#i think harding cares about him a bit too much

[heeikeuu]

In Your Embrace Is My Solitude

» how lads men comfort you during a panic attack

» pairing – lads x fem!reader

» genre – fluff, comfort, romance

» warnings – blood, panic attacks, teeny tiny angst, violence (please let me know if I missed anything)

note: my first official lads fic! Sorry for any typos in advance, enjoy!

ZAYNE:

Returning from a rough mission, you were badly injured and needed to attend to your wounds immediately. However you couldn't stop thinking about how you childishly fought with your fiance this morning because he kept telling you to not go alone on this mission but you argued back that you weren't a little girl and could handle yourself. But those words came to bite you right in the ass as you returned home at 1:30am covered in blood. It was hard to tell if it was mostly your blood or the wanderers. You weakly made your way to the hallway. You were nervous to face Zayne because you didn't want to burden your already tired and hard-working fiance, knowing he already does so much for you. What you didn't know is that he was sitting in the living room, worried sick, waiting for you. Your body froze seeing him. He looked at you and felt his heart drop. He instantly made his way to you, "What happened? Darling, are you alright? Why are you covered in blood?" His questions were rushing, but you could barely hear him anymore. Your anxiety spiked up further as you buried your face in his warmth. Zayne wasn't sure if he should hold you or not because he didn't want to make your injuries worse, but then he heard faint sobs and "I'm sorrys." Leave your lips. His heart ached, but he held back his tongue from scolding you. Instead, he gently inspected your body and held you. Your knees felt weak, and so did your entire body. Before you could collapse, Zayne carried you to the bedroom to care for your wounds and clean you up. Your body was still shaking as he wiped off the blood. Though Zayne wasn't a man of many words, he gently held your hand, "Next time, I'll be more careful, I'm sorry." You told him sincerely, "there is no need to apologize, darling. There will be no next time, I won't let you get hurt like this ever again."

SYLUS:

The night was very lively. You would argue too lively as the air felt stuffy. You had agreed to attend a charity event with your lover. However, you underestimated just how well known he would be during this event. You felt very uneasy, like eyes were on you almost as if they were trying to cut through the depths of your soul. Feeling your ears ringing as you were spacing out without realize. Suddenly, you felt a warm hand hold your own which was clamy, looking up you notice it was Sylus, he looked at you knowingly with a soft gaze and squeezed your hand twice, asking you if you're okay. You didn't want to ruin the night, so you simply nodded and flashed the best fake smile you could muster up, but he wasn't convinced. Pulling you towards his chest, he whispers to you, "Honey, if you're not feeling, we can always go home. There is no pressure to stay here, and I'm not going anywhere." His words eased your heart, making you calm down a bit more. Looking up at him, you no longer wanted to protest. Scared to use your voice, you just nodded again. He gently yet with a firm grip took your hand again and led you to his car to go home. His job was done for the night, and his wife was his top priority no matter what.

CALEB:

Waking up from a nightmare, you felt your sweaty body shake as you were trying to process that it wasn't real. Your hand instinctively reached out to your right side, expecting to feel your boyfriend next to you. However, you don't. You felt your anxiety spike up even more. You hadn't even bothered to check your phone or the time. You quickly got up from your shared bed and went to look for Caleb. You looked everywhere and couldn't find him. Tears flooded your vision further, scared that something happened to him like it did in your nightmare. What if he got into a fight with wanderers like the ones in you saw, you started pacing, heart pounding, hyperventilating now with tears streaming down your face because you remember the last thing you said to your boyfriend was that you couldn't promise to live a 100 years with him. After 2 minutes passed, you didn't seem to notice the soft click of the apartment door opening and closing, caleb came into view. Shocked at your state. Without hesitation, he immediately set down the groceries he got to make breakfast for you on the ground and ran up to check on you. Your body froze once you saw him and immediately ran into his arms. He held you protectively, "shhhh, I'm here, angel. Look at me, yeah?" He spoke ever so gently as he held your face in his hands. Looking at him, through your blurred vision, you see him kiss your tears away, his warmth a sharp contrast to how cold your body felt. "Do you want a distraction or a hug, angel?" He asked carefully, "a hug," you whispered. He held you until you calmed down and soon made you both breakfast to eat as it was 6am.

XAVIER:

You didn't mean to, but you had been spacing out too often today. You felt uneasy and kept trying to distract yourself however you could. You and Xavier were cuddling on the couch, watching old films together, but as Xavier was talking to you and explaining the movie's plot, you kept absentmindedly nodding. He eventually caught on and grabbed your chin, making you face him. "What's wrong, starlight? You've been out of it since this morning," He asked sweetly while carefully observing your body language. He noticed. He saw the way your eyes got ever so glossy, how your hands were sweaty, your fast heartbeat, and how you tried to discreetly stop your legs from shaking. You tried to speak but kept stuttering, "deep breaths, slowly." He talked you through it while holding your cheek with one hand and your waist with the other, bringing impossibly closer to him. You had trouble controlling your mind and often had panic attacks due to your intrusive thoughts. They always came unexpectedly and you couldn't stop them. You had been suppressing your feelings since this morning, but you ended up breaking down in front of your boyfriend. Tears were streaming down your face, "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me today," you voice muffled as he brought you to his chest, softly petting your hair and rocking back and forth with you in his arms. "It's okay, starlight. I'm not mad, I won't go anywhere, and yes I made sure to turn off the stove earlier" he joked at the last part making you giggle softly at his attempt to make you smile. You stayed like that for a while, feeling whole and safe in his arms.

RAFAYEL:

You were out with your friends having a great time after not seeing them for a long time, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of someone's piercing gaze on you. You brushed it off a few times. It's probably nothing, you thought to yourself as you excused yourself to the bathroom to wash up. Your heels clicking, but you were on high alert of your surroundings. Too high that you got lost in your mind, "going somewhere, miss?" An eerie voice spoke, flinching slightly. You look up and notice a strange man looking at you like you were deer caught in his trap. His smile got wider as he stepped closer to you. Shit what do I do, I don't have my weapons on me, you notice he had a knife, trapped between his large body, you felt your body and mind panic, you felt the cold dagger pressed closer to your pulse point drawing some blood in its awake. You tried to rack your brain on how to escape this situation swiftly, "You tell that lousy boyfriend of yours to not meddle in my business," the man threatened with a crazy look in his eyes. Rafayel? As if on que, your thoughts came to a halt as you heard his voice, the next few seconds were all a blur as you saw the man being pinned against the hallway walls with a deadly grip, "touching a woman without permission is a lousy move," Rafayel's voice said mockingly, "but touching my woman without her permission is a death wish." He spoke as the man cried in fear apologizing again and again. Rafayel wasn't having any of it. He threw the man onto the ground roughly before his gaze softened as he turned to look at you. Holding you in his arms, "shhh, it's okay, cutie, I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you, yeah?" His tone ever so sweet and soft. Your shaking body slowly calmed down afterward. Part of you knew that if you weren't here right now, that man would've been killed off in cold blood, yet you weren't scared of Rafayel. You knew he could never hurt you or let anyone hurt you.

Special tag; @imaluvsj7

© heeikeuu | likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡

[revelboo]

I feel like getting a protoform for starscream/reader/megs' sparkling is Probably going to involve asking shockwave. And he is probably going to have Views about the whole situation

Shockwave is just deeply offended by all of this. His primary goal is the perpetuation and survival of his race, though

Everything Is Alright Pt 125

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Why do you feel like you just threw your whole species under the bus while trying to save them? Though, being a valuable resource has to be better than being expendable. Right? Groaning, you lay your forehead against Soundwave’s chassis. Still angry with all three of them, but too exhausted right now to deal with any of it. And really hating aliens. “I’m still mad at you both,” you manage when Star pulls you back into his arms. Hating that you want to relax into him, because you miss him. Even if he’s sometimes awful. A lot of the time. He’s home.

• Surprised when Soundwave allows him to pull you close, he turns you in his arms, gripping your chin to tip it up. And there’s so much he wants to say. Needs to say, but it’s hard with the other mech right there listening in. Still hurting that his spark, the one he’d created with you is somehow being carried by Megatron now. That he hadn’t been there for you and Megatron had. “I know,” he whispers, brushing his lips against your forehead. Had forgotten you in his anger, hadn’t taken care of you like he should have. Like you deserved. And you’d turned to Megatron for help. His worst enemy saving the only thing that really matters to him. You. There’s two things now, though aren’t there? You and his sparkling. “I’m so sorry.”

• Venting softly at the unexpected apology, Soundwave wasn’t sure that Starscream knew how to apologize. And he’s on the outside looking in again as the Seeker cups your cheek. Knowing you’ll forgive him, because you seem unable to not forgive him. Every time he hurts you without meaning to, without thinking about how his actions affect you, Soundwave’s spark aches for you a bit more. Because between Starscream and Megatron, you’ll always be trapped. Pulled in two different directions with no calm place to hide. Somehow you’d become so important to him, his goals shifting to include you. Thinking of things through a lens of if an action brings him closer to you, if it makes you safer. Right there and out of reach without endangering his cassettes.

• “I really can’t do this anymore,” you say, catching his wrist to pull his hand away from you. Need him to understand that you can’t take it. The fighting, the drama. The hurt. You love him. You thought you’d loved him, but now you’re more hurt than anything else. And you still want to believe him when he says he’ll do better, but he never does. “I can’t.”

• Pulling you into him as you resist, he rests his chin on top of your head. Aware of Soundwave watching you as he tries to ignore him. You’re not his mate. He’d made sure of that and accidentally driven you into Megatron’s arms. “I thought I was protecting you.” That’s not true, though. Shouldn’t have taken that partial bond from you knowing you care about Soundwave. He’d been jealous. Afraid of losing you to Soundwave. Insecure and he’s not sure that he can change, but he doesn’t want to keep hurting you. That future he longs for is still possible, just different than how he’d imagined it. “I love you.” And it’s hard to admit that, to say it out loud because it leaves him vulnerable. Waiting for you to say it back, because you still love him. You have to still love him. Don’t you?

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[miryum]

Simon Riley has a lot of weird little quirks that I couldn’t fit in any other fic idea

Simon Riley knows how to braid hair and braid it well. French, Dutch, fishtail, anything you wanted. Little tiny braids didn’t deter him either. He would sit on the couch, you standing or sitting between his thick thighs and glare silently in concentration as he braided your hair. He’s also able to pick up any hairstyle real easily. Show him some inspiration on Pinterest and he’ll be able to replicate it almost perfectly. Simon isn’t as good at buns because he can’t quite get how to twist his wrist just right, but give him a strand of hair and he loves to weave it between his fingers. It makes him feel close to you and he is so proud when you wear the braid all throughout the day

Simon Riley folds laundry with military precision and gets a little miffed if you fold the laundry wrong. He literally grumbles and mutters to himself and then re-folds the entire load. He tries to show you how to fold it, but you don’t care as much as him, so he just does it himself. Laundry and the majority of the cleaning goes to Simon because as much as he has qualms about the way you do laundry, don’t even get him started on the way you attempt to clean the house. It’s better for everyone if he just does it

Simon Riley likes to rub his face over your pillow. Especially before or after deployment, he’s like a cat. He circles your pillow in his beefy arms and just presses his cheek to it again and again. It’s like he’s scenting it so that when he goes away, you won’t forget him. You think it’s absolutely adorable and you like to scratch at his hair as he does it

Simon Riley has very strong opinions about Christmas lights. He likes to put them up every year because he grew up Catholic (though he’s now an atheist) and it reminds him of his childhood. He doesn’t really care whether the lights are all white or different colours, but he cannot stand it if they blink. It’s much too annoying and busy and he thinks it’s a cry for attention. It also doesn’t help that sometimes he sees them out of the corner of his eye and the red ones look like the lights on a bomb or the green ones like the call signal on a radio

Simon Riley likes to buy you jewellery. He likes to buy anything and everything that he thinks will look pretty on you. When he finds something with little birds on it, he can’t help but splurge because you’re his Birdie and he loves you

Simon Riley is really good at most any sport, you name it. Rugby, basketball, baseball, American football, the list goes on and on. But put a gun to his head and tell him to score a goal for football and he would take the bullet. There’s really no explanation for it. One could blame it on his utter behemoth size, but he’s able to dribble the basketball or swing at the baseball hurtling towards him, but his feet just trip over themselves as he tries to get the bloody football down the field. He hates that little black and white ball with a burning passion

Simon Riley who is actually pretty involved in the VA. He doesn’t go out and advocate for more funding or anything, but if he sees a homeless veteran, he definitely guides them in the right direction. He goes there once a week just to catch up with everyone. You think it’s very healthy that he’s establishing a community for himself and he really enjoys it – you can see it in his eyes after he comes home Simon Riley who needs to sleep on the couch sometimes after deployment. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold you close, but the mattress is sometimes a bit too soft for him after sleeping on the ground or in a hard cot for weeks on end. You usually end up joining him, just splaying out on his chest. After a night or two, he returns to his place in the bed, holding you close

Simon Riley has the 141 insignia tattooed on his bicep and then the numbers on his chest. He was going to put the numbers over his heart, but, a week before his appointment, he had met you and some little part of him told him to move the tattoo up three inches. He was very glad he decided to move it because a year later he had gotten your initials with a little bird tattooed right over his heart

[mononijikayu]

good old–fashioned lover boy — fushiguro megumi.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious. He sighed, bracing himself. “What?” “I like you.” His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of feminine pronouns, post-shinjuku showdown, post-hidden inventory arc, aged up fushiguro megumi, fluff, friends to lovers, romance, romantic relationship, pet names (babe, megs, kiddo, cactus, etc), humor, teasing, light-hearted, healthy relationship, being in love, slice of life, domestic life, living together, friendship, family, anxiety, self-doubt, encouragement, depictions of anxiety, depiction of healthy relationship, depiction of self-doubt, sorcerer! megumi, gojo! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: this went through so much adding, removing and editing cause i kept adding so much and i didn't want this to be something that was too long, considering i want people to not be impatient with me too,,,,,in any case, megumi beat his dad in the last poll season for valentines special which is funny but no worries, toji will appear in the 2.5k follower special!!! in any case, i hope you enjoy this, even a little bit. i love you all so much!!! <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

buono san valentino, 2025;

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HE NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD EVER GET TO THIS POINT. Even when he was young, he wondered what love really looked like. At least of what he could remember of it, he knows. He wasn’t an expert on love, per se.

But he had seen and experienced so many versions of it, each one different from the last, all passing through his rather short life one after the other. 

Some of it was truly a memory that would be worth forgetting, too messy and too complicated, tangled up in unspoken words and distance, yet still undeniably present. Others felt like they belonged to live forever, with its genuine warmth and its eager simplicity, yet always just out of reach. 

When he thinks about both of them, it feels like sunlight slipping through his fingers, like a home he could see but never fully step into. It was hard to express these feelings sometimes, because at times he doesn’t know if any words can encapsulate such overabundance and its extremes. He thinks about it often, how love can take on so many forms. 

How it can be obnoxiously proud and boisterously loud,like Gojo Satoru’s laughter echoing through any room when they’re together, or dazzlingly silent and resiliently tender, like the way his sister Tsumiki used to squeeze his hand just to let him know she was there when his father left.

Love can look a lot like sacrifice, like choosing someone else over yourself. It was just that way to him when you love someone. It can be fleeting, burning bright and disappearing before you ever get the chance to hold onto it.

And just as much, love has many colors, many words, many textures. It can be the rough scrape of bandages being wrapped around bruised knuckles, or the soft hush of a whispered be careful. 

It can be the weight of someone's winter coat draped over his shoulders when he didn’t even realize he was cold. It can be the exhaustion in someone’s voice when they say I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me—even when they clearly aren’t, even when they want to say it out loud.

For a long time, Fushiguro Megumi thought love was something you had to earn. He always thought that it was something you had to be worthy of in order to gain. That if you weren’t good enough, strong enough, or needed enough, it would slip away, leaving nothing but empty space where it once existed.

For as long as he could remember, Megumi carried a gnawing doubt within him. He couldn’t help it. There was a certainty in his soul that love was something distant, always out of reach.

