect that.”

“You’re going to see him again?” She starts scrolling through the suggested shows.

“I don’t know. Maybe. He offered us to come to a match if you want.”

“Maybe,” Amelia replies noncommittally. “The Mandalorian?” She clicks on the show’s icon.

“Yes.” You pick up the uneaten piece of cake and lean back onto the couch cushions, resting your feet on the side table. Now, that’s a man that you’re always happy to see.

A/N: writing this fic while i’m dying inside and falling behind on my uni deadlines😗✌️

[st-danger]

Happy belated birthday, @endopyre! Thanks for sharing your art. Have a little ficlet. <3

Rain likes Ifrit, very much. He likes that he folds so easily, that he can be so much larger and stronger than Rain, but becomes a simpering mess the moment Rain applies the correct kind of pressure. He likes that Ifrit gets stupid.

It's a nice look on him, desperation. Needy and willing to say or do anything to have Rain's help getting his dick wet. It hasn't been going on very long, this thing they have; the sheer amount of what he lets Rain leverage against him, the way he demands supplication and, quite honestly, suffering, is an incredible gift for such a new connection. He's heard enough gossip to know that isn't Ifrit's usual role, and derives immense satisfaction for knowing he's the exception.

He can see where his cock is pressed against the seam of his pants. Not painful, yet, but it will be.

"C'mon," Ifrit wheedles, pressing himself close, nuzzling in to kiss the soft skin of Rain's neck. He tilts his head to allow better access, and sighs when they turn open mouthed and sucking. Just under his jaw, down the side. The barest scrape of teeth. A tongue, warmer than is normal licking his earlobe and then up his ear- he jolts with it, a quick inhale and soft sigh. Ifrit reaches to lay a heavy hand on his thigh, stroke it up towards Rain's cock, close, closer- and then back down. "C'mon, baby. Just touch it a little. You make it feel so good." His hand barely grazes over his lap, a little hint.

Rain shrugs him off easily and adjusts, shifting to the end of the couch, just out of reach. It's something you'd expect a cat to do. Rain's certainly no cat, but he's got his claws into Ifrit, at any rate.

"What's in it for me?" Rain asks, voice light. Curious. He props an elbow on the arm of the couch, rests his head on it. Casual, which makes Ifrit go slightly insane given how worked up he is. He gawps at Rain's question. With a groan, he gives a half-hearted reach and then leans heavy against the back of the couch, wearing his most pitiable, sad eyes.

"Getting to cum?" he asks. Slightly confused. He has to be forgiven for not being quicker witted at the moment; Rain has been too teasing for too long and the scope of his attention has been narrowed down to the aching in his balls.

"I can make myself cum," Rain reminds him. "What are you going to do for me?"

How are you going to be useful, is what Rain means, and Ifrit knows it. What, exactly, can he give him that the others can't?

"You love the way I touch your cock," he says, and reaches down to cup himself. Give Rain a nice eyeful of the bulge he grabs. It's showy, but he likes the display. Thick and hard in his pants just from the small amount of making out and petting they've done since getting back to Rain's room. They both know where this is going, but Rain's never been interested in making things easy. Ifrit's attractive, but much more so when he's whining with need.

"I can touch myself," Rain dismisses again. He lets his face morph into something less amused, more aloof. Slightly disinterested. Puts a little spice on the end by glancing over at his door like he's considering leaving. The little gesture has the intended effect; Ifrit makes a small, uncertain noise low in his throat, and is shoving himself off the couch to kneel before Rain, reaching to rub his thighs once more, inching closer to his lap this time.

"Oh?" Rain lilts, privately pleased that he's there without needing to be told.

"Want my mouth?" Ifrit says, and his voice is darker, silkier. Tempting. "Can't tell me you can manage that on your own." Rain pretends to consider, and stares back at Ifrit for a hair too long, enough to make him shift where he's seated, nervy. He continues, "I'll drool on it, if you want. And I'll swallow."

Rain can't help the throb. It's the offer of something messy that he can't resist. When he gets frustrated enough, he's cried before. Not full body sobbing, but errant tears that streak down his face. Not a bad concept to pair that with spit covering his lips and chin.