No matter how much he was reminded he mattered, that doubt lingered like a shadow at the edges of his heart. He didn’t know where it came from exactly, only that it had burrowed deep inside, whispering that he was undeserving.

At times, he wondered if love was something some people were simply never born to have. Maybe it was a gift reserved for those with a past worth cherishing or a future worth hoping for.

He had neither. He didn’t even know how he had come into this world or who he was meant to be. How could someone who didn’t know themselves be worthy of love?

But then in his doubt, came the truth and that was named you.

You who was like the meteorite that crashed on his Earth.

You who was the universe he found himself alive for the first time.

And suddenly, the thought of love, the very word, feels like something else entirely. The word somehow finally made sense. Something he doesn’t have to chase or fight for.

Something that stays. Something that holds his hand and meets him where he is, rather than waiting for him to catch up. And more than ever, his heart felt full of warmth in the spring of love.

Fushiguro Megumi never expected to find love’s truth, not like this. And certainly not with someone like you. The two of you were just too different, especially when you were children. He didn’t understand why Gojo Satoru thought that it would be a good idea for you both to meet. 

He was all quiet brooding and thoughtful stares, while you were a storm of energy and laughter, moving through life like gravity itself. Megumi could easily remember the first time Gojo Satoru introduced you both when you were children.

You were Gojo’s little niece, his only one and since he and Tsumiki were the only kids around your age, he thought it would be wise for you to meet them, especially Megumi.

But what was premonition on Gojo Satoru’s part was that the two were destined to be best friends. Though back then, he looked at him with a weird look that could only be akin to a cat’s soured frown.

What was Gojo about? Megumi couldn’t help thinking. And why does he keep talking about it with a grin on his face? I don’t even know the kid.

"You'll love her, Megumi!" Gojo grinned, ruffling his dark hair with an obnoxiously affectionate hand. "She's just like me—minus the blindingly handsome part."

Megumi scowled, swatting Gojo's hand away. "That sounds like a nightmare."

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "A nightmare? Me? You wound me, kid."

"Good." Megumi muttered.

Gojo chuckled, unfazed. "Seriously though, she's great. Full of energy, adventurous, charming—"

"Loud." Megumi deadpanned.

"You're not wrong, kid." Gojo admitted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But that just means she’ll bring some excitement into your broody little life. Trust me, it'll be fun!"

"Your definition of fun is questionable." Megumi muttered.

Before he could come up with a decent excuse to escape this impending chaos, Gojo Satoru stops at one of the massive wooden buildings around the gardens. Fushiguro Megumi could not mentally prepare as you came barreling around the corner, waving enthusiastically towards the,.

"Uncle Satoru!" you shouted gleefully, sprinting toward them.

"There's my favorite niece!" Gojo grinned, catching you in a playful spin before setting you down. 

You giggled. “But I’m your only niece!”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, sweets.” He ruffles your hair too, eliciting another giggle from you. "Hey, sweets, I came with a visitor. This is Megumi. He's about your age, and I'm officially declaring you two best friends starting now."

"Best friends?" you tilted your head, scrutinizing Megumi like he was some science experiment. "He looks grumpy, uncle Satoru."

Megumi crossed his arms, his expression flat. "And you look annoying."

Your face scrunched into an exaggerated pout. "And you look like a cactus."

Gojo, who had been sipping from a juice box like some oversized child, promptly choked and burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, I love this already. Besties immediately!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You two are gonna be perfect together."

Megumi's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"Cactus vibes." you said confidently, tapping your chin. "Tall, spiky, and grumpy."

"I am not grumpy." he protested, though his tone only made your point stronger.

"And yet here we are, cactus!" you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Gojo cackled, slinging an arm around Megumi's shoulders. "You are kinda cactus-y, kid. But hey, she’s got the sunshine to balance you out. You might even grow a flower or something."

Megumi sighed in defeat. "I don’t need metaphors from you of all people."

"Don’t worry, cactus boy." you grinned, poking his arm. "I like a challenge."

"Great." Megumi muttered under his breath. "Now I’m stuck with a loud weirdo and a lunatic white haired old guy."

Gojo clapped his hands together triumphantly. "See? This is friendship in the making."

Megumi glared at both of you, but Gojo’s laughter and your bright smile made it hard to hold on to the scowl. Maybe Gojo wasn’t entirely wrong—though he wasn’t about to admit that anytime soon. Not just yet. He wasn’t one to give in just because there was space for it. 

Megumi sighed, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Disaster?" you grinned wickedly. "Sounds fun!"

Gojo clapped his hands together, beaming. "See? Told ya you'd love her."

Megumi grimaced. "I'm already doubting that."

From the start of you two starting to play together, you easily grated his nerves. He hated how loud you were, hated how you always seemed to find trouble at every turn, and somehow, at every sudden thought you had, you easily managed to drag him into it too.

And that was perhaps the most infuriating part: he hated how effortlessly you pulled him into your orbit. But the truth was, he never really hated you at all. He liked you, genuinely and deeply, in a way that bewildered him. He just didn’t understand it back then.

"Come on, Megumi! Don’t be boring!" you'd whine, tugging insistently on his arm as a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "Help me put these fart pillows on their chairs!"

Megumi stared at you, deadpan. "You're going to get us both in trouble."

You waved off his concern like it was a pesky fly. "Trouble? Nah. It'll be hilarious. Just picture it with a very vivid imagination. The Gojo elders, all serious and proper, sitting down to a pfft! symphony. Priceless!"

"I like being boring." he grumbled, firmly rooted in place even as his feet betrayed him by inching forward.

"No, you pretend to like being boring, Megs." you shot back confidently, dragging him along despite his weak protests. "Deep down, you’re just waiting for me to show you how fun life can be."

Megumi sighed heavily. "You have an overactive imagination."

"And you have underdeveloped prank skills." you retorted with a grin, tossing him one of the cushions. "Come on, you're already in this. May as well go all in."

He stared at the cushion in his hand, weighing the likelihood of Gojo elders delivering a stern lecture versus the small, treacherous part of him that was curious about their reactions.

"Fine." he muttered, resigning himself to chaos. "But if we get caught, this was your idea."

"Deal!" you grinned triumphantly. "Now, put that under the grumpiest elder's seat. It'll be poetic."

Megumi couldn't suppress the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he followed your lead. Chaos was inevitable, but with you, it was never boring—and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind that so much.

“You’re always scowling, do you notice?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t actually hate me, y'know.”

Megumi rolled his green-blue eyes. “That’s debatable.”

“Oh please, you’re basically glued to me at this point.”

“You glue yourself to me.” he countered, lips twitching despite himself.

“Admit it, Megs!" you grinned. "You like me.”

He sighed, long and exaggerated, like he was being asked to move a mountain rather than admit his feelings. "Maybe." he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible.

But it was enough for you. Your entire face lit up, your grin brighter than Gojo's sunglasses on a summer day. "Is that a maybe from Megumi? I'll take it!"

He groaned inwardly, already regretting his choice of words. 

But the warmth spreading through his chest betrayed him. 

Perhaps, the truth is that there was no maybe about it.

And over time, as the days blurred into years and you remained firmly by his side, continuing to drag him into your schemes when he came around the Gojo manor, making him laugh when he least expected it, and somehow softening his rough edges. He would have figured it out. There were more words for you than just like.

It hit him one afternoon during a clan gathering. The elders were droning on about something he wasn't paying attention to, but his green-blue orbs were somehow trained on you, standing across the garden path, animated as always. 

Then he showed up.

That stupid clan boy with a perfectly styled ponytail and a smug look that Megumi immediately decided he hated.

Megumi's eyes harshly narrowed as the boy leaned in, all charming confidence, and reached for your delicate hand. He watched as your fingers slid easily into the boy's, and something inside him snapped. Something he never expected to be inside him whatsoever.

"Nope." Megumi muttered under his breath, already stalking across the garden before he could think better of it.

You blinked in surprise as Fushiguro Megumi suddenly appeared beside you, his strong hand suddenly and possessively wrapping around your own hand, pulling it free from his new enemy, the Ponytail Boy's grip. 

"Hey, I was talking to her, you punk." Ponytail Boy protested.

"She's busy." Megumi said flatly, not even sparing the guy a glance.

"I am?" you blinked up at him, amused.

"Yeah. With me."

You bit back a laugh, warmth blooming in your chest as you squeezed his hand. "Well, when you put it like that..."

As Ponytail Boy slunk away, clearly outmatched by Megumi's sheer intensity, you grinned up at him. "Jealous much?"

"No." he said far too quickly, his ears turning an undeniable shade of pink.

You beamed. "Adorable."

"You're imagining things." he grumbled, but his grip on your hand remained firm.

And in that moment, without needing to say a word, you both knew: there was never a maybe. Not for him, not when it came to you.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, 2017.

This was a day that was already testing Fushiguro Megumi’s patience with all the pink balloons, heart-shaped everything, and couples everywhere. It was hard enough that he felt these possibly one–sided feelings for you. But now he had to be confronted with the idea of love once again. And he hated it. He hated it too much.

The only reason he’s bearing with all of it was that you had urged him to meet up because you wanted ice–cream. And for the first time in a long time, you were allowed to leave the confines of Gojo Manor, to visit your uncle in Tokyo. And by extension, hang out with him.

The two of you sat on a park bench, quietly enjoying your cones under the peak of the beam of the persistent sun. Well, he was trying to enjoy his, but you kept sneaking bites from him despite having your own. And he could not for the life of him stop taking glances at you with these eyes of his.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious.

He sighed, bracing himself. “What?”

“I like you.”

His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

“I said.” you grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction, “I like you. Like like-like you.”

Megumi blinked, as though processing your words required advanced calculus. “Is this... is this because it’s Valentine’s Day? Like some weird theme confession? Is this some stupid prank from you?”

You laughed. “No, dummy. I just thought today was as good a day as any to tell you."

He stared at you, his heart doing some chaotic drum solo against his ribs. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you teased, leaning closer. “That’s it? Just oh?”

Megumi huffed, looking away as if the pigeons nearby were suddenly fascinating. “I... I guess I like you too.”

You gasped dramatically. “Oh my gosh, was that a confession? Did Megumi Fushiguro just confess his feelings, romantically?”

“Stop making it weird, you dummy.” he grumbled, ears turning bright red.

“Too late!” you beamed, nudging his arm. “We’re totally counting that as your confession. Mark it in the history books: Valentine’s Day, 2017, Megumi Fushiguro admitted he likes me!”

He groaned. “I should’ve dropped my ice cream and run when I had the chance.”

“But you didn’t.” you teased, bumping his shoulder.

“No." he muttered, hiding a small, reluctant smile. "I didn’t."

And so began Fushiguro Megumi’s unexpected, often confusing, and undeniably heartfelt adventure to understand love.

Love, as it turned out, wasn’t some abstract ideal or distant fairy tale — it was you, standing right in front of him, messy and beautiful in all your chaotic brilliance. Love was shaped by you, and to him, that made it the most perfect thing he could ever hope for.

But he had to be honest: it wasn’t easy. And it will never be easy.

He struggled with it more than he cared to admit. Love wasn’t just about keeping you safe, though his protective instincts always flared when you tripped into trouble. It wasn’t just quiet affection either, where he'd stand in the background making sure you had space to shine. Love wasn’t just comfort found in familiar silences, though he cherished those too.

No, love was new.

Love was terrifying.

Love demanded vulnerability and bravery in ways that battles never did. Because of this love, his heart would stutter when you smiled at him, catching him off guard like a punch he never saw coming.

It made his chest ache in a strange, bittersweet way when you were upset — as though he carried your burdens alongside his own. It made him want to try, even when his instincts told him to retreat into silence.It made him want to be someone worthy of that love, someone who would stay, despite the part of him that feared he never could.

It’s in the little things, the moments that are easy to overlook if you’re not paying close attention. But when you do, when you really see him, it’s impossible to miss the depth of his love. And you tell him each time, you adore it. Everything about it was perfect.

It’s the way he loves you in the quietest and yet loudest way all at once so beautifully. It’s in the way he waits for you after class, leaning casually against a wall, trying to look indifferent, but you know—you always know—he’s been there for much longer than he lets on. 

It’s the way he keeps track of your favorite snacks, the ones you forget to buy when you’re too busy with school, work, or whatever else life throws at you. And when you’re rushing out the door, he slips them into your bag with a quiet, almost invisible smile. No words, just a simple gesture of care that makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s in the way he insists on walking on the side of the road closest to the street, always positioning himself between you and the traffic like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours, ever so lightly, but there’s a promise there—a silent vow of protection, of never letting anything bad happen to you if he can help it.

It’s in the way he takes off his uniform coat on a chilly evening when he visits you and presses it against your own body, his eternal warmth enveloping you like a shield against the winter cold. The way his hands linger just a little longer than necessary, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

And it’s not just in the little things. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet way he listens when you talk about everything that’s on your mind, even the things you think are too insignificant to mention.

You could ramble on for minutes, spilling out thoughts, worries, and stories, and he’ll just stand there, eyes blossoming with affection, his attention never wavering. 

He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer unsolicited advice. He just listens to you. Just truly listens to you, as though he truly wants to understand you, to carry your thoughts for you if he can. To make sure that he holds your thoughts as closely as you do his.

It’s in the rare moments when he’s vulnerable, those quiet admissions that sneak out when he thinks you’re not paying attention. The way his gaze softens when he talks about his past, about how he’s learned to trust you.

It’s in the way his hand finds yours when you least expect it. Sometimes just a brush of fingers, other times a firm grip that says I’m here, no questions asked.

And there’s the way he tries to make you smile when he knows you’ve had a bad day. He doesn’t have to try hard, because you know the secret behind his subtle humor, his dry wit. Just a look from him can turn the world back to normal, like the simple fact that you’re together is enough to make everything right again.

And in those little moments, your heart beats faster—over and over again.

Somehow, each moment, each time was louder with love than the last.

It was easy to see how much he loved you and only you.

Of course, Fushiguro Megumi isn’t great with words, you know that much. He’s told you from the very beginning. But he’s never needed to say much, because he always shows you. Actions meant more to you.

So, he makes sure, without fail, to let you feel his devotion, every single time. Even when his words falter or he stumbles on his feelings, that doesn’t matter much to you. 

The way he loves you is almost a quiet rebellion against everything he's known about himself, about what he knows love, that was enough to turn the world upside down. Fushiguro Megumi’s never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and even with you, it causes him a lot of grief. 

Fushiguro Megumi adores you, much more than he could ever hope. And just as much, he feels like he fails at it. At least that’s how he feels about it. He thinks he just can’t help it.

He can’t help but feel like his actions are not enough, that his sleeve isn’t wearing your heart close to him. It’s like he’s falling short of being someone worthy of you, when you do so much for him.

Sometimes, it feels like no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. It frustrates him, gnaws at him late at night when he stares at the ceiling, wondering if he loves you enough, if he shows it enough.

Because you make it look so easy. You laugh when you’re happy, you say I love you so freely, and you never hesitate to pull him into a hug, or press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He wants to be more proactive, just like you. He wants to be as good as you when it comes to love. But he’s stiff. Awkward. Someone who is a little too rough around the edges, perhaps even more than that.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you, he does, so much it terrifies him. Yet he struggles with what words to use or would those words be enough.It had been years. 

"You know…." he grumbled, leaning against a wall and watching you laugh at something Maki said. "I wish I could just... I don’t know, tell her I love her. Like a normal person."

Nobara raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. "Normal? Megumi, you are literally the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something."

"Hey!" Yuuji protested, nudging her. "You can’t say that about our bro. He’s a classic kind of weird."

Nobara ignored him. "So what’s the problem? You’ve been dating her for years now. I’m pretty sure you’re closer to marriage now. How have you not told her you love her yet?"

Megumi squirmed, tapping his foot awkwardly. "I don’t know. It’s just... I can’t make it sound right. I’m not... loud enough, you know?"

Yuuji snorted. "Bro, are you telling me you can't even shout ‘I love you’ in her face like a normal person?"

"Yuuji!" Nobara scolded, glaring at him. "This is Megumi we’re talking about. He’s more of a ‘grumble in the corner’ kind of guy. Or you know, ‘act it out like a mime if I can’t say it out loud’ sort of guy."

Megumi just groaned. "Exactly! I can’t just scream it! That’s...weird, right?"

Nobara crossed her arms. "You’re seriously telling me you can’t even try? I mean, look at her!" She pointed at you as you walked over, still in your own world. "She’s practically begging for you to shout it out loud!"

Megumi shot her a side-eye. "She is not begging for anything."

"I mean, I’m just saying, Megumi." Yuuji shrugged. "The guy who practically glows around his girlfriend could definitely manage a 'Hey, I love you!' without coming off as weird."

"I don’t glow." Megumi muttered, but he was starting to feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Nobara clapped him on the back. "Okay, look, here’s what you do: You. Take a deep breath. And then—" She paused, putting her hands together in a mock prayer. "You say it loud and proud: 'I love you! You're my sunshine! You’re the ketchup to my fries! The soy sauce to my sushi!' You get it?"

"That’s not what I’m trying to say at all." Megumi protested, now totally flustered.

"Come on, just let it out!" Yuuji grinned, his energy bouncing off the walls. "You love her, right? Then scream it from the top of your lungs!" He pulled out a random megaphone from his bag. "I’ll even provide the sound effects!"

"Yuuji, I swear to—"

"Just... just say it however you feel comfortable." Nobara interrupted with a knowing look. "But maybe—maybe—try something that doesn’t sound like you're reading from a self-help book, yeah?"

Megumi took a deep breath, hands still sweaty. "I don't even know if I can—"

"You totally can, I know you can!" Yuuji encouraged, giving him a thumbs-up. "Just say it, man! Use songs, do whatever. Just tell her out loud! Think about it like it's a movie moment! Gotta go big!”

Megumi had their words in his head all day and now it was simmering too long. He couldn’t help but look at you for a moment. You’re sitting beside him on the couch, leaning into his side as you scroll through your phone, checking what to buy for your mom’s birthday.

The sound of the television hums in the background, playing a show neither of you are really watching. The warmth of your presence should be comforting, but it only makes his heart heavier with the weight of everything he wants to say.

He steals a glance at you. The way your lips are slightly parted in concentration, the soft glow of the screen illuminating your features. And god, he loves you. He just does, too much, too overwhelmingly. But the words get stuck in his throat, trapped behind the walls he hasn’t quite learned how to break down.

Still, he tries.

You know he does.

That’s why you love him.

Your good–old fashioned lover boy.

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I—uh, you know I—”

You blink up at him, amused. “Are you having a stroke, babe?”

“No.” he grumbles, ears already turning red. “I’m trying to say something.”

“Oh?” You set your phone down, tilting your head. “Then say it.”

Megumi swallows, his body somehow tense. He can feel the words clogging his throat, his mind screaming at him to just get it over with. Megumi looks at you, nervously, his face red from it all. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You can see the way he shifts his weight like he’s debating whether this was a terrible idea. (It probably is, he thinks. Overwhelmingly, to be sure).

But still, for some reason—maybe insanity, maybe the way you’re looking at him so expectantly. Yet, he decides to go through with it anyway. If he bombs, you’ll laugh and that would be worth it too.

Clearing his throat, he mutters. “I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things.”

You blink at him, your head tilting slightly. “Huh?”

He’s already regretting it, but at this point, he can’t just stop. His voice is a little lower now, more hesitant, but he continues, “We can do the tango just for two.”

Now you’re really confused. Your brows furrow, and he can see the gears turning in your head, trying to piece together what exactly he’s saying. But he keeps going, voice a little stiffer, a little more awkward than before. Almost instantly, he can feel the heat crawling up his neck.

“I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings.”

And then finally—it clicks for you.

Your lips part slightly before curling into a slow, amused smile.

“Ah.” you hum, crossing your arms. “So Queen’s lyrics are your idea of romance poetry, babe?”

Megumi tenses like he’s been caught doing something unspeakably embarrassing, his entire face burning. “It’s not—” he starts, before cutting himself off with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, never mind.” 

He shakes his head, looking utterly done with himself, already gearing up to escape this moment entirely. But before he can retreat into his usual brooding silence, you reach out and take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. He freezes at the warmth of your touch, and when he looks back at you, you’re grinning, eyes twinkling with delight.

“No, no. I love it, babe.” you say, squeezing his hand. And then, with that playful glint in your eye, like when you were kids. It was the one that made his heart do something stupid. You continue. “I mean, I can also be your Valentino just for you.”

Megumi stares at you, utterly dumbfounded. For a second, he looks like he’s buffering, as if his brain is refusing to process what just happened. And then, finally, he groans, dragging a hand down his scarlet colored face. “I hate you.”

You burst into laughter, tugging him a little closer. “No, you don’t.”

And the worst part? You’re right. 

Because despite the sheer, soul-crushing embarrassment consuming him, despite everything in his being telling him he should never have attempted this in the first place, he doesn’t let go of your hand. No matter what, he had to hold your hand, even if he was using his other one to hide his red face.

Fushiguro Megumi exhales sharply, his fingers twitching in your grasp as if debating whether to pull away or hold on tighter. He settles for something in between—keeping his hand in yours but looking anywhere but at you, like that might save him from further humiliation. 

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” he mutters, his voice flat but laced with unmistakable exasperation.

You grin, squeezing his hand. “Oh, absolutely.”

Megumi groans, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically, like he’s hoping the universe will take pity on him and make this all go away. But the universe, as it often does when it comes to you, seems to have other plans.

Not only are you still holding onto him, your fingers intertwined so snugly. But you’re also swaying your linked hands gently, like you’re encouraging him to dance. He sighs deeply, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his voice.

“You’re seriously not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, never.” you answer, grinning, your voice light and teasing. “Was the idea from Yuuji? Or was it Nobara?”

“How did you—”

You giggled. “Who else is going to make you do something like this and thinks it would work?”

He groans at you, shaking his head. “Look, I was desperate. And it just….”

“It did work, you know.” You say to him, flicking his hand with your fingers. A big smile on your face. “Your message was well received.”

“......Was it really?” He could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest.

You nodded happily. “It did. Though, I have to say…..I thought we were doing the tango just for two. Are you backing out now, Mr. Lover Boy?”

Megumi’s eyes snap open at your words, and he immediately narrows them at you, clearly ready to refuse. “We are not—”

But it’s too late.

In a swift motion, you’re already standing, tugging him up with you, not giving him a chance to protest. You can’t help but laugh at the way he stumbles slightly, thrown off balance for just a second before he catches himself, his eyes wide in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he mutters, a scowl pulling at his lips as he steadies himself, trying to hold onto what little pride he has left. His shoulders are tense, like he’s trying to act annoyed, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching as if he’s fighting back a reluctant smile.

You tilt your head, still grinning. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta drag you out of your shell every now and then, right?”

Megumi huffs, looking at you like he’s been cornered, but there’s no real anger in his eyes. He’s already giving in, whether he likes it or not. His hands hover at his sides for a moment before one of them moves to hold yours more firmly, as if to say he’s not completely defeated yet.

“Fine, fine.” he grumbles, finally giving in, his voice soft but with a hint of warmth creeping through. “But don’t expect me to make this look good.”

You give him an exaggerated pout. “Aww, I have high hopes for you, babe. I think you’ll be a natural.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s an undeniable softness in his gaze now. The usually guarded Fushiguro Megumi is slipping away, replaced by the version of him that’s willing to indulge you, even if it means he’ll probably trip over his own feet a few times.

“Yeah, right.” he mutters, but his hand tightens around yours, and just for a second, he lets go of his usual serious demeanor.

“And you’re blushing.” you point out smugly.

He immediately looks away, ears burning. “No, I’m not.”

You chuckle, stepping a little closer, resting your free hand lightly against his shoulder. “You are. But that’s okay.” you say, voice softening just enough to make his heart stutter. “It’s cute.”

Megumi grumbles something incoherent under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your hand tightens. For a moment, there’s just the two of you, just eager to be standing close to one another.

Your bodies sway slightly, wrapped up in something that feels light and easy and warm. It’s embarrassing, but somehow, it’s also nice. All too nice.

After a beat of silence, you tilt your head, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. “So… does this mean you’re more of a Somebody to Love kind of guy? Or just a Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy?” You pause for effect, smirking. “Are you gonna take me to a club, or to the Ritz?”

Megumi freezes for a second, caught off guard by your incessant teasing. The edges of his prominent cheeks quickly go a little pink to cherry red, and he looks at you like he’s trying to figure out how to answer without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I—I’m not, uh…” He stammers, waving his hand dismissively, clearly flustered. “I’m not a Queen fan, okay? I just—” He trails off, suddenly aware that he’s over-explaining. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You snicker, leaning in just a little closer, your voice teasing but warm. “You sure about that, Megumi?”

“My name is babe.” His eyes dart around, like he’s hoping for an escape, but then his gaze flicks to you, and he slumps in defeat. “Also…. I don’t really know. You’re a Queen fan. But I’m not a Queen fan, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You cross your arms, squinting at him, pretending to analyze him like he’s some kind of puzzle. “Okay, then. So tell me, what about Weezer?”

He blinks, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “What? What does Weezer have to do with this?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you tease. “Except the fact that you’re practically obsessed with their music. You do listen to Buddy Holly and Say It Ain’t So on repeat, right? I mean just Island in the Sun alone, babe…..”

Megumi’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. “I—I like their music. That doesn’t mean…”

You’re grinning now, enjoying his discomfort. “That doesn’t mean what? That you don’t like romantic stuff?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words don’t come out. Instead, he just huffs, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of his cool demeanor. “Weezer’s not romantic.”

You raise your hand in mock surrender, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh, sure, just a bunch of songs about heartbreak, longing, and that old-school, angsty vibe. Totally not romantic.”

“Shut up.” he mutters, looking away and crossing his arms in his typical brooding fashion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do, I do, Mr. Fushiguro Megumi.”

He looks at you again, frowning. “Why are you calling me by my name? Aren’t I babe?”

You can’t help but laugh, a light sound that makes him glance back at you, half-exasperated and half-amused. “I’m just saying, babe.” you continue, poking his chest with a finger. “If you love Weezer, you’re basically guaranteed to love romantic stuff too. You might not admit it, but it’s in there, just waiting to come out.”

He groans, dropping his face into his hands, embarrassed and defeated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute when you get all defensive.” you tease, giving him a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna force you to do some big romantic gesture… yet. But I can see it, babe. Deep down, I know you’ve got it in you.”

He sighs, not bothering to fight it anymore. “Whatever.”

You can’t help but grin, your heart light and warm from the back-and-forth. The teasing, the playfulness. This was just on brand. It feels like an easy rhythm between you two, like a dance he didn’t expect to enjoy but now can’t help but follow. You’ve gotten under his skin in the best way possible, and the connection is undeniable.

“No, seriously.” you say, your voice softening, letting the playfulness slip away just enough to let something deeper surface. “It’s okay, babe. Don’t worry about it. You’re just what you are. And I love that. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything. For a moment, the world around you seems to still. The playful air between you two quiets for just a beat, and in that space, Megumi shifts slightly, as if he’s considering something deeper than just the teasing.

His gaze softens, and for the first time, there’s no defensiveness in it. It’s genuine. It’s a look that tells you he’s letting his guard down, just a little.

And then, for once, he doesn’t try to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. It’s subtle, almost shy, but it’s there. The kind of smile that says he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. And that, in itself, makes your heart swell. Your grin can’t help but grow wider. You’re winning.

“Besides, babe….” you add, your voice teasing but affectionate. “You’re romantic. You’re my lover boy, aren’t you?”

Megumi freezes, and the light in his blue-green orbs slowly shifts. There was a mix of disbelief and amusement, like he’s trying to process the words you just threw at him. His face flushes, and he rubs the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard.

“Fine.” He sighs, the word heavy with resignation. “Maybe… maybe I’m not totally immune to it. Being…being your lover boy.”

You raise your eyebrows, giving him a teasing glance. “Oh? So it’s true?”

“Only…” His voice drops slightly, like he’s about to admit something that feels too vulnerable for him. He shifts again, looking away from you, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Hm?” You nudge him, your voice light, but there’s a warmth in it now, something that makes his heart stumble a little.

“Only because I really like—”

You raise a hand quickly, cutting him off with a playful wag of your finger. “Uh, uh. It’s the other word.”

Megumi’s eyes widen as the weight of what you mean hits him. He swallows hard, visibly embarrassed now. “Yeah, yeah. I… I love you.”

The words hang between you two for a moment, and your grin spreads wider, your heart fluttering with an almost childlike joy. “Much better, lover boy.” you say, your voice soft but full of satisfaction, like you’ve finally heard the thing you’ve been waiting to hear for so long. 

Megumi huffs, his face still pink, but his posture loosens just a bit. You can feel the tension in him fading, the part of him that has always held back just a little, a part that he didn’t know how to let go of, finally giving in to what he truly feels.

You chuckle, stepping closer and giving his hand a playful squeeze. “I knew it. Deep down, I knew you were a softie all along. A softie I love.”

Megumi grumbles, rolling his eyes dramatically, but there’s no real heat behind it. His cheeks are still a little flushed, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to hide a smile. His voice drops to something quieter, almost tender, as he mutters. “Shut up.”

You grin even wider, brushing your shoulder lightly against his. “Aww, look at that. I made you all shy.”

He groans, but there’s no force in it. He gives your hand a little squeeze back, his touch almost gentle, like he’s trying to hide just how much he’s enjoying this. You can see the corner of his mouth twitch upward, even if he’s pretending not to care.

“You’re impossible.” he mutters, but it sounds more like an affectionate confession than anything else.

You lean up, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice teasing. “Impossible, huh? I think you just like having me around.”

Megumi’s eyes widen for a second, and he quickly looks away, though you can see the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Shut up.”

But the way his hand stays in yours says everything you need to know. You laugh, a soft, melodic sound that seems to melt the last of his resistance. There’s something about him, in this moment, that feels right. Like everything he’s been trying to hide is coming to the surface, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

His bright eyes flicker to yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. No more barriers, no more hesitation. Just you and him. And you realize, as you watch him trying so hard not to smile, that despite his grumbling, despite the layers of defensiveness he wraps himself in, maybe Megumi really is a romantic at heart. He loves you, after all.

══════════════════

epilogue 

The evening had settled in, soft golden light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. Fushiguro Megumi was standing over the stove.

There was a half-smile tugging at his lips as he stirred something in a pan, pretending to be nonchalant. You’d been chatting and laughing with him, but now you were distracted by the phone buzzing on the counter next to you.

“Hey, check my phone, will you? I think I missed a call while I was cooking dinner. Might be Maki–senpai.” he called, not even looking over his shoulder. His tone was casual, but you could sense a hint of something beneath the surface. Something that made you curious.

You reached for his phone, raising an eyebrow at the way he’d phrased it. Missed a call, huh? When you opened it, you found that the call had already disappeared, as if it was never even there. Strange, you thought, but didn’t give it too much thought—until a new notification popped up on his screen.

A notification from Spotify.

You clicked it without thinking, the app opening automatically. You froze, blinking at the screen in surprise. The very first thing that caught your eye was a playlist titled My GF’s Favorite Tunes.

Your heart skipped a beat as you scrolled through, realizing the entire playlist was a mix of Queen songs, Weezer hits, Taylor Swift, and a whole lot of other random songs that somehow seemed to perfectly fit your taste. You blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh.

“What is this…?” You murmured, flipping through more of the tracks, utterly charmed by the odd yet thoughtful combination of songs. Some of the tracks were ones you had casually mentioned liking, others you never thought he'd remember.

You could feel Megumi standing behind you now, his footsteps quiet on the floor. “What’s up?” His voice had an almost imperceptible shift in it, but you didn’t look back at him right away.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you said, your grin spreading wider as you glanced over the playlist one more time, now thoroughly amused. “Just, you know… a little surprise.”

You gently set his phone down on the counter and turned toward him, your grin widening as you closed the distance. Megumi looked at you, confusion and a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes. “What? What’s so funny?”