Carefully, he adjusts himself, leans against the back of the couch, and extends a leg. Planting a foot directly in front of his knees.

"You can get yourself off first." And it's the first real smile he's given Ifrit so far tonight, watching the dawning realization. He presses his hands into his lap once more, searching for some touch that will lessen his ache, if only a little.

"Oh, c'mon," he whines. "You can't be serious."

Rain is, and Ifrit will hump away until he gets sweaty by his hairline, chasing an orgasm that is so difficult for him to achieve this way. He'll grunt and moan and beg for more that he won't get. They've done this before. It's not a secret.

With a wider smile now, Rain rubs his foot against Ifrit's cock and steals a noise. He does it again and feels it move under his sole.

"Your choice," he says, like Ifrit isn't already leaning to brace himself on the cushions.

[henrysglock]

Because they blocked me instead of taking it straight from the horse's mouth that they misinterpreted the entirety of Papa Warbucks, I'd like to deconstruct the other things that particular "critique" took issue with, which I had saved to my phone so I could address when I had time. I did that while I had them unblocked/before they blocked me, because honestly I did want them to see my explanations.

Alas, here we are.

Number 1:

This just in. No more daddy kink. Pack it up, guys...let's go home...the kink police are here...

Also, to be clear, it was Henry who did that in PW. It wasn't even something Martin suggested Henry do. Henry's just a little freak who likes to press buttons to see what they do because, in keeping with TFS, Martin refers to his father as Papa. Henry can tell Martin's got daddy issues out the wazoo, it's something they discussed not even half an hour prior, and the poor guy just. blurts it out. It's not like Martin was there rubbing his grubby hands together like "uhuhuhu can I coerce Henry into calling me Papa in bed? uhuhuh". It was very much something on Henry's end.

(However, regarding Henry's button-pushing when he's lacking inhibitions, see also: Henry addressing Martin as "Captain" as a joke, which is a play on the whole "Martin's dad wouldn't approve" thing from earlier in the night. It's a bit.)

Number 2:

Martin Brenner may have been a psychiatrist by trade, but that didn't mean he couldn't recognize a work of art when he saw one.

Martin loved his job, no doubt; the human mind was his passion.

Bro...this is what he does for a living. It's his career. He's never met a puzzle he couldn't solve. He's fascinated by Henry. What a terrible thing. A tragedy, truly, and godawful abuse towards Henry, too. /s

Also, here's the "pouncing on mommy issues and insecurities" in question:

"My mother would say it's one of those ideas that kept me out of the good schools." Oh, there's something. Martin wanted to tug on that thread. A bit daring, especially for a first (and possibly only) date, but it was worth tucking away for later. If there was something he loved, it was taking people apart like puzzles.

"I mean, it was a joke, technically...but it would be kinda interesting to find out what, collectively, is wrong with the lot of us." Martin's reply, in all its blunt, factual glory, was out before he could stop it. "Autism, primarily." The shocked blink that greeted him in the rearview narrowed into amused incredulity as they breezed through the parking lot. "Is this a dinner date or a diagnosis?" Henry snarked, the bite of his tone undermined by the teasing twist of his lips. "Did my mother put you up to this?" Nevermind. Threads exist to be pulled. The backstory lurking behind his date's doe eyes was proving to be an irresistible treat. "That's the second time you've mentioned your mother, Henry. Tell me—is she not pleased that you're attending to the best art school in the country?"

The man literally just wants to know the dirt on Virginia CreeI, yes because it will tell him more about Henry, but also because he's a nosy cunt who likes knowing about the Drama. What a crime. How predatory.

Henry gives it back in kind, though ("Is this a date or a diagnosis?"), and he's very much aware of Martin's tendency to play detective. Henry's not stupid.