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around him in a sudden, tight embrace. Megumi froze, his body stiff in surprise. He stood there for a second, the silence between you two stretching, before he gently placed his hands on your back, his voice a little rough with a quiet, unexpected warmth. 

“What’s this for, hm?”

You pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your heart still beating with fondness. “For being the cutest, loving, prettiest, person I’ve ever met. And for making me a playlist that proves you’re secretly the most romantic person alive.”

Megumi blinked, his usual cool exterior cracking for a second as he flushed a little under the weight of your words. He looked away, muttering under his breath. “It’s… it’s just some songs. Nothing big at all—”

You laughed softly, pulling him closer again. “Well, you sure know how to make me smile, don’t you?”

His beautiful lips pressed into a tender smile reserved just for you. And for once, there was no argument. Just the quiet, comfortable warmth of being together, in each other’s arms. Nothing was more perfect than this moment right here, you were sure.

[b-free]

"Thank you... The screwdriver was honestly the biggest worry." Hafiz gave the child a gentle rub to the back, which caught the tail's attention for a moment before it looked back at Uzi, mouth opening as it swayed. "Their arms..." There was a sigh. "I think there's a bit too much damage done... uh..." He looked over his shoulder.

"Oh!" The child understood that. She was looked at before they carefully moved to look at Tera. "Tera good! Nice! Mm!"

"I kind of... figured out some stuff..." The little one was given a head pat, earning their attention for a moment before looking back to Uzi. Hafiz looked worried. "I... I don't know anything about a growing drone-" One hand balled into a fist, the man rather determined. "I'm... going to do my best. They deserve more than whatever happened."

Mo stepped up, slow and careful. The child went from alright with Uzi, to rather upset with him as a hiss slid from both small mouth and the tail. "Ok ok! I'll stay here... I... uh... I want to say sorry. I was mean, and that was bad." The child stared, upset with a little growl before wiggling out of Hafiz's arms, landing a little hard on the ground which got a rather unpleasant sound from one of the arm joints that didn't seem to want to bend the way it was meant to be able to.

"Kid, it's ok! He said sorry!" Hafiz moved to pick the child up, the upset look on their face easing, even if it was only a few pixels.

"Papa too?" The child allowed themself to return to Hafiz's arms, leaning into his chest.

"Yes. To me too, and Mrs. Doorman."

"Tera too!" Mo moved a little further forward. "I need to... uh... apologize to you too... I'm really sorry I almost shot you... m-my hand hurt and I... was really scared and... I didn't know the gun had safety..." He looked a little ashamed. "I'm sorry... I really am."

The night is clear, stars twinkling in the sky. The patrol seems to be relatively uneventful until one of the party looks up to see a small flash in the sky. Something not unlike debris burning in the atmosphere on entry.

Only it juat dulls, and slowly grows. Smoke trails as a ship is seen falling toward the planet, flames licking off the hull as it streaks toward the jungle, passing over the settlement of sanctuary with only a strong gust of disturbed and heated air before crashing a good couple miles away. The landing stirs the silence of the evening, the crash echoing loudly enough to reach Sanctuary.

((Trembles and tosses this at u before i delete it all))

Tera is on the roof, staring up at the stars before the streak of flaming hull catches her eye. Her eyelights sharpen as she turns the safety off her pistol and flies quickly in the direction it crashed, on high alert.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: my head is fucked

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy brings you breakfast in bed. You can't help but feel the guilt rippling off him. All of this is penance on his part. 

It's as close to vindication as you'll get. You're mother would never admit what she did, let alone apologise. That's when you see her again. You're not so sure you ever want to. 

The world is distant. It doesn't feel quite real. It's like a dream. The edges aren't quite sharp enough and the colours are cloudy. 

You look down at the plate and your stomach grumbles out of basic need. You don't have much appetite but your biology is at a constant battle with your mind. You shouldn't be able to breathe but you are, you should take your meds but you don't feel all that different.  

A poached egg, whole wheat toast, turkey bacons, and thick greek yogurt with fruit. It's all very healthy but a bit more than you would eat, when you feel up to it. Your breakfasts are a hard-boiled egg or a small cup of hot oats and milk. 

"I hope it's okay," he hovers at the foot of the bed. He's dressed already. You're less than put together. You're still groggy from a grief-laden sleep and the hangover of the bitter revelation. You wear his borrowed shirt and gym shorts, your messy hair untamed despite your efforts.  

"I called in to the office. I don't think I could focus of I tried," he explains. "And there's too much to be done here." 

"There is?" You nibble the toast. 

You'd hoped for some time alone. Not to think, just to be. You're still lost in all of this. The anger, the hurt, the regret, the confusion, and shame... 

"Sweetie, you don't have any clothes. I have a spare toothbrush for you but it's a travel one from a hotel. And you'll need everything else, right? Soaps and whatever." 

"Oh, I... I don't... my mom has all my money..." you utter and deflate again. You put down the toast. Your stomach is roaring but you just want to puke again.  

"I'll deal with that. Don't worry. She's not as clever as she thinks." He puts his hands on his hips. He does that when he's upset. He used to argue with your mom and stand like that. "Please, eat. Your clothes should be dry soon." 

"My clothes?" 

"I threw them in the wash for you--" his sentence is punctured by the doorbell. His jaw ticks. "I'll deal with that. Probably Mrs. Potter trying to give me more casserole." 

He leaves and you put your focus on the plate. You shouldn't just eat because you're hungry, you should eat because he went to all this effort. You pick up a slice of toast and break through the soft yolk. 

You eat deliberately. Chewing slowly, methodically. A shrill yowl tightens your throat around a swallow. You know that shriek. 

You carefully slide the tray forward and balance it on the legs as you angle out from beneath. You go to the window and try to see past the eaves and awning. You can't. Only the police cruiser and a familiar car... 

You listen. The noise wafts in from the bedroom door. You follow it and peer down at the front door. It's muffled but clearly coming from the porch. 

You twist the handle nervously and open the door a crack. You can't see past Andy as he stands staunchly on the mat, arms crossed. You glance an officer's belt with the radio attached and your mother's snarl lashes you like a barb. 

"He has my daughter. She's sick--" 

"She's an adult," Andy insists. "I'm not holding her against her will." 

"She can't-- I am her legal guardian. She can't be here on free will, genius." 

"Ma'am," a stern female voice warns. "Sir, where is the daughter?" 

"She's sleeping." He lies. 

You let the door fall inward. You don't want to be in trouble. No one seems to notice. You stall and shiver on the threshold. It isn't cold, you're just scared. 

You make yourself step out. There's not much room. As Andy stands like a wall. You peek around him. 

"Hi," you murmur. 

"My baby," your mother throws her hands up and comes forward. Andy moves to block her. "You can't keep me from my girl-- where is her oxygen? Officers, she needs air!" 

“No, I don’t,” you say, quiet but firm. 

Your mother flinches but doesn’t relent, “he’s manipulated her. I can call the doctor right now and you’ll see. She hasn’t been without her tank in years. She could die--” 

“That’s not true,” you murmur. 

“Ma’am,” the female officer warns. “Let her speak.” 

You look around with wide eyes, taking in the full scene. Andy stands just behind you, you can hear him exhale. A male officer is on the other side of your mother. You open your mouth then shut it. 

“Sweetie,” your mother reaches for you and you shy away. 

“Alright, Jackson, you stay here, I’m going to talk to her. Alone,” the female officer says. She reaches out and waves you to her delicately. “You wanna come with me? We can talk. Just you and me.” 

You gulp and look at Andy. His blue eyes blaze as he meets your gaze. He dips his chin slightly. You turn back and nod. As you cross the porch, your mother tries to latch onto you. The other officer, Jackson, pulls her back. 

You sidle past her and follow the woman. She takes you to the curb. You look down at your bare feet then at her. 

“I’m Officer Patel. What’s your name?” She asks. 

You answer and she shifts so you can’t see the house. “Me and my partner came because we got a call about a possible abduction. We’re just here to hear the full story. What’s going on here?” 

You rub your neck and fidget. You can’t tell her the truth. Not the full truth. You can’t tell her your mom lied to you. Not even that she hit you. You don’t want to go back to court. You don’t want to tell everyone how stupid and pathetic you are. 

“I’m here.... because I want to be,” you shrug. 

“Your mother says there was an argument.” 

You chew your lip, “she couldn’t find her pills. She left. I don't know... I don’t know why she came back.” Your chin trembles and you clasp your hands on your shirt hem. You sway back and forth. “She doesn’t love me.” 

You hang your head. That’s it. What you always knew deep down. What’s so clear now that she’s ground you into dust. You’re nothing to her so she made you into nothing at all. 

“She’s your mom, I’m sure you two will work this out. Me and my partner are just making sure you’re safe. We were told that man is keeping you here without consent.” 

You flinch and shake your head furiously. You wave your hands, “no, no. Andy... Andy helped me and... I shouldn’t be here because... because... because I’m a loser and.... my mom... my mom...” you stutter. “She doesn’t want me.” 

“She says you’re sick? You need oxygen?” She prompts. 

You twiddle your fingers. “No, not really. Not... all the time. I can breathe, see?” 

She watches you, “right. How old are you, miss?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

She nods. “You’re not a minor?” 

“No,” you blurt out. Many assume as much, especially with you always hiding behind your mom. “No, I’m an... adult.” 

“Do you want to press charges against anyone?” 

“Charges? For what?” You wonder. 

She sighs. “You’re free to go. You’re grown up and you can make your own choices without mom.” She tuts and turns to look across the lawn, “Jackson, come on.” 

You peer over. Andy stands, arms crossed, staring at you. Your mother rears like a snake, muttering under her breath. You head back up the walk and Officer Patel speaks again. 

“You have to leave, Ma’am.” 

You stop and peek over your shoulder. Patel points to your mother, “we will escort you if need be.” 

Jackson looks at her. She snarls and stomps her foot, “oh don’t you even think of touching me.” She huffs and storms past him. She comes down the steps and you think for an instant, she might push you. She stops beside you. “I took care of you, sweetie. Do you think he will for long? After he figures out what you are?” 

She continues past you. You continue up the paved squares and past Officer Jackson as he follows. As you come up to the steps, you hear the engines turn over. You’re suddenly very tired. 

“Andy,” you drag your feet over the mat. “I want to lay down.” 

“Alright, honey. We’ll sort everything out later,” he turns and stretches his arm across the door frame as you enter.  

He shuts the door as you stagger on, eyes hazy with tears. Your own mother despises you. She’s right about him too. He’ll hate you one day but you don’t know what to do to change any of this. 

💙

Andy makes you finish breakfast before you lay down. He’s right. It’s good for you to eat and you haven’t been doing a lot of that. 

You lay down for an hour before you sense him getting restless. You can hear him downstairs. You can’t be lazy. You don’t have any excuses anymore. You’re not sick, just weak. 

You make yourself get up and venture downstairs. He’s in the kitchen, flicking through his phone as it rests on the counter. You clear your throat and wring your hands as you enter. 

“I’m sorry. I was upset. It’s really stupid but sometimes I just... can’t do anything. Even if I try. I’m sorry, Andy. I’m... so sorry.” 

He faces you and his face contorts in a spectrum of emotion, “oh, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. I put your clothes on the couch for you. Just waiting. Take your time.” 

“Waiting for me,” you frown and look at the floor. “My mom lied. A lot. But I don’t think she was wrong about everything.” 

“What do you mean?” He shifts closer. 

You shrug, “me. I’m... I’m useless.” 

“No,” his voice hardens. “No, take it back.” 

“What?” You pout and bat your eyes as you peek up at him. 

“You’re not going to talk about yourself like that. Not with me. So take it back.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry--” 

“Apologise to yourself,” he insists staunchly. “Honey, don’t let her control you. She’s gone.” 

“But... but...” 

“You’re adjusting. I understand that. I’m not expecting you to be okay right now. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with me. We’re both... figuring this out.” 

You nod and your lips twitch. You could cry. 

“Thanks, er, I’ll... change then. Um, Andy... are we going somewhere?” 

“Sure, sweetheart. I mentioned earlier, didn’t I? About clothes? I tried to get the officers to agree to an escort to go to your mom’s but you saw her. She’s not in her right mind,” he explains. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you flutter your fingers nervously and he looks down at them. You clasp them over your chest to make them stop. “I’ll hurry up then.” 

You turn and scurry out. You go into the front room and grab the neatly folded clothes. He keeps everything so tidy and in its place. You go to the bathroom and set it on the counter. 

As you take your panties from between the jeans and tee shirt, you hesitate. It’s a bit embarrassing to think of him washing your underwear. You could’ve done it if he showed you where the machines are. 

You shrug it off. You’re just happy he helped. It’s a nice feeling when people do things for you. 

You change and bring out the borrowed clothes. Andy is still in the kitchen. You stand in the doorway. 

“Where do I put these?” You ask. 

He pops his head up and tucks away his phone, “oh, I can take care of them.” 

“Thanks, Andy, but uh, could I see? I’d like to know where everything is so I can help.” 

“Help?” He approaches and takes the clothes, his hands brushing over yours. “With what?” 

“I don’t know, everything?” You say. “You helped me so much and I want to do the same. I want to be useful. I want to be... better.” 

The tension leaves his shoulder and he smiles. “Alright, sure, that’s nice of you.” He goes to step past you then stops. “Sweetheart, you know, your mom is wrong. About everything. You’re an amazing girl. Really, you’re wonderful. And today, I want you to try as much as you can to forget. I want you to feel good about you, because you should. Because you deserve it.” 

You swallow and bounce nervously on your feet, “Andy, you’re so nice.” 

“I’m just being honest. Should’ve tried that a lot sooner,” he says. 

[blushingbubbles]

last-orgasm storytime -- sorry it took me a bit to write but it is...long

Sooo last night (1/31) was the last orgasm i’ll have for likely all of 2025, and i’m still fuzzy from it.

Still. It’s *checks clock* 6pm as im writing this. Still fuzzy. It happened like 18 hours ago.

The last free orgasm I had was on January 10th, and I didn’t even like it. It was rushed and short and unearned.

On February 1st, I entered long-term denial, and I wanted to cum one last time before it started.

In fact, I wanted to cum so badly that in exchange, I added 180 days to my denial. But because I added those 180 days, I started to fear that the orgasm wasn’t going to be worth it.

The last free orgasm i had sucked. I panicked that this next one would suck too, that I’d traded 180 days of denial just to regret it.

and hahahaha

i would trade 1800 days of denial for what i got on 1/31.

wc: 2600 (lol) | *exempt from forbidden words rules, and if u try to punish me for this post that i worked very hard on i will block you*

⊹₊⟡⋆ leading up ⊹₊⟡⋆

Sir & I talked on the phone for two days prior to the 31st. The first night we just talked, which got me used to his voice in my ear. The second night we talked a bit and played a bit, which made me more comfortable with his instructions & flow in a scene, which was wonderful. I would’ve had a difficult time relaxing with him if it’d been our first time speaking. But it wasn’t. It was our third, so I felt really safe & comfortable going into our call. 

The morning of the 31st I told him about my dream that centered around worshipping his cock. I told him how needy it’d made me. Sent him a picture of how wet I was. He praised me for it...and then told me I wasn’t allowed to touch until he called that night. At all.

Rude. (i kid)

To make matters worse, he sent some incredible nudes with an instruction to look at them once an hour every hour. This left my imaginative mind with some wild running fantasies. Excerpts from our messages started with “god im like whining” /  “you look so soft” end devolved to “it’d be so fuckimg easy for you to breed me” / “wanna be so full of ur cock i struggle breathing Sir” 

Believe it or not, I actually had no problem with not touching – it was like a given. He told me to not touch so even though I was feverishly horny, touching was out of the question.

The thing I had a problem with was the anxiety. It kept trying to convince me that he was going to forget or get distracted or cancel (he touched base about once every other hour to humor my feral messages, which curbed that anxiety well).

When I was making dinner though, the fact i was going to cum for the last time in 2025 that night started to get to me.

The anticipation became too much to sweep under the rug and I decided to tell him. The convo looked like this:

hi | my heart's beating really really fast In a good way I hope! i think im just excited but it does feel like anxiety It's a lot of anticipation. i dont knowwwwni dont know | It's a lot of anticipation Don't worry bubbles, I'm going take good care of you. | I'm adaptable | We'll get you what you need | You needn't worry about it, I'll be there with you and for you

 (i totally cried happy tears)

⊹₊⟡⋆ the beginning ⊹₊⟡⋆

im all fuzzy again lol. Sir called. We chatted about our days and how I was feeling. He asked what I’d laid out (a vibrating egg, a dildo, a clit suction toy). I made a joke about having a hairbrush on my bed, but it was strictly for brushing my hair before he called. He laughed and agreed there was no need for the hairbrush because we’re not in high school anymore.

First, he asked me to spread my legs to the corners of the mattress. Because of my anxiety, he knew without me asking to go really really slowly, and I'm grateful for it. He took time warming me up and talking to me in the first minutes.

He told me to repeat lines back to him -- repeating lines makes me very pliable, and that night was no exception. I might've repeated I like to show off for Sir 20 times. Afterward, Sir wanted me to spread my pussy for him too, so I did.

But then he said, "little more," which made me think he had cameras in my room. I told him this and he reassured me that he didn't. Instead, he's just inside my head. <3

The night is very hazy. I wrote this with a lot of assistance from him, but this is one thing I remember clearly: everything Sir said was a specific instruction.

He didn’t say “I want you to tease yourself” and then wait for me to explain how I teased myself. He said “take your left hand and drag it up the inside of your left thigh. Slower. I’ll give you the rhythm.”

There’s a time and subject for the “I want you to tease yourself.”

I am not the subject. So it's never the time. I’m always afraid I’m doing something wrong, so I ask clarifying questions – “like ___? Or should I _____?”

But each of Sir's instructions were to-the-letter. Because of that, I never had to worry about doing something right or wrong. There was no ambiguity, there was just the instruction.

I'd already surrendered to his dominance, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to turn my brain off entirely.

At first, he didn’t incorporate the toys. It was nails on thighs and fingers spreading wetness around.

In his words, he was playing with his food.

Eventually, eventually, I was allowed to focus on my clit. Even longer after that, I was permitted to insert my fingers. By this point, with the lengths to which he was dragging it out, I started to whine (which was exactly where he wanted me).

After that, the vibrating egg came into play.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the middle ⊹₊⟡⋆

I’d told him the day prior what countdowns do to me and why, and he incorporated them at every milestone of the night.

With the toy still off, Sir told me to run it up and down my slit. Then I had to hold it at my entrance, adding pressure without allowing it inside. He counted me down and allowed me to insert the toy, then counted me down again to turn it on.

I don’t know how it happened. I sincerely – I don’t know. After a while he gave me a break, and I checked my phone to make sure its battery was still alright and found that an hour and a half had passed. He thought my surprise was cute.

In his words: “I'm glad you're having such a good time, but this night is FAR from over."

Sir told me to get my clit suction toy out and lay it on the bed in front of me, as if to tease me. Keeping the toy turned off, he told me to press it where I usually liked it the most. Then he told me to lift it off. Then place it back on.

Once I had a grasp on exactly how to move, he told me once the toy was turned on, he would give me a number, and I'd have to hold the toy on my clit for that many seconds--but he had me do the counting.

We started on low -- the toy has like 8 settings, so the first setting is usually never enough for me to even really feel? But after all the teasing and build up, I thought for a while I might've been able to hit an edge with it.

He made me hold it on for 3 seconds. 7. 15. Between every number, the toy hovered over my clit so I could hear it and feel a whisper of it, but it wasn't enough to give me any sensation or pleasure.

According to him: I demonstrated incredible self control. Despite how good the toy felt, I always put it down when he told me to, and only when he told me to.

He had me turn it up 2 notches, and I'm pretty sure this is where the last of my comprehensive thought left me.

I literally -- it's so hazy after this, I have no idea. I know he toyed with me just like that -- making me count up to 5, 12, then 7, then 3. He continually reminded me that I wasn't allowed to cum. He also reassured me I absolutely wouldn't be punished for pulling the toy off before reaching the requested number.

The most important rule was to wait for him to give me the orgasm--everything else came second.

There was a stretch of time that I was hitting an edge by 1 -- like the moment the vibrator got too close I was chanting I can't, I can't, I can't.

It felt like an eternity of me going absolutely stupid while teetering on the edge of orgasm.

He gave me a water break after the "I can't," chanting, and this was approximately our conversation:

"You can't?" no Sir, I can't "Why can't you?" bc i don't have permission "And you need permission, don't you?" yes Sir i do i need it "You need it because you don't have a choice, isn't that right?" yes Sir that's right, I don't have a choice "Say that again." i don't have a choice, Sir

That last line was repeated 10+ times

It was incredible. He had me edge myself for him. over. and over. and over.

and over.

and over again.

In his words: It was about 38 edges in just as many minutes.

I remember going nonverbal. I remember him telling me to be clear with the numbers, and I recall that being the hardest part -- because my lips and tongue no longer wanted to work. 

Babygirl, you're mumbling again! I need you to speak very clearly into your mic.Yes Sir, i understand

I started to get fuzzy. If you remember the old-school televisions -- whenever you would turn them off, that collection of static hovered across the screen. You could collect the static in your hands?

I felt like I'd swallowed it. That static blanketed my mind. My tongue was numb. My mind was buzzing. I was incoherent. I've never felt anything like it.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the end ⊹₊⟡⋆

From beginning of the call to the orgasm was over 2 hours. 2 hours he teased me. Denied me. Played with me until I was on the edge and made me wait there. I felt what was left of my brain disintegrate. turn to mush. slip out between my thighs.

(thank you Sir for helping me to recall this part)

Babygirl, you've been perfectly obedient for me tonight. (a long drawn-out whine) I'm very proud of you, of your self control. Are you sufficiently fucked out? Is your head all fuzzy now sweet girl? Can you even understand what i'm saying or are you too much of a brainless whore? (generally affirmative and giggly slut noises) I think you've earned your orgasm. *voice cracking* really? You have my permission to cum. We are going to change the rules of play now. Do you understand?  Yes Sir, I understand, thank you.

There was more in there, but I can't remember when -- he asked me if I still wanted it, and i didn't know the answer anymore. I wanted to say yes -- i wanted it so badly, but I was so fuzzy all i could think was only if you want me to.

Like I was no longer in a space that needed the orgasm - i only needed to make him happy.

it was the same game. hold the vibrator on the clit for the number of seconds he wanted. But the rules had changed. This time he would do the counting ( i loved the counting )

and this time, I was allowed to cum.

however -- the count didn't end when I orgasmed. the count ended when the count ended, and I had to keep the vibrator on until then.

he started with 3 seconds. Before this, I'd been hitting the edge in 3 seconds. But knowing I had permission to cum it felt different -- stronger of an edge almost?

The count ended.

Sir stressed again that I was allowed to cum. Then he counted down from 5 seconds? Or maybe it was 10?

The edge was right there, but the orgasm still felt so far away. The release was being stubborn. Maybe my body didn't feel like it was real?

He said again

Babygirl, you're allowed to cum. Sincerely.

Then he counted down from 20, dragging each number out to his liking.

Maybe I was scared of cumming too soon and overstimulating myself? I'm not sure. But my orgasm held and held and held. It did not want to release.

It sat like a boulder on a cliff, just one breath from falling off and giving me what he ordered. But it didn't budge, and there wasn't anything I could do. I was getting upset with myself by the time he hit 12.

When he hit 10, I discovered the issue.

It wasn't enough for him to give me permission to cum beforehand. I needed it while I was on the edge. The realization hit me so hard I would've fallen over had I been standing. With the time counting down, the pleading spilled from me. I don't even remember what came out of my mouth. He told me it was very very pretty though.

He had reached 6.

Please Sir i need your permission, I need you to give me permission again. I need it I need it.

Cum for me babygirl.

Relief was simultaneously like lightning and a flood through me, and it shoved the stubborn boulder right off the cliff.

There were 2 waves to the orgasm. The first wave was on the "5," the second was when he said "2."

After the second one I kind of blacked out a bit.

But I sincerely don't.....recall...all I know was it was (bar none) the most powerful and most perfect orgasm I've ever had <3

⊹₊⟡⋆ after/care ⊹₊⟡⋆

I cried. i had a feeling i would -- the anticipation + my anxiety + the orgasm was a huge release. my tears slipped into my headphones and they started to fizzle and crack out on me. He told me to stay in bed, but I wanted to find my other pair.

He was right to tell me to stay lying down -- I got dizzy when I stood up.  

He praised me for how good of a job I did which made me want to cry even more. I thanked him like a million times. He thanked me a million times, and he told me to drink my juice.

We talked about all 2 hours of the call. From the teasing to the egg to the counting to the vibrator to the permission to the begging. He filled in some hazy spots I'd already forgotten in my edged-out state.

I stressed that I wouldn't have changed a single thing about it. I had a lollipop, and i fell asleep talking to him on the phone. IT WAS PERFECT AND IM SO GLAD I TRADED 180 DAYS OF DENIAL FOR IT I'D DO IT AGAIN IN A HEARTBEAT.

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Hi! I’ve been loving your Dragon!Hybrid headcanons!

I was wondering if I please could request headcanons on how each Dragon!Hybrid would react if their partner got injured? I don’t mind the gender specified!

Thank you!

Hiya Anon!

I'm glad you like it. I hope this headcanon will entertain as much as the rest. It was very interesting to write how everyone would react differently, as each has different challenges.

If you ever want to request something again, you can identify yourself as the 😵‍💫 emoji!

Injuries

Masterlist

Dragon!Hybrid Masterlist

Aegon:

“What’s happened?” 

Aegon was out of breath and walking briskly to you. There seems to be a mild panic in his voice; it's a bit higher than usual. You don’t know how he learned you’d gotten yourself into the care of the maester, but he’s here now… 

You shake your head as the maester explains how the cut on your forehead was superficial; he ‘tsk,’ rolling his eyes and dismissing the man before he can finish his sentence. 

Whilst his help is quick to leave the room, the maester takes his time leaving, and recommends a thousand things for you to do before finally closing the door behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon. 

The scale adorning his neck now extends to his jaw, his eyes more lizard-y than human. He asks again. “What’s.  happened?” This time, panic left its place to anger. It’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Nothing, truly.” 

Was your annoyance justified? Yes. Was it wise to use a tone on Aegon at the current time? Probably not. You watched as a stream of smoke left his mouth, eyes shining and talons sharpening at the tip of his fingers. “Issa prumia…” It sounded both like a threat and a caress. Somehow, that made you shiver; you didn’t know what kind of emotion that reaction came from.

It was not often that Aegon’s temper escaped him; the sight of blood must truly have disturbed him for him to let Sunfyre take control of the situation. You sighed a little, both to control the shake in your limbs and to regain (even just a little bit) some patience, which you were lacking awfully. 

“I peeled an apple with a blunt knife.” You let out, softly. The heat of embarrassment flamed through your veins as the words got past your lips. 

When all Aegon (Sunfyre?) did was raise an eyebrow, not adding anything, you sighed again. Must you truly embarrass yourself further? 

He just stayed silent, eyes locked on you, sometimes going to the bandage on your forehead. Shoulders sinking, you capitulated.

“I guess I made to hard a movement whilst peeling the fruit, and I cut myself with the knife.” You explained further, eyes stubbornly kept over Aegon’s head, on the wall. 

Aegon huffed, voice rougher than usual. “You guess?” He chided. 

“It wasn’t my intention.” You bite back before taking a breath. All of this wasn’t worth a dragon’s anger. “I won’t do it ag—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Aegon was climbing over your knees, opening your arms from the hug you had self-imposed on your body to tuck himself beneath your chin. A soft, acute purring escaping him. 

“So you're fine. I’ll have someone cut your fruit from now on. Hold me now. I’ve missed you.” He orders.

Brat. 

Aemond: 

You, hurt? Good joke. No, but seriously, it won’t ever happen because he’ll bust that person’s face before they can even think about hurting you. He’ll destroy the walls, the stairs, and eradicate the bees for you. 

And if (when) he can’t, he’ll panic. 

“What are you doing?” Comes the snarling question from your lover, the previously locked door nearly taken out of its joints as he opened it. You look up from your kneeling position on the ground. 

“Cutting through the wood.” You answer truthfully, showing him the knife you were using before he’d rudely taken away said door. The world was fuzzy on the edge of your sight, and you wanted fresh air; that wasn't too much to ask, was it? 

“May I ask why?” Aemond’s tone is not less venomous than when he first spoke, but you’ve dealt with him before. Honesty is your best way out of his wrath. 

“I was bored, and I’m feeling a lot better.” 

Aemond grunts, not convinced by your words (maybe because of the paleness you exhibited or the numerous escape maneuvers you’d pulled throughout the week.) He helped you to stand, even going as far as to pat the dirt out of your clothes before leading you back again to the plush chair near the fire (drats!). 

“A fever and a cold don’t just go away within three days, Qelos.” He chided you coldly, puffing out the cushion of the chair before helping you sit down. 

“Maybe it was a small fever? A baby cold?” you tried to convince him again. Humour was your best ally in conditions such as this. It was lies. A cold? Please. The only cold you’ve caught was by being exposed to a botched poisoning (a bad fish) and were forced to ludicrous experiments by the maester to make your illness go quicker (sleeping three nights in a hammock for fresh air in winter.)

Rewarding your tries to humour, however, Aemond’s face lost its edge; a small smile curved his lips, if only for a moment. 

“I promise to make up for your lack of entertainment, Qelos. Shall I call for music and refreshments?” He teased, covering your legs with a blanket, and kneeling next to you. His good eye had lost the coldness it usually shined with. 

Baela: 

Poor baby, you’re hurt? Don’t worry; Baela will take care of you. She’s not one to panic, or, at least, to let it show too much. 

“How does it feel?” She’d ask, for the thousandth time (or so it seemed) in the last hour, looking at the bump on your forehead. 

She was holding a small bag of ice over it and knew as much as you did that your condition had not changed since you’d ungracefully fallen flat on your face and came back up on your feet with a disoriented spring to your movements. Yet you answered all the same. 

“It’s cold, but it seems like my heart has gone back to my chest, as my brain isn’t beating as hard now.”

She hummed softly as the only answer, running her finger through your hair. Baela let her gaze run over your face, lost in her own mind now. You were making it seem as if you hadn’t seen her scramble out of her dragon form when you fell from your seat on her back, and she didn’t comment on the unseemly manner in which you’d fallen. Both parties were happy that way. (Ego : bruised, forehead : bumped, knees scraped, but on equal ground.)

Daemon: 

To Daemon, it depends. Did it draw blood? Did you do this to yourself? If you didn’t bleed, walk it off. If someone did this to you?? Blood or not, there’s gonna be hell to pay! 

It wasn’t a big deal. Seriously. Some drunk lord was talking smack and waving his knife around, a bit too close to your face. It might have been covert threats; you weren’t really listening. You’d gotten cut. Next thing you know, Daemon is cradling your face in his hands, examining the cut under all it’s angles (it literally just has one!!!), a scowl very present on his face. 

You try to whisper comforting words to him. “It’s okay; I’m okay. It’s not deep.” But it seems to only anger him more. A deep, cavernous sound echos in the chamber, shaking you to your core, and making the usually warm atmosphere (colder by the sudden shift of Daemon’s mood) freezing now. 

The lord was scrambling, apologies spurting out of his mouth faster than he could breathe; the man was already half up when Daemon spoke. His gaze was still locked on the bleeding cut on your cheek. 

“Making such a pretty thing bleed. Tis a distasteful hobby.” He said, growled, at the man. The lord only agreed, probably hoping that it would help his cause. 

“It’s nothing.” You tried to soothe your lover again, but Daemon’s gaze snapped to your eyes, his hands once gently cradling your face now becoming more tense, squishing your cheeks a tad to silence you. Not your battle to fight anymore. 

Caraxes’ fire burnt in his eyes. 

Helaena: 

She’ll soothe you to the best of her abilities, but she’s not a maester and thus is no good at healing, except to press something over the blood. That she knows. She might be a bit panicked due to her lack of knowledge. 