Rein it in, idiot. Henry's inner monologue had always been his most scathing critic; it was no different now, as he rounded the front of the town car and willed himself to stop yapping. Forget being trans, this is why no one wants to date you. Remember what Mom said about you and emotional labor? Martin's a psychiatrist, he can smell that stuff a mile away—

And regarding seeing Henry as an experiment, here's the only section where that comes up:

I wonder who made him so reluctant to let people spoil him, Martin thought as he watched the young man across from him fiddle with his napkin. No doubt it's his mother. Perhaps it was the doctor in him, but Henry's attitude towards having money spent on him only made Martin want to dote on him more, to see if he could get him to accept generosity without attaching guilt to it. What had started out as the prelude to one nice meal for a pretty, starving artist was rapidly progressing into a full-fledged experiment, and the best place to start with an experiment was questions. "So, Henry," he broke the brief silence that had fallen between them, "What area of art do you study? Animation, painting..." As expected, the open-ended question had Henry tearing his eyes off the square of maroon fabric in his lap.

The "experiment" in question:

Martin views the thing in general as "how much money can I get away with spending on a nice young man", but there's also a definite aspect of him genuinely liking Henry as a person.

Rather, it was that he had no idea how much he would enjoy Henry’s company on its own, all else aside. He was awkward, obviously, but he was also funny and almost painfully genuine; there was a charm to it all that Martin suspected most people couldn’t evade. "You know, maybe I ought to take you back to Rochester with me after all," he mused, more to himself than to Henry...

Christ. Maybe he wasn't too far off with that basement thing earlier. He shook his head, a little helpless. I met him this afternoon and I'd already like him to be a permanent fixture in my life. I need to get ahold of myself.

And yes, the secret basement laboratory is a running joke. Henry started it.

“Is that funny?” “No! No. I just…You are taking me to dinner, right? You didn’t pick me up at a con to lock me up in your secret underground asylum and study my brain or something, right?” Henry’s giggles slipped into outright laughter, the awkward tension in the car ebbing away as Martin found himself incapable of restraining a smile of his own. “No, Henry. Unfortunately,” he sincerely hoped the young man in his backseat could read the sarcasm in his tone, “I don’t have an underground asylum to lock you away in.” “Oh my God, wouldn’t that be just the thing, though.” Henry cleared his throat and adopted what Martin assumed to be his best impression of a hoity-toity doctor, “‘Longitudinal Study of Midwest Comic-Con Attendees’ Brain Abnormalities’.”

What a travesty, overall. 500 lashes for James Henrysglock.

Number 3:

Girl (gn) please.

It happens 7 times (I re-counted), and one of them was "20-something year old boy" like. That's an adult. You ever heard of older people referring to younger men as boys? People calling it "boy troubles" even when they're in college? No? Okay.

You know how many times Martin refers to Henry as a whole-ass man, though? 12 times.

There's also a whole bit about Martin sitting there worrying because he didn't double check that Henry was old enough to drink. Everyone here knows Henry's a grown ass man.

Mountain of a molehill makin' ass. Christ.

Also, Henry is not at all naive. He knows what he's about.

See:

Henry making the choice, unprompted, to bring protection

He glanced at the bedside digital clock. Seven-ten. He could feel a ball of something nervous and fluttery taking root in the pit of his stomach, the kind that made him feel the need to shake like a wet dog to shed the excess energy. Oh god. Would it be too presumptuous of me to stick a condom in my pocket? He’d never even know if we didn’t…y’know. But if we did, maybe it would come off as thoughtful? Easy? Smart? Full of myself? The clock read seven-fifteen. Henry dug around in his suitcase and produced the single little foil package he’d stuck in there just on the remote chance someone wanted to screw him. It stared him right in the face, pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Better safe than sorry. Right? I should just. Hoo-boy. I’m doing this. Seven-twenty-two. Henry shoved the condom in his front-right pocket as fast as he could, like he was ripping off a band-aid.

Henry reading Martin like a fucking BOOK

Maybe he went into psych stuff to spite his dad, or maybe to figure out what his damage was. Maybe he was an army kid, I know vets aren't always chill about psych stuff. After all, he seems about the right age to have had a dad who went to Vietnam. ... I may have been right about him being a military kid. "What, did he expect you to join the army or something?" "Navy, actually. He was a captain himself, and I suppose he expected I'd follow in his footsteps." Henry wanted to smile at the fact that he'd been right, but he figured it wouldn't exactly be appropriate for the situation and briefly sucked his lower lip into his mouth instead.