“I’m fine, my lady.” You laugh quietly, moving your head away from Helaena’s grip. 

She was holding her carefully embroidered project to your bloody nose. “How can you be? You’re bleeding!” She told you in a small, huffy voice that she kept for the sleeping children near yourselves. 

“This tends to happen when someone opens a door on your nose.” You teased softly, taking her hands in yours to steady her movements. 

“I didn’t know you were behind it!” She claims (again) exasperation dripping into her tone, eyes wide. You chuckled, letting one of her hands go to push back a strand of her hair from her face. 

“I never said you were to blame, my lady.” You kissed the hand remaining in your, a smirk plastered on your lips, the taste of iron prominent on your tongue. 

“Come, let’s get you properly cleaned up; you’ve bled all over your clothes.”

Jacaerys: 

As Jace rarely spends time away from you (or has you alone), you don’t often get hurt by accident. Or, if someone hurts you with the intention to do it, that’s another story, and Jace will search for retribution (wait— that’s probably more Vermax, but who knows…) 

Head held low, sitting like a child being sermoned as Jace paces around your shared chambers quietly. The maester had only just left, and you had dreaded that situation in which you were now trusted. Objectively, due to the wings that were nervously (angrily) fluttering behind Jace at every step, you knew that he was probably having a heated conversation with Vermax. 

Your injury was not bad, per se. It wasn’t good either, and your arm would be in a sling for months to come, but you hadn’t been in any mortal danger. Sure, young Joffrey and little Aegon were playing roughly, but it wasn’t that dramatic!

“Jace…” You spoke softly, deciding to address the elephant in the room quicker so the tension would melt. 

“You could’ve hurt yourself worst. How could you think it was a good idea to let the toss you around?” He spat, his eyes burning with a worried fire inside of them. His tone was strained—not entirely Jace, but not wholly Vermax either. 

“It’s healthy for young boys to play fighting!” You defended calmly, raising from your seat to approach your lover, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I should like you to remain whole instead.” He scoffed, wrapping his arms around your middle to bring you closer to his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, minding not to place your broken arm in way of more hurt. His body is warmer than usual; the wave of emotions is probably the cause for it. 

“I promise to you that I’ll be more careful and mindful,” you added when Jace’s brows furrowed, “of my non-dragon self.” 

A churtle escaped the man’s throat, and his arms tightened around you. “Don’t joke around; I’m mad at you.” He huffed, making you smile. 

Laenor:

Laenor is more diplomatic than most. He finds that some injuries are good for the built of characters, and so he is not too alarmed when you come back with scraped knees and such. He will spend some time tending to you and comforting you, too. But in no way, shape, or form will it be something that gives him anxiety. 

“Are you hurt?” Laenor called down the mat of the (rather large) fishing boat he’d brought you for a small trip as another angry wave crashed on the bow and over the deck. Staggering, you held on to whatever was nearer (and stable enough to help you keep your footing). 

“No!” Somehow, your voice went over the sound of the angry sea and angrier skies to meet Laenor’s ears, and with a solanel nod, he dropped to the deck. 

“Good.”

 

Rhaenyra: 

Another one who’ll be very zen about the whole ordeal. People get hurt; it’s life. People get attacked; it’s also life. Oh, what’s that? They got fired? They found them dead?? How sad.

“What is it, Beloved?” She called out to you, her nose buried in an important report. She heard the door of the room open and close, the usual smell of your bathing oils giving you up to her sense of smell. 

“There’s a new kitchen boy.” 

Your answer was short, to the point, accusatory, even, but it didn’t seem to matter to Rhaenyra, as she simply gazed up at you for a second, diving back down into her report afterward. 

She took a deep breath, placing the paper down and taking another one, looking utterly unbothered. The golden, shimmering scales on her forearms mired against the walls, lit up by the candles on her desk, but it didn’t bring the smile it usually did. Instead, you crossed your arms against your chest, awaiting an answer. 

“Rotation within the staff happens, my heart; it’s hardly something I can control.” 

You scoffed a little. “So, it’s not about yesterday’s incident, then?” Rhaenyra looked back at you, eyebrow raised, either quizzically or mockingly; you couldn’t decipher which. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

Your eyes narrowed, and you walked closer to her desk, leaning against it to close the distance between both of you further. “The spilled tea? Your threats have been heard loud and clear. Was it not your doing?” You accused her in a cold tone that an untrained ear could mistake for calmness. Rhaenyra only smiled. 

“I know not what you speak of, darling.” 

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

[pinkcreamypeach]

Do I make you nervous?

(Mario x peach short story)

“Mario… do I make you nervous?”

The question was so soft, yet it made Mario's heart leap like he had just misstepped over a pit. Princess Peach looked up at him, her delicate brows slightly furrowed, lips parted in uncertainty. She looked almost guilty, as if she had done something wrong. The sight nearly made Mario frown himself, but instead, he forced a nervous smile, adjusting his cap with jittery fingers.

“O-of course not! What makes you think that?”

he asked, tilting his head in an attempt at casualness.

Peach’s fingers fidgeted, her gloved hands twisting together as her gaze lowered beneath the golden curtain of her eyelashes.

“Well… whenever I talk to you, your face turns red… and you start to sweat. And when we hold hands, it’s like touching a furnace beneath my gloves.” Her voice softened, hesitant.

“Are you nervous because I’m taller than you and Luigi? Or is it because I’m a princess? Am I too intense when I care about something? Too… bossy?”

She rambled on, her emotions spilling into each word. Her silky gloves bunched between her fingers as she tugged at them absentmindedly. Mario, meanwhile, barely registered her words. He was too focused on herthe way she worried her lower lip, the way her lashes hid the tenderness in her eyes, the way she tried so hard to understand his thoughts.

He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice betrayed him. His hands clenched the brim of his cap, his fingers twisting into the fabric. When he finally looked at her again, she was already gazing at him. her lips parted slightly, as if she had stopped speaking minutes ago.

Their eyes locked.

A heartbeat passed.

And then, as if their minds had the same flustered thought, they both looked away at the exact same moment, heat flooding their faces.

Peach took a small step back before settling onto a wooden bench beside the garden. Her pink ballgown fanned out, settling gracefully around her, but her hands remained restless in her lap. She bit her lip, lost in thought. Mario, still gripping his cap, leaned against the garden wall, his curly dark hair bouncing slightly with the movement. He fidgeted too, his fingers tracing the rim of his hat.

Peach glanced up at him, at the way his unruly curls framed his face. She had always admired his hair, the way it softened his rugged features, the way it suited him perfectly. Without thinking, she reached up, fingers slipping through the thick, dark locks.

Mario flinched at first but quickly melted under her touch.Her touch was so delicate, reverent even.She cared for her own hair so much, tending to every curl and wave like it was a treasured gift. And Mario had always noticed he had noticed the way it smelled like strawberries when he held her close after saving her, the way it bounced when she walked with effortless grace. She was light itself, a woman who brought warmth and joy wherever she went.

“You have such soft hair…” She murmured, her fingers moving from his curls to his sideburns, then tracing the edges of his mustache with featherlight touches.

Mario stiffened, heat blooming in his cheeks. Did she even realize what she was doing to him?

“...You used Desert Essence Island Mango conditioner?” She mused, her voice distant, as if she wasn’t even thinking about what she was saying.

“I missed that… The mint one doesn’t suit you. It’s more of a Luigi scent, really…”

Mario blinked.

“Y-you kept track w-wait, how do you know that?” His voice cracked into a whisper, barely managing to escape his throat.

Peach didn’t answer. Her half-lidded gaze, framed by golden lashes, was locked onto him, her fingers still in his hair. His heart pounded, loud enough that he swore she could hear it. His throat was dry, his breaths uneven. He stared at her, the whole world fading into the background.

She was so beautiful. It was unbearable.

“Sei così bella… Così bello…” The words slipped out before he could stop them, whispering like a secret prayer.

Peach’s hands cupped his cheeks. Her warmth seeped into his skin, pulling him back to reality.

“Mario… Oh my! You’re burning up!” She gasped, her eyes widening in concern.

Mario, still dazed, weakly lifted a hand. “No, no! I’m perfectly fi—”

Before he could protest, he was swept off his feet literally. Peach lifted him with ease, cradling him in her arms as she rushed toward the castle.

He was weightless in her grasp, held effortlessly as if he were no heavier than a sack of flour. He knew fighting back was pointless, so he let himself relax, watching her in awe as she called out for help.

Her strength was just another part of her he adored.

He gazed up at her as she carried him, a small, helpless smile curling at his lips.

Ti amo…~

---------------------------------------------------------

(Writer note- I haven't written these two in months. I really missed them. My mereach brainrot returned, and before I knew it, I had whipped up this story in just an hour. It might not be perfect, and I'm sorry if it falls short of expectations. Unfortunately, there’s no drawing to accompany it this time… even though I made Mario Brown Eyes, lol.)

@bberetd @keylovesstuff @peaches2217

(Finally something Mario related for you guys)

@silenzahra <--- Hope you like this too! Sorry for the tagging if you're uncomfortable with it. :3

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Apollo Blessed! Reader

Chapter six

Masterlist

Yall know the vibe by now… this one’s a bit shorter, sorry :p

Two weeks later…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Telemachus was sitting in bed, dog curled up near his feet and slowly snoring into the late night.

Body resting against the backboard of his bed as he strummed the practice lyre that you had gifted it. Having bought it with him in the town marketplace before one of your lessons, which you’ve had multiple of by now.

He was trying to pluck the strings the way you told him to, and not too harshly like he did instinctively. But he couldn’t help but pull too hard like it was a fight. Music was meant to be handled with care, not brutality.

It was hours after sunset, and the entire palace was asleep. Yet he hadn’t even considered joining the resting world.

Right before the prince could get the notes to hit at the correct time, a familiar figure showed up in his window and stood tall. Blocking the moon light and making him sit up straighter, putting the instrument into his lap.

“Athena?” He asked, squinting his face and scrunching his nose to make out a silhouette from the moonlight. Petting his dog to not disrupt him from his rest at his feet.

Her tall figure and metal helmet gave an obvious and imposing impression in the room. Even though she had visited him many times, all the same divine entrance, he couldn’t help but let out surprise at her presence.

She simply stood still for a few seconds before moving towards his bed and gesturing her chin to the lyre in his lap. “You’re still practicing on that instrument?” Shoulders staying broad, she didn’t make any expressions or particular inflections in her observation.

Hearing this, he nodded sheepishly and moved the blanket over his legs to make room for him to cross his legs and hold the instrument more comfortably. “Well… yeah.” He admitted, letting out a single strum on the strings. Smiling when the song didn’t come out completely botched.

Looking on at his playing, the goddess let her shoulders relax down and arms rest at her sides instead of on her hips. “You shouldn’t spend so much time on one thing.” She began, sounding almost tired or bored. “And every time I visit it’s the same song.” Her voice was gentle, trying not to come off harsh or scolding despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm for his continuous songs.

Ignoring, or simply not noticing her distaste for his music, he looked at the lyre as it was something to be praised. The way he looks excitedly at papers of stories told of beasts and myths that heros wrote. “It’s the song she’s teaching me.” He told her, looking back up at her from the strings in his lap and smiling like a puppy. Cheeks getting plusher from the squish as a toothy grin took up part of his face. Eyes closed from the smile.

She looked at him, unable to ignore the feeling of nostalgia in her heart. Did he know he looked so much like his father?

Clearing her head and throat, she looked back out the window from which she came into the late night sky. “I know, you’ve mentioned.” She quipped, not liking to acknowledge the similarities he held so closely with a young Odysseus. She was just happy it was dark so he couldn’t read her face as well as he usually did.

He looked back down at his lap, not fiddling with anything but just looking and thinking.

Eventually, he spoke up with the same fiery determination Athena appreciated him for. “I need to practice so I can get better. She’s my teacher, I wanna impress her.” He claimed, gripping the sides of the instrument tightly while holding it out in his outstretched arms. Enjoying the way the moonlight bounced off the strings like raindrops.

She watched her student with the same knowing expression she had when Odysseus was beginning to fall for Penelope.

However, she never knew anything about romance. Only able to recognize it due to Telemachus’ resemblance to his father’s behavior. So, she decided to use her more knowledgeable skills to try and help a little bit.

“You can also impress her with your strength and cunning. With what I know you’re talented at.” She offered, speaking in a stiff way at the awkwardness she felt speaking of love. She wasn’t Aphrodite, but it didn’t take the goddess of love to see the boy begin to grow feelings.

The prince put the lyre back onto his lap, looking at Athena as she spoke. His face lit up, as if he was talking about his favorite topic. “Yeah… but you should see the way she lights up when she talks about music!” He beamed, smiling at the memory of your passion. Continuing, he trailed off slightly as he looked past Athena and out the window to the calm night. “That light in her eyes…” He whispered, smiling to himself while biting the inside of his cheek in thought.

Silence took over the duo, both thinking with their eyes out the window.

Athena facing her back to Telemachus, unable to shake the feeling of nostalgia that seemed inescapable when it came to the prince. He had no idea how much he was like his father, or how every new thing was a carbon copy of what happened some 20 years ago with Odysseus.

You and Penelope even had the same relationship with the boys, as if history was replaying before her eyes. Watching her student become a man she knew well, and who he longed to be.

Telemachus was not thinking of the past, but instead of the future. Planning in his head the next meeting you two would have. How he planned to impress you with his quick skills, even if half the time you didn’t actually play the instrument. Instead traveling around the island or talking about a random topic.

He wanted to show you he cared about your passion, and could be involved in that section of your life.

Quietly, he spoke again. Letting his voice travel through the night in a small question. “Athena?”

“Yes?” She hummed, turning around and looking back at the boy before her. Both appreciating the quiet nature of the night, soft and gentle.

“Do you think you could help me learn faster? You have wisdom, so can you give me some?” He asked, despite the question being undeniably childish. He couldn’t help but ask, wanting to do all he could for you. A girl he barely knew besides the fact that every moment spent with you feels perfect,

She crossed her arms, but spoke gently. Nevertheless, her wise words come off as half lecture, half advice. “I have wisdom, but not in music. All I can wisely say is that this practice is ruining your sleep by keeping you awake at night.” She gestured to the late night, and the absolute silence of the surrounding dark.

He however wasn’t disheartened by this, continuing to try and convince his way into gaining some kind of help, “I need to get better. You said it yourself that practice is necessary.” He reasoned, picking up the lyre and holding it out to her.

She shook her head, putting down the instrument with a gentle push by her fingers. Letting her get a clear view of his face. “Not for something like this. Music is okay, but it’s consuming your life.”

He looked at the strings and spoke in a dejected tone. “I’m bad at it, and I need to get better for her.”

She huffed, not appreciating how she couldn’t offer her help. So she did all she could, be honest.

“You’re a good kid Telemachus. If you want to impress her, just be yourself and she’ll like you.” Sighing at his obvious obliviousness, she gave one last quip before turning towards the window and night. “She already does.”

His eyes widened, as he put the lyre down and his face whipped in the direction of the goddess.

“She does?!” He called, but before he could get an answer Athena transformed into her typical owl form and flew out into the night. Wings spanning and creating a shadow from blocking the moon.

Leaving Telemachus in a temporary darkness. “Wait, don’t go… bye Athena.”

Taglist - @dog-and-cat-person230 @m-carriaga2021 @blessedbyahuntress @cleawritesstuff @b4ts1e @permanently-nothere

@kaguraaaa @rockyeatrock @keikeiluvyou @hijinkxy @doodle-with-rhy @barrythestrawberry041 @dazedemery @sunshinewhosketches @bafb1tch @lethby

@pjopinkk @nishayuro @moonlitenvyillust @emmy6999 @theyumeeighth @plushiesssforcrying @mh4r-squared @sofiafantasies @reapersan @starstarmoon-not-anon @woo-verse

[kissingarthurclaus]

It's actually SO much fun trying to imitate the Arcane rendering/painting style?? I mostly eyeballed it for my first try and I think it turned out really good! I still gotta put together an official outfit ref for my s/i but man...I honestly can't stop thinking about them so here's a couple of little sketches as well!! 😭😭 (little lore dump + taglist under the cut!)