What I believe that point from the "critique" is picking up on is that Henry's inexperienced. He's a virgin. He's 21. Thus, he doesn't know how sex normally goes. He's awkward. He doesn't know jack shit about wine selections, other than "cheap and fruity is best".

Also...I'm not sure if OP missed it, but "easily flustered" is one of Henry's BIGGEST character traits. He's a nervous overthinker, a rambler, a dog in a "NERVOUS" vest. He doesn't know how to take praise gracefully. He says cringeworthy things and immediately kicks himself over it.

And yes, Martin thinks it's cute. Because it is cutesy behavior. Read any sugar mommy/daddy fic, and I guarantee they'll see a flustered sugar baby as something worth fawning over. That's part of the genre, I fear.

As for people being under the impression that they're father and son? THAT'S ANOTHER RUNNING JOKE. IT'S A BIT.

It starts in the very first section with Martin being put off by Virginia and thinking that he'd put Henry up in a nicer hotel if he were in her shoes.

“Hilton? God, no. I was lucky my dad talked my mom into putting me up at the ‘8.” If he were my son, he’d be put up in a suite on-site, Martin groused internally. Logically, he knew it was irrational to try and coerce Henry into moving rooms, and that the Hilton likely had no rooms left regardless. That didn’t mean it didn’t irk him anyway.

And then Henry jokes about their age gap re: booze

"D'you think they'll card me?" Maybe Henry wasn't over the legal drinking age, then. It wasn't unheard of for someone to be twenty years old at the end of their junior year. Perhaps Henry was born in September and would be turning twenty-one shortly after beginning his senior year...or maybe he'd graduated high school early. He was attending a prestigious school, after all. Martin swallowed down and staunchly ignored the odd gut-punch feeling that realization came with, and peeked across the table over top of the menu. "Just precautionary, nothing more." "I mean," Henry cocked a mischievous eyebrow, "you could always just say you're my dad. That makes it legal, right?" Recovering quickly from the momentary shock of hearing a statement like that come out of his date's mouth (and as if he hadn't had thoughts along the exact same lines himself just that afternoon) Martin coughed a little and shook his head. "No, no. I'm afraid Indiana is a little too...conservative for parental permission allowances." "Eugh," Henry scrunched his nose like a bunny, vague disgust playing out across his face as he dug his wallet out, "That's a bummer. It's a good thing I'm twenty-one, then, huh?"

It's the same as going "Do I still pass for 12?" about a goddamn kids menu. IT'S A BIT.

Then, the server assumes they're related because of the age gap. This is a play on married couples being mistaken for blood family.

"Is this going to be on one card, or are you splitting it with your...son?" "...One card will suffice." From across the table, he could feel Henry's eyes trained on his face as he tucked his credit card into the folder. Son. That's...hm. Well. Third time's the charm, I suppose. "Very good. I'll have this right back for you." As soon as the server was back out of range, Martin let himself look back over at Henry, who was still watching him with a sly smile. "Not gonna correct him?" "I wasn't the one who suggested that I play your father on the off chance you didn't bring your ID." Henry shrugged with his eyebrows, a quick up-down of acquiescence. "Touché. Thank you for paying."

And Martin returns the joke that Henry started. IT'S A BIT. IT'S AN INSIDE JOKE.

And when it happens a second time, but without the ability to joke about it, Henry is offended and has half a mind to correct the receptionist before deciding it's not worth the time. (Because he's wise enough to know he's never going to see this person again, so why bother?)

"Creel? Room twenty-two? That room doesn't have an outstanding balance on it." "...What?" "Yeah. A man came by and paid it. He said he knew you. Tall, about six-two, maybe six-three? Brown hair, middle aged? The last name on the card was, uh..." he tapped a few keys, and then squinted down at the computer, "Brenner." Henry's response was out before he could stop it. "You're shitting me." "Nope. I have better things to do than lie to teenagers. Take it up with yer Pop." He would have sputtered indignantly, but he thought better of it when he realized it was simpler to just nod and go on his way than try to explain to the receptionist that no, Martin wasn't his father, he was some well-off guy he'd met at a comic con who seemed to have taken a special liking to him after they'd slept together.

Also, has no one ever heard of calling someone a child to be nasty to them/to tell them that they're being annoying? That is what's happening, here.

The "son" thing was a BIT. It was a JOKE. and as soon as Henry can't joke about it, he's upset by the assumption. He's not happy people assume the two of them are father and son. Christ.

Also, parting notes:

I sure hope you didn't keep those poor people held up for over an hour. Sounds fake anyway, like one of those old tumblr posts with "and everyone in the grocery store cheered".

Also...have you ever heard of the term "hate-fucking"? It's kind of a pillar of fandom.

Okay, that's all I have to say. Cheers!

[captain-danwilds]

I am here once again, awakening from my death like slumber, to ask for more Fox RA, if you would - @jtl-fics

Exy RA. Extra long snippet because I am enraptured by everything you write, and I also took forever to post something.

“You look like a crazy person.”  Lou leaned against the door frame. “Don’t you think this is a bit much?”   

Sam’s room was a complete mess.  She was willing to admit that.  Yes, she may have picked up too many poster boards from the student union.  And her personal collection of art supplies was too large due to her ADHD convincing her that surely the right tool would be the thing that improved her artistic prowess.   (Talent wasn't gained through hard work and a willingness to make mistakes.  That would be stupid she just needed the right tool.)

So, there she sat on the floor.  Three mostly finished posters were spread out to her left. A notebook with a list of slogan options both personalized and basic, sat on her left. A metric shitton of markers, pencils, glitter, and questionable stencils were piled on top of everything. She’d already finished “#2 makes our Day,” “Shut it Down Twinyards,” and variations of “Let’s go” for about half of the team.  Those sat in a neat-ish stack behind her. Sam was acutely aware that by the time she was done, she would have more signs than she had friends. 

She was willing to admit her room was a mess. She was not willing to admit Lou was right.  That was going too far.

“Are you planning on doing this for all the games?” 

Sam stopped erasing the pencil mark slightly to the left of the bubble letters on the sign for Josten to stare her friend down.   “The first one’s important.”

“Sure but if you do this for the Exy kids, you’re going to have to do it for the others too so they don’t think you’re playing favorites.”

Sam shrugged and picked up the orange marker again. 

 “Tell me you know how long a swim meet is.”

“Dual or invitational?  Because there’s a big difference.”

“Oh God they’ve gotten to you.”

“I’m just trying to take an interest in what’s important to the kids.”

“There’s taking an interest and there’s being obsessive.”

“Are you here to help or are you just here to mock me?”

Lou grumbled.  “Yeah, yeah pass me the glitter.”

Sam looked at him with wide eyes shocked he would even suggest such a thing.  “Hell no.  We’re doing that outside.  I’m not going to be waking up to craft store herpes for the rest of the year.” 

[onthatbkdkbs]

"Holy fuck," Katsuki blurts suddenly and rather loudly, because for all that he's been a fucking ace at everything he's tried since he was old enough to walk, he somehow still hasn't mastered the art of volume control, "I'm in love with that little shit.”

From across the library table that they're (reluctantly, on Katsuki's part) sharing, Todoroki barely reacts. He scribbles down a few more meticulously crafted notes on the bullshit hero politics course they're being forced to take and says, quiet and distracted, "I should hope so. Haven't you been together for awhile now?"

"What??? No?”

Katsuki screeching at near-maximum volume is apparently enough to actually get the bastard's full attention, as heterochromatic eyes deign to lift away from the neat scrawl on his notebook paper in order to level him with a look that's more flat than anything, but skirts the edges of annoyance all the same. Guy's a freak like that, and Katsuki can't figure out how he does it. "Come on, Bakugou. I'm not blind. Or deaf. He gushes about you and your supposed 'manliness' all the time."

"WHAT," Katsuki shouts, because seriously, what. The librarian shoots him a nasty look and he just barely resists the burning urge to give her the finger. That hag has some serious pull around here, as he unfortunately learned the last time he pissed her off and received two full weeks of detention for his efforts—most of which he had to spend being one of Dominatrix-sensei's personal bitch boys. And if that wasn't bad enough, Ball Head had served almost as many detentions as Katsuki had. He still shudders just thinking about that whole fiasco. Not fucking worth it. He manages to lower his voice to hiss, "are you actually talking about Kirishima right now," right at Todoroki's stupid, blank face without causing any more of a scene.