They were childhood friends, maybe even sweethearts, but they were definitely close! Unfortunately, my s/i's family fell on some pretty hard times, and she needed to find some kind of work to help support them. Suddenly she didn't have much time for him, and Viktor ended up alone again. They still cared about each other, but they grew apart, and with Viktor eventually moving topside to attend the academy she was left behind.

I imagine that they meet again just a little bit before Viktor meets Jayce when he's paying a visit to the Undercity and they bump into each other by chance. As an adult, she's running a body alterations shop with her best friend (my irl best friend hehe) where they do tattoos, piercings, even prosthetics! Later in the series, the shop is taken over by Silco but the two of them act as a sort of information hub for the Firelights.

I'm still working on some of the lore, like how she ends up meeting Jayce and Mel too and how they all end up dating but Viktor was the first one she fell for 💖 and a funny story that my mom told me once is actually that when I was a toddler she occasionally babysat a neighborhood boy named Victor!! We played together and bcs I was a baby I couldn't pronounce his name correctly so I called him 'pictor' and kinda bossed him around 😂 needless to say I'm using that in my lore!! I don't know something is just so special to me about childhood friends to lovers and I'm cooked aren't I??

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus

@changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @tropgothships @little-miss-selfships

@starlos-soulmate @limey-self-inserts @candyheartedchy @space-sweetheart @halsinkisser @clancykisser @squips-ship @berryshipbasket @soulnottainted @homevideorentals @cordshake @emceescha

[mullermilkshake]

PART THREE - Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader x Satoru Gojo

One hot day. Tags- Kidnapping,Mutilation,Sexual tension,Yandere!Gojo Yandere!Reader,Creampie,Death by machinery,Murder

“Ken, baby.” He ignored your sweaty drawl in his ear, his teeth grazing down your sensitive shoulder to make you shudder underneath him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, Darling.” 

He could, very well in fact, you were certain you’d said it clear enough after the third time he made you come. Kento had a knack for overstimulation. so controlled and accurate to the settings on your body it was as though he’d written the manual.

“No more… I don’t think I can go again.” 

“Look at you.” He brushed a strand of damp hair from your face, moving his hips in a way the anticipation hurt in slow burning movements. “I believe you can go once more. Don’t you?”

You shook your head and breathed out rapidly as your body got weaker and more achy. Weather permitting, you still had to drive somewhere after this, what if your legs gave out before you got there? Or if you didn’t have strength to use the brakes, you’d go careering off a ledge into a ditch or something.

Kento knew you had to leave after too, that’s why he was dragging it on.

He’s so considerate to my needs and so needy… I love that. 

Still, you really did need to leave sooner or later, otherwise the heat in the air would ruin the package you had in the trunk. It was probably melting and sweating already, it had to be posted today otherwise you’d get a late fee.

“Baby… I really have to go.” You never wanted to, ever.

“I suppose I’ve kept you long enough, haven’t I?” Kento pressed his lips to your nose and pecked your cheeks and forehead. “Hold on then.”

He pulled you close and wrapped his muscular arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He was clearly bracing for the best fuck of your life, his hips bucked and thrusted without notice or mercy. Kento fucked you within an inch of your life and wasn’t sorry about it.

I love it when he uses me like this. 

You were his to command and use in any way he deemed appropriate, it seemed like he was beginning to clock onto it with how he held you down like he didn’t care. His hard cock pulsated and shuddered at the wet slickness hung in the silent room par the wet breaths and bare skin against the other. The way his ragged breaths in your neck sent you crazy, locking your legs around his waist more tightly with a threat of your fingernails digging in.

“Come inside me- I want you to come inside me… Please.” 

You loved it when he came inside you and left you in a mess. Like a mark to show he owned you in the most primal way, like the way animals marked their territory. You would let it happen, give yourself to him entirely and all you wanted in return were those three little words.

That’s all. You were still waiting on them, but eventually you knew they would come.

“Inside you?” He rasped, pulling back to watch you with lidded eyes though never letting up his pace. “How much do you want it? Tell me.”

“Lots- more than lots-” It was all you could bring to the table, your mind beginning to melt for real.

“Use your words darling.”

With a bit of umph from his hips, you got there. “So much, I want it so much, Ken, Baby please!”

Kento kissed you again, but left his lips lingering against yours and held you tight. As if on cue, he emptied himself inside you, coming hard and jerking between your legs with the same animalistic grunt that made you gush.

“Fuck…” Now, you didn't want to move at all, just stay as you were for a little while.

But the package. Fuck. Fucking waste of space and time, useless piece of shit! 

Kento stayed as he was, the noticeable sweat dripping from his hair all over your chest. It was just that hot today and the air conditioner chugged temporarily.

“It’s so hot in here.”

He huffed at you with a smile and pulled you up, still inside and still very much erect. “And you said it was a good way to pass the time… come take a shower with me? Before you go.”

And you did, a quick one at that before regrettably leaving into your hotbox car before the air conditioning kicked into a little. You waved Kento off noting his bare chest out on show just for you, he waved and waited for you to drive on the road before closing the door.

“Holy shit it’s really hot in here.” The breeze from the car window did better than the AC but it was the package in the trunk you were nervous about.

A small and mostly insignificant package you only agreed to deliver because you were petty enough to drive all that way. But soon enough you were regretting wasting gas driving all the way out in the middle of nowhere to a recycling plant.

You drove slowly along the winding road and hit a few pot holes, sending the package flying around in the back with an almighty thunk. Shit, it better not be broken. If it was, you’d kick yourself for letting it sit as long as it had.

Pulling up, no one greeted you or even made themselves known. Well, they wouldn’t have, this site worked more in the twilight hours due to the heat. Dropping the package off meant that someone else would find it later.

Good enough for you.

The heat hit you right in the face like a firm barrier as you hopped out and made your way to the trunk to secure the package for delivery. The banging stopped and you could only imagine what state she was in.

“Sorry, I forgot how hot it was… Oi.” You bent down and slapped the woman's cheek about a little.

She was an opportunist who decided it was good etiquette to touch Kento’s hand two seconds longer than socially exceptable and giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes right in front of you.

Stupid dumb bitch. 

“Don’t say you’ve died on me before I can do what I wanted to do.” You smacked her again and she wriggled a little. “I’ve always wanted to do this to someone like you, so wake the fuck up!”

She opened her eyes and panicked, trying to move away from you like she could get far. The woman was gagged and bound, she couldn’t have run away at all if she wanted to. No, the only option she had was to wriggle around like a dirty slug on the floor, ready to be squished.

You yanked her out of the car and let her fall with a thud, crying behind the cloth in her mouth which soiled the dry powdery dirt. “Now, I’m going to take you up there, and you can mull over on what you did, alright?”

“Mhhhhhhhmmppphh!” 

“Cry me a river, bitch. You know exactly what you did.”

The sweat began dripping from your brow, the shower did nothing to keep you fresh but only prolonged the sweat of hard work. The anger spurred you on to drag the woman towards the facility by her feet. She thrashed and wiggled to the best of her ability, screaming behind the gag and you just ignored her. She was mocking you. You saw the side eye she gave you at the counter after giving Kento his change, she thought she was better than you. Better for Kento apparently.

But you were obviously the better match, otherwise he wouldn’t be with you, right?

You dragged the woman up some cast iron stairs, making sure to hit her head on each ledge on the way up. Each scream was as satisfying as the last, a musical symphony just for you to enjoy. She frantically wriggled so much, she actually popped the gag out from her mouth.

Her voice split through your brain like an icepick embedded in your skull. “Please- please don’t do this! I’ve done nothing wrong- please!”

“So you figured it out then?” The lever clicked and turned the machinery on which should have required ear defenders, you crouched down and watched the amusing fear in her eyes. “No one touches my man and gets to keep both their hands. But you did it on purpose to spite me. So I can’t let that slide.”

The metal shredder blinked to life for a moment and powered down again. You turned and almost toppled over. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What?” Gojo shrugged, leaning on the metal pole barrier over the metal shredder. “Your ears aren’t protected, you’ll damage them.”

“Help me- please help me, she’s crazy!” The woman pleaded to him despite his eyes never acknowledging her.

Standing up was meant to intimidate him, however it didn’t. “You were following me- when the hell did you get here?”

“I’ve been here long enough. I wanted to see what you were going to do- I mean, throwing her in a metal shredder? I’m already getting a hard on. But then you decided on doing this in unsafe working conditions. That I can’t abide.”

“Please, help!” 

“You are ridiculous. I told you to leave me alone and now you’re going to ruin this for me again?” You poked his chest as a statement, but he took it in his grasp and pulled you close. “Don’t touch me. I dragged her sorry ass all the way up here and now you want to help me? Give me space for christ sake.”

“Oh my god, someone listen to me!” 

He didn’t move after you attempted to yank yourself out of his grip, like embedded rock. “I’ll help you. I said I’d do your dirty work for you.”

You cringed at his hand sliding down from your back to your waist, holding you firmly as though you were lovers. “I said get away from me! I’ll do this on my own.”

“Help me!” 

In unison, you and Gojo turned and glared at her. “Shut up!” 

This temporarily muted her in shock, shuffling up against the metal grating like it would do anything to protect her. You finally slipped from Gojo’s grasp, but it was clear you did because he let you. You kicked the level to switch the machine on and the woman started screaming again.

“This is mine. Don’t get involved.”

The woman tried backing away and wriggled as much as she could to prevent you throwing her off the edge. “Get off of me, please don’t do this!”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re going in one way or another so just accept that you’re a man stealing whore who can’t get her own.”

“You want some help?-”

“Fuck off, Gojo- what are you doing?!” He had pushed past you and lugged the woman over his shoulder and just threw her in like she was nothing but a discarded tissue.

Despite your anger of being side blinded again, she was trash.

“I can’t believe you-” Gojo grabbed your waist and cupped the back of your neck until your lips ghosted his in the wide spray of blood and popping crunches below, he could have kissed you, but he didn’t.

He kicked out his leg and switched the machine off. When it died down, you could have sworn he was inhaling you, his hot breath dusting your bottom lip and making it tickle. “I can smell him on you. Are you doin’ this on purpose?” He rested his face in the crook of your neck like Kento had done. “I can’t take this…”

“Gojo…” what could you even say to that? Actually, you knew exactly what. “You ruined it again! I can’t believe you, you just can’t leave well enough alone!”

He watched you with adoration, fiddling with your earlobe absentmindedly. “What can I say? When it comes to you I get a compulsion. You get it too. So you know what I’m feeling right now.”

“You don’t know how I feel, all you think about is yourself. I have a boyfriend who I love and will do anything for and you’re getting in the way of it!”

Gojo turned you a little and shifted his weight to one side. “Well if that’s the case, maybe I’ll head back to Nanami’s place right now and get rid of him. Seems the right thing to me, I don’t know what more he’s good for to be honest with you.”

This cocky bastard.

“Take a fucking step back- I told you before that if you touch a hair on his head, I’ll hurt you in the worst way possible.”

“Sounds romantic.” Was he going to kiss you?

You wouldn't let him if he tried. “You’re my worst nightmare.”

“And you’re my best wet dream ever…” No he wasn’t going to, because he pulled away and flashed a cheeky grin. “Hey, I have an idea on how Nanami can be useful, I might tolerate it. How do you think Nanami feels about threesomes?”

Tag list - @nanamineedstherapy

Hi! 😊

Your writing is so immersive that it feels cinematic—like watching a movie unfold in real time. I love how you always manage to surprise me with plot twists that I never see coming! It’s such a refreshing change from knowing exactly where the story is headed.

I’d absolutely love if you could give Yandere!Reader another go with Nanamin. I think it would be fascinating since Nanami’s level-headedness might keep him from suspecting her. And if you're open to poly ships, it’d be thrilling to add Gojo into the mix with a twist—Yandere!Reader x Nanami x Gojo, but with Gojo secretly yandere all along. Maybe he’s been stalking both of them, planning for the perfect moment to reveal his obsession and orchestrating their “first meeting” to suit his agenda. I’ll leave the rest to your creativity, as I’m sure you’ll bring unexpected layers and depth!

Thank you for considering this! I’m so grateful for all the hard work you put into your stories. 😊🌸

Thanks so much for the kind words! It really means a lot. I love trying to write it all cinematic and doing things that go against the grain because my brain is twisted lol.

I can definitely do that, I hope you enjoy it!

Kento Nanami x Reader x Satoru Gojo

TAGS- Yandere!Reader,Yandere!Gojo,Stalking,Thoughts of killing people,Yandere!thoughts and motives,Masking,Graphic depictions of violence and mentions of damage to eyes.

One americano, two shots of espresso and two pumps of vanilla. Every day at seven thirty five. But not on Sundays sometimes because meetings run over. 

“Oh! I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going- oh god look at your suit, it must be expensive right?”

It was about time you made proper contact with Kento Nanami. You watched on in awe at his stance, brushing the coffee away from his suit in such a way it made the mundane action sexy. Lustrous. Like he was trying to make the way he allowed a strand of hair to fall past his forehead almost purposefully. With an intent to send you crazy.

Good thing you weren’t like those fangirls you often saw on television, crawling about the stage because a man gyrated over his mic. No, you were merely a coffee barista. A damn good one at that. Well, except for spilling coffee all over Kento’s suit.

But how else were you going to get his attention?

You were barely hanging on as it was watching the others make his drink to order. That’s why you made this one for him.

Jesus fucking hell Utahime It’s two pumps of vanilla. I swear I could kill that bitch right now. Shove head under the hot water valve and watch her eyes burn out the sockets.

It was a little drastic, even for you, but if anyone just saw the way Utahime was talking to Kento they would have assumed the two were dating or something. Kento Nanami was single. Definitely single.

The last girl he wanted to date just never made it to that coffee date on time.

None of his other dates did either.

“It’s fine, really.” The first sentence he spoke to you wasn't ‘thank you’ or his coffee order.

A formulated sentence.

Well, that was five months ago. Kento Nanami made the right choice that day to accept your invitation for a drink. Just like you planned. All seemed well and good for a time before you were noticing something strange when out in public.

White hair.

It was all you seemed to ever see. Out in the store or late night trip to the movies, hooked up to Kento’s arm during a scary or suspenseful part. It just seemed to be there, though you never knew who it belonged to. Never a face to linger for a second to make the connection. Just nothing. It tickled the back of your neck, putting you on the defense as though Kento was in danger. What sort of fucked up person would stalk someone? The idea of it was deranged, sick at the thought that someone was watching him, watching you with him.

White hair. You just couldn’t place it.

“Ken, love! What do you think of this dress?!” You called from upstairs, slipping on your shoes and smoothing down the hem of the fabric.

“I’m sure it’s perfect-” He paused, looking you up and down as though studying every inch of your body before he forgot what it looked like.

“Do I look pretty?”

He nodded slowly, stepping close to sit his hand on your waist. “You look beautiful.”

Hearing Kento say such kind and wonderful things made your night, heck, your entire week. Who gave a crap what anyone else thought? Just Kento was more than what you needed to prove that he liked you very much. You loved him of course, but that was love at first sight. Counting down the agonising days until he said it back to you, when you told him all the time in your head or whilst he slept. It took restraint not to slip up and make him doubt things.

So difficult not to say it for the man you loved.

“Thank you.” You giggled at his touch, planting a kiss on your temple with a husky growl in his throat.

“Maybe we should leave dinner tonight? I can’t possibly see how I’ll cope without taking you back to mine straight away. Too beautiful.”

“Restrain yourself, Ken. Someone might think you’re in love with me or something!” Your ecstatic grin sat just in front of your face as though to mask your brain away.

Say it… just say it please. Tell me you love me. I need to hear it. 

His attentive smile made your stomach flip when he pulled you close and spun you around to face the mirror. “If they saw your smile, they would understand what a lovely person you are. And see how I can’t resist you when you’re in a dress like this.”

Oh dear. Maybe some other time. 

“Well,” You kept that mask on and pulled away from him. “Should we get going then? Don’t want to be late.”

“Of course.” 