"Well, yes. Who else would I be talking about?" IcyHot pauses with a blink upwards, as though an alternate answer will drop from the ceiling and bash him over his stupid candy-cane colored head if he thinks about it hard enough (likely not, but Katsuki might hit him anyway. On principle). None is apparently forthcoming, so he glances back at Katsuki with a shrug. "But from your reaction, I'm assuming I'm off the mark. So…Kaminari?"

Shit, now that's just insulting. To both of them, even. Katsuki would be willing to bet serious cash that they'd both rather drop dead than somehow fall in love with each other. This idiot, he thinks. What a goddamn joke.

"NO, dumbass. Not Dunce-Face.”

"...Sero?"

There comes a flash of something that could be interesting to consider in Todoroki's mismatched eyes as he mentions the Human Tape Dispenser, or would be if only Katsuki wasn't preoccupied with NOT leaping across the table to strangle this dumb bastard with his bare hands. Instead, he very calmly says, in his calmest voice, really, really calmly, "ARE YOU STUPID. NO. IT'S DEKU, YOU FUCKING HALF-N-HALF WIT.”

"If I'm a half and half wit, doesn't that actually imply I'm a whole wi—”

"For fuck's sake," Katsuki cuts him off with a groan, letting his forehead drop against the cool wooden grain of their study table with a thunk. He'd rather glare a hole through the tabletop right now on the off chance he suddenly develops the ability to explode people (Todoroki, namely) with his eyes. He can't afford to add a manslaughter charge onto his current list of problems. Being in love with Deku is problem enough.

Actually, it's probably the biggest problem he's ever had.

"Are you….okay?" Turd-oroki asks him, seeming curiously wary but looking more constipated than anything. The words sound strange as they pass through the space between them, strained and sour as though Strawberry Shortcake is having some sort of sudden internal crisis about the idea of trying to comfort Katsuki, of all people. Can't really blame him. Katsuki doesn't know how to comfort himself, either. Never has. "You seem…off."

"Off." Katsuki huffs, though he doesn't bother denying it. "Brilliant fuckin' analysis. Screw being a hero, you should be a goddamn therapist.”

There's a pause, like either Todoroki is actually considering a career change or maybe just considering bashing Katsuki over the head with his textbook to put them both out of their misery, and then he says, quietly and with palpable concern, "you seem really off. You didn't even tell me to go to hell just now."

"Go to hell," Katsuki mumbles after the fact. Any vitriol that would otherwise sharpen his voice is tempered by the way his cheek is still smushed morosely against the table. Even Katsuki can't remain intimidating while feeling so pathetic, though he can't bring himself to care much. Not when he feels like this, sick and hot and twisted up inside. "Eat shit and die. Shut the fuck up and get out."

Todoroki ignores all that, which…fair. "Do you…want to talk about it?"

"No.”

"Are you sure?" As Katsuki finally sits up, all the better to glare at him, IcyHot leans forward a bit and gives him the single most horrifying look of commiseration Katsuki's ever experienced in his shitty life. He's obviously trying to empathize with Katsuki in some way, and even seems to be managing it, and this is… Well, it's too pathetic to stand any longer. He doesn't want to have this conversation. He can't believe he'd been stupid enough to open his fat mouth and blurt this shit out in the first place. Why can't he ever keep his fuckin' mouth shut when it counts?

He does keep it shut, now. He can't think of a thing to say. Nothing that doesn't make him sound like a lovesick loser. Instead, he meets Todoroki's probing gaze and shrugs. He can't be sure of anything, anymore.

Under the table, Katsuki's hands ball into tight fists, fingernails digging savagely into his palms. It eases some of the tension in him as the skin breaks, as though the confusion and longing and misery he's stubbornly holding inside is escaping through the cuts little by little, like air from a sad, deflating pool toy.

He feels a bit like that, right now. Collapsing into himself and wilting from the steady force of gravity. Inescapable. Inevitable. Inexorable. A weight that doesn't push, but pulls—a force that reels you in so gently that you barely even notice it's happening. Not until you're already falling.