Kento drove straight to the restaurant, quite an upscale place for no occasion. Maybe there was? Perhaps Kento had something planned that you were unaware of, something spontaneous or quite the opposite. A planned surprise? It was practically the night of your five month month anniversary after all, two hundred wonderful days spent seeing each other and having astronomical sex. 

You didn’t get your hopes up and held your breath when he climbed out of the car and opened the door for you. So special. So dedicated to your comfort with the slightest touch from his fingers on the small of your back. Adrenaline made everything ten times more acute, aware of everything and anything you walked by and as you seated yourself at the table facing Kento, your heart beat so fast. Five months was a long time when you had waited longer to be with him.

You were basically in a relationship with him for well over a year by now it seemed, surely that was long enough to hear those three words?

“Can I get you any drinks?” The waitress grinned at Kento and then at you.

Why him first? He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, but what right did this bitch have setting eyes on him? You ignored the irritation and blinked it away for now, letting Kento speak for you and took a moment to observe the room.

White hair.

A flash of it and you would have missed it had you turned away to scowl at the waitress again. White hair like you were imagining it.

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Kento slid his hand forward and offered it to you. “You seem distant.”

“I’m fine.” You were not, but took his hand anyway. “It’s a little chilly in here, don’t you think?”

“I’ll ask them to turn the heat up, will that be alright?” 

He’s so considerate. “That would be great, thank you.”

You played it off and ignored the itch on the back of your neck, being watched did not agree with you. Kento sat still and his head tilted to the side a little, studying you again whilst his free hand rummaged into his suit pocket.

“I have something for you.” He pulled out a little box. “I know we haven’t been dating that long, but I wanted to get you something I hope you’ll like. If it’s too early, please let me know.”

A box. A small little box. It was light in your hand, velvet to the touch and firm enough that it must have come from those places that sold rings for stupid money. One little box, something so small which held your heart right in Kento’s pocket.

Is he proposing? Please tell me he’s proposing. It means he loves me, right? 

“Ken… What-” A pair of earrings.

“I know you lost one from the pair you always said you wore, so I wanted to get you a new pair. I hope it’s appropriate.”

You forbid yourself to be disappointed, because it wasn’t about the hope that a ring sat nestled perfectly in this box. You put up your mask and smiled sweetly enough to satisfy him. “It is. Thank you so much, I love them!”

He’ll propose some day. 

“Here are your drinks.” 

The waitress took Kento’s drink off first and placed it right in front of him. Then she placed yours down off to the side. She was doing it on purpose, you were sure of it. The steak knife on the table looked pretty good to shove straight in her neck- 

She cleared her throat and placed the tray under her arm. “I’ll be back in a moment to see what you'd like to order.”

“Thank you.” Kento paid no mind to it and took a sip of his wine. “This is a nice vintage, I think we should go to one of those wine tasting evenings. It’s a good place to get to know each other more.”

You did not need to know Kento more. You knew practically everything about him in the four months he stepped into your life physically. 

He liked to drink, hence the wine tasting suggestion. Kento also enjoyed cooking, especially as he lived alone in his apartment, but he also enjoyed dishing up delicacies in your own kitchen. His birthday was July third and he had a particular interest in the arts, like music and theatre. A man of many tastes. 

“Hello there, can I get you something to eat?” A voice of a man you did not recognise came into ear shot.

“I think we might need a minute. Our waitress is taking our order.”

White hair.

You looked up and saw white hair, only this time it did not disappear. The white hair had a face, a blue eyed porcelain complexion with a smooth grin. The man stood taller than Kento dressed in a suit and staff ID.

“I’m sorry, she suddenly became unwell and had to go home. I’ll be taking your order tonight.” He smiled again and made eye contact with you. “My name is Satoru Gojo and I will do everything I can to make sure your night is perfect.”

Gojo. His gaze over you was the exact same distinct feeling of being preyed on. His cutting glare just behind the loose strands of hair over his forehead that looked softer than a cloud. You didn’t know what to make of this, but at least that waitress was gone. You really thought you were going to have to do something about her.

“Alright then. I’ll be back momentarily.”

“Ken, I’m just going to use the restroom, if he comes back before then, can you order me…” You took a brief glance at the menu and chose anything you first landed your eyes on. Gojo wandered off towards the opposite end of the restaurant, somewhere not where the kitchen was. “The steak? I’ll have it however it’s recommended.”

“Alright.”

You took off and made your way over towards the restroom, noting that he had disappeared. Crap. You wanted answers to why it seemed like that man was following you, stalking Kento for no apparent reason.

Would you need to do something about this guy? He was taller than you realised, so he must have been stronger too. You were not super strong by a long stretch, but when pushed enough to the limit, it drove you to do things you thought your body was not capable of.

Just look at the last waitress that brought the wrong drink and almost spilt it all over him just last week. So much blood and she was still wailing after you shoved your stiletto heel in her face.

People never learn. 

By the time you reached the restroom, the stalls were all empty besides one. The long wall length mirror outlined them all like little match boxes opened after use, showing the amber light inside for an ambient glow.

“How did I know that I’d find you in here, hm?” Gojo’s voice echoed throughout the restroom.

It startled you enough to move towards the door and lock it, backing away from the closed door and sitting your back flush with the slate grey tiles adjacent to it.

The toilet stall opened and he came out much less cheerful than he was outside, hands tight in his trouser pockets. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Who are you?”

“It’s funny, no one else ever seems to notice me when I don't want them to. But your instincts are hot on it every time, aren’t they?”

“Tell me who you are.” 

This wasn’t a show of weakness or a moment that revealed your vulnerabilities. When you glared back in his eyes, it was Kento you thought of. If this man was here to hurt him, well, you’d fucking kill him. Out in the back alley, no witnesses and back in time for your steak and boyfriend you’d do anything for. To kill for three times over already. Yes, you’d do it if the opportunity called for it.

“Y’know, I was so ready to come and kick the shit out of that guy when I saw that little box he gave you, but I see right through that little charade you got goin’ on. I've been watching' you a while now.” By now, he’d taken precisely four steps towards you, taking the opportunity to lean against the row of inbuilt sinks. “You’re exactly like me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to stop stalking me and my boyfriend. I’ll call the police.”

Gojo’s laugh made your stomach lurch. This guy was a whole new level of crazy you had never seen before. “That’s cute. You’re cute. But no, I’m not stalking him, just you.”

“Then stop doing that.”

“Why, aren’t you scared that I might do what I just said I was goin’ to do? He looks strong but when he has his hands all over you, it sorta drives me crazy.”

Gojo would not make it past the restroom door if he intended on hurting Kento. Yet, why did you contemplate that you’d rather take on the waitress instead of him right now?

Shaking the doubts away, you imagined the scenarios that may occur should you get hold of another steak knife or any other sharp object really. One of the heavy statues in the foyer could prove adequate to crush his head or even one of those little blow torches for creme brûlée right to his face.

For now, your mask dropped, and for a time you could breathe a little. Pretending to be happy all the time was difficult work and holding back on punching anyone who gave eyes at Kento took practice and great restraint. “If you go near him at all, I’ll kill you. I won’t just kill you though, it’ll be worse than torture.”

Gojo stepped closer to you and looked down as though you were a child to be patronised. “That’s my girl. Now, why don’t you introduce me to your little boyfriend so we can make this more official, huh?”

He’d backed you into a corner, right up against the wall. “I meant what I said. Don’t come near us.”

“And I know you have the same urges as me, you think no one sees, but I do. I see you. You won’t have to pretend around me. I’ll even do all your dirty work, that’s what I enjoy most.” He placed his palm on the wall beside your head, leaning in so his mouth was right next to your ear. 

“Lets get this fucked up little love triangle kickin’ hm?

[caprisunr]

Buck has always been so insane about Eddie. Do you know just how much weight Eddie must have felt off his shoulders when Buck introduced Carla?—Buck, so willing to step in and help; providing something that was so necessary for Eddie at the time. And the dearest part is that he didn't even have to ask—Buck saw through Eddie for who he was and the baggage he carried, and decided he wasn't gonna let that man ever go through anything on his own.

Buck owning up during the lawsuit arch makes me lose my mind. The unspoken place that he has in the Diaz's lives and just how much space he occupies; Buck owning up is him understanding what that means. "I should have been there", despite Eddie already being over it. And that's somewhat part of their dynamic too, a recurrent one. Buck always wants to talk things, figure them out, fix them; Eddie runs away from it—but always, always gives into it. Specially with Buck. That's why Buck is so pivotal in Eddie's life.

But Buck is insane, clearly—Has never known a day of not thinking about what he can do to make Eddie's life a little bit easier. The horse stable? I was speechless. He not only helped Eddie take care of Chris, and was there through his breakdown at the capacity that Eddie let him in. But he also went out of his way to ask Taylor for help finding Charlie so he could give Eddie a reason to what they do as firefighters. Because he knows Eddie loves being a firefighter and is what he has worked hard to do. "You don't have to pretend with me", when it comes to Eddie nothing gets past Buck.

They complete the other to astronomical levels.

[detta-pica]

“I miss beating you at video games,” he tells Suguru, apropos of nothing. “And staying up all night watching horror films. You’re ridiculously cute when you get all worried about the protagonist, you know?” Suguru’s face is right in front of Satoru--Suguru’s perched on the table, facing him--but his features blur together a bit, making his expression hard to read. It’s so unfair that Satoru can’t even look his fill while Suguru lets him stay close. Satoru closes his eyes. At least Suguru’s cursed energy is easy to observe, a constantly rolling vortex of power. Slow, but far from dormant. “The whole point of watching horror is to be scared and worried.” Suguru sighs and leans a little closer, probably resting his elbows on his knees. “I miss spending time with you, too. I think we’ve already established as much.” “No, you don’t get it.” There’s something frantic and fluttery clawing up Satoru’s throat. His knee begins to bounce, and he rolls the mostly empty mug between his palms. “It’s. I miss being a second year, having Haibara and Nanami follow us like ducklings. I miss messing up on missions because we were too powerful to care. But that’s different. That’s--it’s just nostalgia. It’s whatever. With you, I…”

I can't believe I'm still posting WIPs from this fic. Hopefully things will calm down after Sunday. I'm already fantasising about writing on the train.

[boo-b1tchcraft]

Fullmetal Alchemist Headcannons:

a few headcannons i’ve been thinking of lately, mostly post-series, lots of royai of course hehe

I feel like a lot of the FMA characters are hard of hearing just because of the amount of explosions and gunshots they have to listen to constantly. I like to imagine Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye eventually being able to settle down and live a happy domestic life while keeping their careers idc. So if they lived together they’d have to try not to shout across the home at one another to talk.

Post-series Izumi and Sig insist on having Ed and Al over for dinner with their families at least once a month when they’re not off too far away.

When their kids get older Ed encourages them to be like Winry. He knows he’s smart but he knows that she’s a different kind of smart. He hopes they’ll pick up her talents in order to help people like she does. That doesn’t mean he’s entirely against having a bunch of mini Edwards running around lol.

When Al first met Mustang and Hawkeye, he kind of just assumed they were married or something, the way they flowed together. He was a little disappointed to know that they weren’t but he understood why, with fraternization laws and everything. Al’s a bit of a romantic.

I saw @doctormichaelaquinn on here say that Ed knows the Colonel and Lieutenant had feelings for each other but just assumed Roy Mustang was too dumb to do anything about it and I feel like that’s accurate lol.

Of course Roy and Riza trusted Ed and Al enough to tell them, or rather soft launch when they finally made it official. I’d imagine Riza would invite them over for a visit when they’re in the area. Roy Mustang would be over at her place because of course he would. The boys would come over and kinda just be like “General?”. But of course they know that Hawkeye and Mustang are hardly ever apart so they wouldn’t think too much of it. Then Riza would be in the kitchen making food and Roy would help. The boys are sitting at the kitchen table and happen to see Mustang hug her from behind while looking over her shoulder at what she’s preparing. Ed and Al give each other a look. When Hawkeye leans in and gives Mustang a peck on the cheek, the boys give each other another knowing look. Ed was relieved to know that Roy wasn’t just being a creep. “Finally,”they both think.

We all know Roy Mustang is a flirt. Sometimes when they’re alone, Riza lets herself fall for it. Only sometimes though! At least that’s what she tells herself.

Roy knows Riza would do whatever he asks of her, and she has, so post-series he tries his best not to ask too much of her unless completely necessary. Not that he didn’t care about that beforehand, but after all they’d been through, he hates to see her overexert herself and the last thing he’d want is to see her in any kind of pain ever again. When they’re at home, Roy dotes on Riza but he tries not to make it obvious. She sees right through him. How could she not? She secretly loves it but doesn’t believe she deserves it. Roy wants her to feel like she does.

[cas-kingdom]

For the sentence prompts! Hope you are doing well Cas💜!

Begging for forgiveness was the only option at this point

A/N: Used the sentence at the end instead!

When Mark burst into the chief’s office, you had your top half hanging off the sofa, a lollipop in your mouth. You stared at him upside-down for about five seconds while you waited for him to speak.

“Mark Sloan is having a baby,” he finally announced, a very slight edge to his voice.

You blinked, then heaved yourself up and turned towards him.

“Y/N says congrats,” you said, your words garbled around the sweet in your mouth.

Mark reacted immediately. He shut the door and pointed an accusatory finger straight at you. “Don’t play coy with me. I know it was you.”

"Me?"

"You started the godawful rumour suddenly floating around the hospital!"

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” With expert skill and practice, you sat back and crossed your arms over your chest. When Mark’s glare intensified, because you absolutely had an idea of what he was talking about, a corner of your lips quirked upwards and you pulled the lollipop from your mouth. “Maybe you should go back to your baby mama.”

Mark chuckled dangerously and rubbed his hands together. “Y/N, sweetheart. Peanut. Little worm. You’re dead.”

He made a move, lurching towards you, and youstood on the couch, brandishing the lollipop like a weapon. “Hey. Hey! Now you know what it feels like!”

“What what feels like?”

“It’s your own fault for making it so believable!”

“What what feels like, Y/N?”

“To have your life ruined!”

Mark scoffed. “This is because I put dye in your shampoo? Temporary dye, Y/N, it was temporary dye!”

“My hair was green for a week!”

“Everyone said it suited you!”

“Because you told everyone it was my choice!” You narrowed your eyes at him as he put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sorry. I’m never gonna be sorry. You’re a dad now, congratulations. Hope you’re a better father than you are a fake uncle.”

The surgeon’s jaw dropped. “Okay, now, that one hurt.”

“Not as much as your penis hurt when your baby mama broke it for getting her pregnant.”

Mark's eyes widened. He’d thought the pregnancy rumour was enough—God knew he’d had his fill of those—but there was more? Really, he should have expected it. This was Y/N Shepherd he was talking about. The only person who could one up him.

Suddenly forgetting his quest for revenge, Mark thrust his face in his palms and slumped down on a chair by the desk. “Anything else I need to know about?” he mumbled, wincing in anticipation of the answer.

Before you could smugly offer one, the door opened once again to reveal Richard. His eyes quickly roved the room before landing on Mark. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why am I being told you’re taking extended paternity leave when the twins have barely been conceived?" There was a brief silence before: "Congratulations, by the way.”

You snorted.

Mark groaned.

Richard rose a brow. “Or…commiserations?”

Mark turned wide, befuddled eyes on him. "Webber, you think it’s true?”

Richard, perplexed, glanced between you and Mark. “It’s not?”

“No!”

Richard shrugged. “Congratulations, then.” He left the room only to pop his head back in a second later. “So, your…”

“Is all in working order!”

“Right. Bye.”

Mark turned to look at you, a gleam in his eye that you recognised all too well. You bit your bottom lip, still standing on the couch. “I told you it’s your own fault for making it so believable.”

He stared. Hard. Then, in about a second, he vaulted himself towards you. You clumsily leapt over the back of the couch with a squeal, falling to the floor with a thud but not caring in the slightest as you scrambled to make your escape.

“You wanna tell me who I’m having these twins with?” Mark asked, making a wild grab for you and snagging the hood of your sweater.

“A cafeteria lady! You thought her buns were top notch!”

Begging for forgiveness was the only option at this point.

Grey’s Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five